“You were lucky, Mr. Trayhern,” Callie said soothingly. She saw that Wes was uncomfortable. He had no training in working with survivors, but he was going to get a crash course in how to talk to them, help them, lend a shoulder for them to cry on.
Wes frowned. “Wait a minute…you’re The Morgan Trayhern? You were in the Marine Corps?”
“Yes, that’s right, Lieutenant James.”
Eyes widening, Wes glanced at Callie. “You remember him, don’t you? It was part of Corps history to study Morgan Trayhern and the Vietnam War. He’s a living legend among us….” Wes felt his heart contract for this man, who had obviously been digging for his missing wife since the earthquake had occurred. Wes pulled the canteen from his web belt.
“Here, sir. You must be thirsty. Have some water.”
Gratefully, Morgan took the canteen and drank deeply. Beads of water collected at the corners of his mouth and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he relished the cool liquid.
Callie knew of Morgan Trayhern from the history she’d learned during boot camp. She was stunned and anguished by this turn of bad luck for him. As Trayhern capped the canteen and handed it back to Wes, she asked, “What floor was your wife on, Mr. Trayhern?”
“The fourteenth floor, Lieutenant Evans. Why? Does it make a difference?”
Nodding, Callie said, “Yes, sir, it often can. When floors pancake on top of one another like this, more survivors are found in the upper floors than lower ones, because of the crushing weight.” She saw hope suddenly ignite in his bloodshot gray eyes. Holding up her hand, she added, “I can’t guarantee you she’s alive, sir, but it’s hopeful.”
Rubbing his face tiredly, Morgan rasped, “It sounds good to me, Lieutenant. Is there anything I can do to help? I’ve been digging through that rubble all night calling out for Laura. So far, I haven’t heard her…” He stopped, his voice choked.
“Voices don’t carry well through rubble, sir, so don’t take that as a good or bad sign,” Callie said softly. She patted his shoulder gently. “Why don’t you sit down here by Lieutenant James and rest for a while? Let me and my dog start a grid search. I’ll talk to those other survivors near the hotel and try and get information from them before I go up there and begin my search.”
Morgan shook his head. “Rest? When my wife might be alive?” He wiped his reddened eyes. “No…I’ll keep hunting, calling for her until I know…for sure…one way or another. I won’t leave her up there alone. I need her…. I love her and I won’t desert her now….”
Trayhern was ready to keel over, but Callie said nothing. She gave him a sympathetic look that she hoped spoke volumes to his torn and bleeding spirit. Giving Wes a warm, heartfelt glance, she pulled on her thick, protective leather gloves and said to him, “I’ll see you after I’m done with the first grid.”
“Be careful up there,” Wes warned in a low tone. “The aftershocks are almost as bad as the original trembler.” Suddenly, he was afraid for her. He remembered losing Allison and felt his heart reaching out automatically to Callie, wanting to protect her. She was incredibly courageous to be climbing up on that slippery, sliding stuff. If the rubble moved, it could kill her. A piece of concrete weighed tons and would slide quickly in an aftershock. Anxiety flowed through him. He wanted to reach out, grip her by the shoulder, touch her, but he couldn’t…not under the circumstances.
She grinned sourly. “No one knows that better than me, Wes. Thanks for being concerned. See you in a couple of hours…” Callie felt warm again as she saw the look of anxiousness in Wes’s eyes. He was genuinely concerned for her safety. As she and Dusty picked their way through the rubble toward the small knot of people opposite the hotel, Callie wondered if Wes’s concern was for all people under his command, or something special aimed at her. In her heart, Callie sensed that it was more than just a commander wanting his team to stay safe in such a dangerous, volatile situation. Her head, however, whispered nastily that she was too plain and that no one, especially a handsome officer like Wes James, could ever be interested in the likes of her.
January 1: 1400
The sun was high and the temperature in the seventies as Callie carefully climbed down off the rubble with Dusty. The air was thick with black smoke and dust. Sweat trickled from beneath her uniform as, watching every step she took, she left the first grid area she’d covered. Many survivors were continuing to try and find their loved ones. Watching them was heart wrenching.
