The Will to Love
Rubbing his chest above his heart, Quinn tried to pay attention as Morgan explained what was expected of him and his fire team.
“You’re to set up an H.Q. with Kerry. She’s your civilian liaison or counterpart. Without her, you’d be a duck out of water. She knows the turf, the people and the area. Twenty-seven years old and a graduate of law enforcement, she was on the fast track in the sheriff’s department.
“Right now, Kerry needs help in continuing to organize the people, to keep peace and to stop the slide into chaos that’s happening more and more. People are desperate. They need water, and are willing to steal from others to get it. Kerry is trying her best to locate a well in her area, but so far, no luck. Even if they do find one, there’s no guarantee it will have clean water, given the lack of sewage facilities.”
“Our mission, then,” Quinn murmured, “is threefold, right? We’re to try and hunt down Diablo and corral them. We’re to help Kerry Chelton set up an H.Q. And lastly, we’re to help organize the area so it doesn’t disintegrate into turf wars over water and food?”
“You got it,” Morgan said, satisfaction vibrating in his voice. “Now, you may find that one of those three takes priority. We don’t know which one that might be yet, so be flexible and let this thing evolve as the situation develops. Kerry has been working hard for two weeks to set up some kind of organized response. She’s been instrumental in bringing civilians together and getting them to work with one another. What she needs is muscle. And that’s where you and your team come in. You’re military, and people will respect that more than anything. With Diablo ranging across Kerry’s area, people are going ballistic. Your presence alone should help calm a lot of fears.” Morgan turned to another page in his file.
“The Diablo have an MO—modus operandi—of going into a house they think might have a stash of food or water. They move in small groups, maybe one to four men. The men talk with the house owners, pretending to be part of the rescue effort, and ask if they have children.” Morgan’s voice deepened with fury. “If the answer is yes, one member will find and hold the child hostage, at gunpoint. Then the rest of the pack come out of hiding and ransack the house for food, water, money, jewelry. The home owners are helpless. They can’t stop them. They don’t want their children hurt. To date, Diablo have already killed five people, not including the two Marine Corps pilots. They don’t tolerate any rebellion by anyone.”
“They shoot first and ask questions later,” Quinn muttered, anger stirring in him again. It was one thing to prey on adults, quite another to involve innocent children. His mouth flattened. Right now, he’d like nothing better than to get his hands on the leader of that gang.
“Exactly.”
“Do you know who’s heading up Diablo?”
“No, but Kerry thinks she knows and is trying to piece it together for us. She’s been trying to shadow their movements.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“Sure it is,” Moran agreed, “but she’s fearless, that woman. She’s been tailing them without their knowledge whenever she gets a chance. She calls in their last position, and that helps us keep tabs on them, and to protect helicopter crews flying into that area. Right now, it’s a cat-and-mouse game. We keep changing our landing area to outwit Diablo and get basic goods to the civilians. And on days when she can’t detect them in Area Five, the helo goes back to the original LZ, which is her H.Q. set up at the destroyed shopping center. That’s where you’ll be flown into today.” Morgan’s mouth quirked. “But that’ll go only so far. What we need is the gang captured and extricated. We’ve got a brig cell waiting for those bastards.”
“Then you’ve come to the right team, sir. We’ll find them and be Thor’s hammer to ’em.”
Grinning sourly, Morgan studied the marine, whose face was dark with anger and set with determination. “Thor’s hammer” was an old saying in the corps. Morgan could recall many times when, as young officers during the Vietnam War, he and his friends at an officers’ club would toast to Odin, Norse king of the gods. The Norse god of thunder, Thor, hurled thunderbolts at his enemies. Yes, Quinn was no doubt going to be Thor’s “hammer”—his lightning bolt—in this situation. Morgan had full confidence in him.
“We’re counting heavily on you, Quinn. You’ve worked twice with me on important missions and I know you’re a warrior at heart. You have the medical background. If anyone can track down Diablo, you can. You come from Kentucky hill people, and they’re the best hunters and trackers in the business. That’s one of the reasons I chose you—you’re one hell of a bird dog on a scent.”
Laughing shortly, Quinn nodded. “Yes, sir, I am.”
Morgan straightened and placed his hands over the file. “Just try to get along with Deputy Chelton, okay? That’s the one fly in this ointment. I know you’d rather work with men. That’s your background and I understand that. But Kerry is exceptional, Quinn, and I feel you two will make a hell a team. Dodge is infested with bad guys, so to speak, and she needs some muscle to help get them out of there.”
“Then you’ve come to the right person, sir.” Quinn felt a lethal resolve flow through him as he met and held Morgan’s deep blue gaze. “We won’t let you down. My team and I have been together nearly two years. We know each other’s thoughts, and we’ve been battle tested. I want Diablo more than most, sir. I don’t believe in using children as shields. That’s unforgivable.”
“It is,” Morgan agreed unhappily. “Everyone’s traumatized by the quake. Having these survivalists roving around and adding to the chaos, endangering and scaring children and killing adults, isn’t acceptable. We all need to pull together, work together in order to survive this nightmare.”
“I’ll try my best to work with Deputy Chelton,” he promised Morgan. More than anything, Quinn wanted Morgan’s respect.
“Do your best, Corporal Grayson. She’s an exceptional woman, not to mention a savvy police officer. We’re lucky to have her.” Morgan held out his hand. “Good luck, Quinn, to you and your men. Get your gear together, take this set of orders and hotfoot it out to LZ Echo for an 0800 takeoff. Kerry’s expecting you.”
As Morgan shook his hand, Quinn tried to ignore the photo of Kerry Chelton resting in his lap on the opened file. A woman. What bad luck. Somehow, though, Quinn would try to make the best of it. Was she another Frannie? A social climber? Could he trust this Kerry Chelton?
His emotions smarted at those unanswered questions. Where he’d grown up, women didn’t become police officers. They were wives and mothers and that was it.
And he was going to jump from the frying pan into the fire today. Figuring out how much or little he could trust Chelton would be his first order of business. Until he knew that, they were technically all at risk, and Quinn wasn’t about to get his head shot off because some woman was involved in the plan.
No, he’d go in distrusting her completely.
Chapter Two
January 14: 0830
For the first time since the earthquake, Kerry Chelton felt hope. It wasn’t much more than a thin, fragile thread, but it began to take root in her traumatized heart and lifted her flagging spirits. Dressed in the dark green slacks and tan, long-sleeved blouse that was her sheriff’s deputy uniform, a silver badge over her left pocket, she stood at the ready on the massive asphalt parking lot of the destroyed shopping center as she watched two U.S. Marine Corps helicopters landing.
A sudden, unexpected sense of joy enveloped her. She was getting help. Help! Oh, how badly she needed some.
Putting her hands up to protect her eyes from flying debris kicked up by the rotors, she surveyed the group of twenty people standing around her. Patient and respectful, as they were waiting eagerly for the first Huey, which was carrying a crucial supply of bottled water, to land. The water would be distributed at the other end of the shopping complex, where Kerry had had her people build a makeshift depot out of bricks and other material taken from destroyed buildings. On other days, when Diablo was “active” in her area, Kerry would redirect the helo to a safer LZ. The supplies would be distributed from that location instead. This morning there had been no activity with Diablo, so the original LZ was put into use.
Her gaze moved to the second Huey, which she knew was bearing the five marines Morgan Trayhern had sent. Morgan had been her lifeline since she’d cobbled the generator and radio together. His deep, soothing voice over the radio day after day had given her hope and kept her sanity intact. Now he had sent her reinforcements to help keep Area Five stable. Morgan had spoken enthusiastically of the leader of this fire team, Corporal Quinn Grayson, who was a marine as well as an EMT. God knew, Area Five needed medical intervention! She could hardly wait to meet him.