Once on the ground, the shattered glass crunching beneath her booted feet, Callie found her spirits rising as she rounded the end of the building and saw a camouflage-painted Humvee parked next to the blue SUV where Wes had set up his temporary headquarters. About an hour ago, a marine Super Sea Stallion helicopter had landed nearby at a park, where a Humvee had been off-loaded, along with crucial supplies Wes would need. From Callie’s vantage point, she saw that the Humvee was going to be useless. There were no highways to traverse. Although the Humvee was supposed to be an all-terrain vehicle, nothing would go far with all the glass and twisted steel lying around. The tires would be slashed in no time. Callie saw that Wes probably realized that, because he’d made a desk out of the hood of the Humvee instead.
All the tan-colored tents had been erected in a row where a sidewalk had once existed. The good news was that Wes’s men had gotten the cherry picker and other construction equipment, and had already begun to slowly remove debris in order to try and find survivors. The noise and growl of the heavy engines, the creaking of the crane arm, the sound of steel cables being wrapped around huge slabs of concrete all combined in what to Callie’s sensitive ears was a musical cacophony.
Wes felt a warm unexpected tug at his heart at the sight of Callie approaching with Dusty. He straightened from studying the maps of the surrounding area he’d laid out on the hood of the Humvee. A wave of heat rushed through his body when he saw Callie was all right. His pulse pounded as he perused her. She’d been out of sight all morning and early afternoon, working on the other side of the hotel. As she reached him, a slight smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
“Don’t take what I’m going to say the wrong way,” he told her conspiratorially as Callie halted near him at the Humvee, “but you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Instantly, heat shimmered up Callie’s neck and into her face. Avoiding Wes’s warm, engaging look, she dropped her gaze to her dust-covered boots. “Uh, thanks…But I must look like a fright right now.” She managed a short, nervous smile and gave Dusty the hand signal to sit. Placing the leash on the ground, Callie removed her helmet, as well as her vest, which was now chaffing her flesh because she was sweating. Then she shrugged out of her heavy cammo jacket. The cold morning chill had dissolved into a warm winter day.
Wes tried to keep from staring at her. Callie was built like a slender bird beneath all that heavy military garb. As she stripped down to her olive-green T-shirt and cammo pants, he had a hell of a time looking away. The inconstant breeze ruffled her damp, blond-streaked hair, and he was almost relieved when she put the bright orange vest back on and resettled the cap on her hair.
“Was that a yellow flag?” he asked her seriously. Yellow meant that a man had overstepped his bounds, was getting too familiar with a woman, and she was feeling uncomfortable with such attention. Wes couldn’t help himself; the words just flew out of his mouth. Her innocence and unawareness of her own attractiveness as a woman was throwing him for a loop.
He watched her soft mouth curve upward. She was so damned kissable. Did she know that? He wanted to know everything about Callie, but now was certainly not the time for private, intimate conversation. How could he have been at Camp Reed for a year and never run into her? That stymied him completely, because if he had seen her, he’d sure as hell have pursued her passionately and relentlessly. Of course, he would have been careful to keep his heart out of the equation. He couldn’t risk his emotions again.
“No…it was a green,” she assured him shyly. Taking the canteen from her
belt, Callie knelt down in front of Dusty, cupped her hand and poured a little water into it. Instantly, the dog began eagerly lapping it up.
Just being near Wes, she felt the force of his desire for her. Oh, it was a giddy, terrifying experience. But one that Callie was absorbing like a thirsty sponge.
Wes stood there, hands on his hips, watching Callie. She had to be dying of thirst, yet she was giving her dog a drink first. That said something good about her, in his book. “I was worried about you,” he said, looking toward the Hoyt and studying it from beneath furrowed brows. Specters of Allison being on the roof of the burning structure, and then the roof caving in and killing her and her partner, haunted him. The Hoyt reminded him of that terrible day in his life. “I didn’t see you at all. When that aftershock hit at 1200, I sent Private Bertram around the hotel to see if you were still standing.”