Deep within her, Kerry knew she was still pulverized by shock because of the recent traumatic events. She had felt nothing, emotionally, for two weeks. Now a trickle of hope wound through her pounding heart as the Huey with the marines landed within two hundred feet of her. Kerry spread her feet apart in order to remain standing against the buffeting wind. As the Huey powered down, she saw the door slide open.
The first marine to jump down had to be Quinn Grayson, Kerry decided. She could tell by the authority in his stance that he was the leader. Tall and broad-shouldered, he clutched an M-16 in his hands as he warily looked around. When he turned and snapped an order, four more marines disembarked, on guard and alert.
Instantly, as she watched him walk away from the helicopter and eye the knot of people around her, Kerry liked Grayson. He was looking for her, she knew. She was his contact. Stepping forward, she saw him halt and stare at her assessingly. Was she friend or enemy? Pain in the butt or help? Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest for a moment. That was an odd reaction, Kerry thought, as she walked quickly toward him.
She hadn’t smiled in two weeks, but she did now—a smile of welcome, but also of relief. Although she could carry a heavy load on her broad-shouldered five-foot-eleven frame, this disaster had stressed her out completely. And Grayson looked strong, capable and powerful as he stood there looking at her through narrowed, dark blue eyes. Kerry felt his gaze move over her as she closed the distance between them. Behind her, she heard the footsteps of her volunteers as they moved toward the other Huey. As usual, they would carry the boxes of precious water to the “store” at the other end of the shopping center for distribution.
As Kerry drew within ten feet of Quinn, her heart soared unexpectedly, with such a rush of happiness that it shook her completely. The marine had an oval face with a firm-looking chin. Though his lips were thinned, she could see he had a wide mouth, with laugh lines deeply indented at each corner. His nose was long and straight, the nostrils flaring as she approached, as if to pick up her scent. He seemed as much wild animal as human to her, and yet the quality of danger surrounding Grayson made Kerry feel secure for the first time since the quake. This marine knew how to protect; she could feel it in her bones. His black brows made dark slashes above his glittering blue gaze. The color of his eyes reminded Kerry of the glacial ice up in Alaska, where she’d taken a cruise with her now deceased husband, Lee Chelton. The color was most unusual—almost unearthly—and Kerry thought it looked like the color of heaven, such was its ethereal beauty. Quinn’s pupils were large and black, and she saw intelligence gleaming there, as well as surprise. Why the surprise? she wondered, as she lifted her hand to wave, her mouth pulling into a relieved smile.
“Corporal Grayson? I’m Kerry Chelton. Welcome to our little corner of the world.”
During the helo flight in Area Five, Quinn had decided to keep things on a business level and not be very friendly. Now, as the tall, willowy woman in the sheriff’s deputy uniform held out her cut, dirty hand, he felt his resolve falter. The black-and-white photo he’d seen of Kerry Chelton had done nothing to prepare him for the woman before him now, her short, tousled brown hair rife with gold highlights as it framed her heart-shaped face. Maybe it was the look of relief in her huge gray eyes that touched his hardened heart. Or, maybe it was the way the corners of her mouth softened and her lower lip trembled as she welcomed him.
Quinn didn’t know what magic was at work, but suddenly he transferred his weapon to his left hand and thrust out his right hand to enclose hers. Kerry Chelton looked utterly worn-out. He saw the dark smudges beneath her incredibly beautiful eyes, which now sparkled with unshed tears. Something inside him made him want to open his arms, pull her into them and hold her. The relief in her gaze, the sudden emotion revealed in her dirt-smudged face, got to him. She was melting his armor with her unsure smile and sparkling tears, Quinn thought as he saw her swallow convulsively, struggling to hold back her emotions. Because he’d been so hurt by a woman, Quinn struggled to remain wary. Somehow this woman was opening him up and he had no control over it. The last thing Quinn wanted was to allow himself to get emotionally close to her.
Her hand was warm and firm in his, though he was careful of how much pressure he exerted on her long, slender fingers. Shocked by how dirty she was, he reminded himself that none of these people had water to wash or bathe. Her hair was mussed, in dire need of a comb, shampoo and water.
“I’m Corporal Grayson,” he told her, speaking loudly in order to be heard over the shriek of the helicopters.
“Pleased to meet you. Come on, let’s go to my ‘office.’” She grinned and pointed toward the shopping center. Wild, fleeting tingles ran up her fingers and arm and cascaded into her heart, which was thumping without pause. Grayson’s stony persona, combined with the fact that he was a marine, gave her such hope. If the truth was known, Kerry wanted to simply fall into his arms to be held. She knew that wasn’t possible—that it was only her knee-jerk reaction in the midst of the shock and trauma—but there was something wonderfully secure about this marine. She’d seen his icy blue eyes turn warm as their hands met in welcome. And the way he’d wrapped his long, strong fingers around hers had made Kerry feel protected and…something else. She couldn’t identify the emotion right now, with all the activity going on around her.
Quinn raised his hand in a silent order for his team to follow him as Kerry took the lead. On his left shoulder, a radio was attached to the epaulet of the camouflage jacket he wore over his flak vest. Pressing the button and turning his head to speak into it, he told the helicopter pilots of both birds to lift off, that contact had been made.
The Huey helicopters, flown by Lieutenants Galway and McGregor, had off-loaded the water. The helo’s engine changed pitch and, within a minute, lifted off to head back to Camp Reed. Quinn walked with his men spread out behind him like a V of geese following their leader. They each remained on guard, their rifles locked and loaded. Quinn wasn’t taking any chances. They were in enemy territory as far as he was concerned. Ahead of them, Kerry walked quickly toward a makeshift structure with a roof that was nothing more than a piece of corrugated tin laid awkwardly on top. The “house” had been painstakingly put together with wire, broken blocks and other material obviously retrieved from the destroyed shopping center. The entire three-story mall, which was at least a quarter mile long, had collapsed. Quinn had not seen this level of destruction yet, and he felt stunned by what the powerful quake had done. It was unimaginable to him. Unthinkable. Horrifying.
Kerry halted in front of the small shack in the midst of the rubble. “This is it, Corporal Grayson.” She gestured toward the hovel. “My home.” It hurt to say those words. Her real home, a block away from the sheriff’s facility, was now nothing but broken brick, shattered glass and a twisted roof.
Quinn halted near Kerry and looked at the structure. There were several yellow wool blankets strung across the front, one serving as a door. Looking around, he saw the team of volunteers trundling the boxes of bottled water toward the other end of the shopping center.
Kerry followed his gaze. “They’re taking the water to our distribution center,” she told him.
“There’s no fighting about who gets what?”
Shaking her head, Kerry said, “Not yet…but people are real desperate, Corporal. Real desperate.”
At that moment, a little black-haired girl around seven years old stumbled sleepily from behind the blanketed door. She was dressed in a grungy pink flannel nightgown that showed off her toothpick legs and the red socks on her feet. As the little girl rubbed her sleepy eyes, Kerry instantly moved forward and scooped her up in her arms.
Turning, she said to Grayson, “This is Petula. Her parents are…well, in heaven….” She sent Quinn a pleading look, obviously asking him to play along with her. “I found her trapped in her home and we dug her out ten days ago. Petula stays with me now….”
Mouth turning downward, Quinn watched as Petula, who had shining brown eyes and long black hair, wrapped her thin arms around Kerry’s neck and rested her head on her shoulder.
“I’m hungry, Kerry,” she whimpered.
“I know, Pet, I know,” Kerry soothed, moving her hand gently across the child’s tiny shoulders. “I’ll see what I can find, okay?”
Quinn’s scowl deepened. Like each of his men, he had on an eighty-pound pack filled with food. “I’ve got an MRE—meal ready to eat—with eggs, bacon and hash browns. How about if I get that warmed up for her?”
Heart expanding, Kerry bit back her tears. “Oh…that would be wonderful!” Relief washed over her as she stood there holding Petula in her arms. Since Kerry had found her, the little girl had cried often, wanting her parents, and Kerry had told her they’d gone to heaven and would watch over her from there. There was no way she would tell Petula that her parents were trapped inside their house, dead. Each day Kerry tried to keep the child busy with small activities, and she slept with her each night after she finished her patrol of the area, keeping her arms wrapped around the little girl to give her a sense of safety in a world gone mad.