Touched by his concern, Callie continued to dribble water into her cupped palm until Dusty had gotten his fill. “I’m used to aftershocks, Wes. They’re a part of our trade. It knocked me off my feet, but I was okay.” Callie looked up at him and melted beneath his thoughtful green stare. “How are you doing down here? And how is Mr. Trayhern doing? I see the survivors who were around this morning are gone. You must have handled their situation okay?”
Wes drowned in her wide blue eyes. He wanted to find time to spend quietly in Callie’s calm company. “He’s asleep in the back of the Humvee here,” he said, hitching a thumb across his shoulder. Wes had long ago shed his jacket, and was dressed in his olive-green T-shirt and cammies. “He was keeling over with exhaustion. I talked him into having an MRE and some water. As soon as he finished eating, he fell asleep. I’m leaving him there until he wakes up on his own.”
“Did he find his wife yet?” Callie asked, standing and then taking a deep draft of the water herself. “He was working on the other side of the hotel from us, so I couldn’t hear or see anything going on.”
Shaking his head, he said, “No…the guy’s beside himself. When the helicopter brought this Humvee, they brought a navy corpsman along with it. I managed to talk Mr. Trayhern into getting his hands taken care of. He’s been ripping through piles of concrete and glass, trying to locate her, and his hands were looking like so much ground meat.” Wes didn’t add that if it had been Callie instead of Laura Trayhern trapped somewhere in that hotel, he’d have done the same thing Morgan was doing. He wouldn’t allow a loved one to just lie there alone, without help. Just as abruptly, Wes reminded himself that he desired Callie, he didn’t love her. No, love was far too great a risk to take with a woman in a dangerous profession. Yet Wes felt a wave of warmth when she looked up at him again.
“Maybe we can loan him a pair of our leather gloves?” Callie said, putting the canteen back into place on her web belt. Her stomach growled and she knew she and Dusty had to eat before they continued the search.
“Yeah, good idea.” Wes grinned a little as he watched the equipment working in the distance. “You have a lot of common sense, Callie. We need you around here. I’m sure I can scare up a pair of gloves for him when he wakes.” Damn, it was hard not staring at her. Wes’s fingers positively itched as he thought about removing her cap to run his hands through her short, golden hair. Would it feel like warm silk? How badly he wanted to find out.
She nodded and opened one thigh pocket of her cammos. Reaching deep into it, she found a couple of protein bars and pulled them out. “Common sense is what I live on during this kind of work, Wes. It’s feet on the ground, not head in the clouds. One wrong move and Dusty or I could be history.” She handed Wes one of the foil wrapped bars. “Hungry?”
The word stuck in her throat. Callie was hungry for Wes. The moment she’d come over to him, she’d seen that officer’s look disappear, to be replaced by the intense gaze of a hunter—trained on her. The sensation was uplifting. Scary. Beautiful. And Callie wanted more of it…and him.
He took the protein bar. “Thanks. They say the Huey is going to be bringing in a supply of MREs for us shortly. We gave all we had to the survivors. They’d been without food or water since the quake. I couldn’t stand to see the starved look in the kids’ eyes, you know?”
Taking a deep breath, Callie said, “You have a soft heart, Wes. It’s dangerous to let all your supplies go. What if that Huey has engine trouble? Or the supplies ran out completely? Do you have any food or water for your team?”
“A little,” he said. “And I hear you.” Rubbing his face with his hand, he muttered, “I guess I’m not used to seeing hungry and thirsty American people. It was the kids that got to me. I’m guilty as charged. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“I understand. The kids always grab you by the throat and never let you go.” She reached out and briefly touched his darkly tanned arm, her fingers grazing the dark hair on his forearm. Because Wes was a civil engineer by trade, Callie imagined he loved being outdoors in any kind of weather. His flesh felt damp as she trailed her fingers along it, probably due to the fact that the sun was high and it was hot. His eyes glimmered when she touched him, and a thrill moved through her, erasing some of the strain and dread that always haunted her during rescue operations.
“Yeah,” Wes griped good-naturedly, “I’m a sucker for a kid. You learned to carry this emotional stuff a long time ago, didn’t you?”
He found himself amazed by Callie. She was so different from most of the women he’d ever known, even Allison. There was something refreshing about Callie. She didn’t play games. All she knew how to be was honest, and that made him want to explore her fully—even more deeply than he’d wanted to at first. His injured heart warned him that all he could feel for her was desire and passion. That was it.
Callie grinned and leaned against the front of the Humvee, peeling back the red-and-silver foil wrapper of her protein bar. “Oh, yeah…” Digging in her other pocket, she produced a handful of dry dog bones, which she gave to Dusty, who was staring up attentively. He quickly gobbled them, and Callie gave him another handful.
Wes leaned against the hood, leaving a foot of space between them. The temperature was rising into the sixties. The sky was a freakish mix of gray, black and yellow with the sun appearing blood-red through the pollution caused by the quake and continuing fires.
“How long have you been stationed at Camp Reed?” He munched gratefully on the tasty protein bar. Again, Callie’s sense of sharing, of caring for others, struck him as a wonderful attribute.
“Two years. Why?”
He smiled a little and savored her closeness. At least she didn’t move away from him. “I’ve been here a year building roads and bridges on the base. The ones that have been here were forty or fifty years old—well overdue to be replaced and modernized. I was just wondering why I never saw you over at the Officer’s Club. I thought I’d danced with every woman on the base. I have a reputation as a party goer when I’m not working. And pretty women don’t escape my attention. Or…are you married?” He held his breath as she turned, and was surprised to see shock written across her face. Had he overstepped his bounds? Wes hoped not.
“Me? Married?” Callie laughed heartily. “No…I’m not married. I wouldn’t have given you the green light if I had been. And the O Club? I never go there.” She didn’t add that she had heard of Wes. He ran with a group of single officers that liked to party a lot. While searching for survivors all morning Callie had combed her memory, trying to remember where she’d heard his name. Now she knew. Yes, Wes was a party animal, no doubt about it. They called him the “golden boy” over at the O Club. Groupies from off base had spoken glowingly of him—what a great dancer he was, and how they loved his drop-dead good looks. Because Callie had finally placed Wes and his party-animal reputation around Camp Reed, she was even more perplexed as to why he’d be interested in pursuing her. Still, the idea made her feel breathless and more than a little excited.
“But…why?” Wes demanded. “The O Club has a great dining room. There’s dancing on Friday and Saturday
nights. I’m always over there on weekends and I’ve never once seen you.”
Callie finished off her protein bar and began a second one. Climbing around like that for hours on end burned up a lot of energy. “Yes…I remember that you are well known for partying over there on weekends.” She grinned and added, “I’m kinda shy, Wes.”
“You dance, don’t you?”
“Well…sure, I love to dance. But…” Her heart flip-flopped as he smiled boyishly and held her gaze. There was such genuine warmth and sincerity emanating from him that Callie didn’t know what to do or how to handle this intimacy.
“But what? You look like you could dance all night.”
Callie avoided his probing look. “Yeah…well, I just don’t go over there….”
“Why not? How could I meet someone like you if you don’t come out of hiding?” he teased. Now that he’d found her, he was stymied by her behavior. She was young—in her twenties like him. Everyone he knew who was single showed up at the O Club. It was a place to meet people and have fun. And he didn’t mind the reputation he’d accrued. He liked living life. He liked women.
Waving her hand, Callie muttered, “Oh, I just don’t think I fit in, I guess….” Her voice fell. “No…I don’t fit in.”
Wes heard hurt in her softened tone. He saw Callie’s arched brows wrinkle as she looked away from him. Sensing something was wrong, he tried to step more carefully this time.
“You’re single. You’re in your twenties. You’re pretty. Why wouldn’t you be at the O Club?”
Her, pretty? Callie snapped her head upward to meet his gaze. His face had lost a lot of its officer’s facade. The man she was looking at now was open and vulnerable. She was ready to toss him a blithe comment, but it stuck in her throat. Swallowing convulsively, Callie nearly choked on the protein bar. Wes thought she was pretty? It had to be a line. A come-on. There was no way on earth she was the least bit pretty.
The Heart Beneath Page 6