Turning, Grayson gave his men orders to spread out, reconnoiter the entire shopping center area. His fire team consisted of three privates and a lance corporal. He assigned Private Orvil Perkins, a Virginia hill boy, to guard the center against fighting or stealing, and make sure the distribution of water went quickly and quietly. Then he gave LCPL Beau Parish orders to check out the rest of the shopping center with Privates Cliff Ludlow and Lewis Worth. Parish was a North Carolina Eastern Cherokee Indian, and a damn fine tracker and hunter. Right now, Quinn was grateful that his men had been with him nearly two years and could be trusted. They each carried a radio on their left shoulder, so could stay in touch no matter where they were. At the first sign of trouble, Quinn would be notified.
He turned to Kerry. “Do members of the Diablo gang wear any kind of special clothing or symbols so my men might see them coming?”
She nodded. “Yes, they wear white headbands.” Grimacing, she whispered, “But they aren’t always so obvious. When one or two infiltrate a neighborhood, they look like us.” She glanced down at herself and gave a wry grimace. “Unclean and smelly. They only put the headband on after they’ve taken a hostage.”
“I hear you,” Quinn muttered with a scowl. “Okay, men, spread out. Be eyes and ears at this stage. Anything odd, call me immediately. I’ll be here with Deputy Chelton trying to come up to speed on what we’re up against. When you’re done with your reconnoiter, come back here. Understand?”
The four marines nodded.
“All except you, Perkins,” Grayson ordered. “You stay at the distribution center. Look like you mean business.”
Once his men headed off to follow his orders, Quinn glanced over at Kerry, who was gently kissing Petula’s smudged forehead. A sudden, unexpected ache built in him as he watched her full, soft lips caress the child’s wrinkled brow. What would it be like to be caressed like that? To capture her mouth beneath his?
His thoughts were so startling, coming as they did during the present situation, that they rocked Quinn completely. On the way here, he’d been mentally trying to shut out Sheriff Deputy Chelton. Well, that was going to be impossible. She was more attractive in real life, even if she was dirty and unkempt. And her natural, womanly warmth reached out and touched him on this cold, windy January morning.
His scowl deepened as he watched her gently rock Petula. The child had her arms around Kerry’s neck, her eyes closed as she snuggled tightly beneath her chin. Kerry seemed so very maternal to Quinn in that moment. And when she lifted her dark, thick lashes to look at him, he growled, “Come on. Let’s get this girl and you something decent to eat in there.”
He pointed toward the hovel Kerry called home. The idea that this pile of bricks, broken boards and drywall could be called a shelter left a bad taste in Quinn’s mouth. But such were the living conditions for many Americans on this fourteenth day after the killer quake. Thinning his lips, Quinn pulled back the blanket to allow Kerry and the child to enter.
Inside, Grayson locked his rifle and set it down. Under no circumstances did he want Petula fingering the trigger mechanism and firing it off by accident. That would be unthinkable, so he made certain the safety mechanism was secure.
“Have a seat,” Kerry invited softly, kneeling down on the floor, which she’d covered with some Oriental rugs she’d found at the shopping center. At least they didn’t have to sleep on dirt like a lot of other people had to do.
Quinn grunted and went to a corner where he saw a hole dug in the ground, charred bits of wood and ash around it. Shrugging out of his pack, he set it on the floor, careful not to lean it against the rickety wall, which probably wouldn’t take its full weight.
“Helluva place you live in,” he muttered, opening the pack with quick, sure movements.
Kerry raised one eyebrow. “Corporal? Could you watch your language? This little girl here doesn’t need to hear cursing.”
Biting back a reply, he nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry,” he replied, glancing uneasily at Kerry, who was sitting cross-legged on the rug, the child in her arms, the girl’s head resting against her breast as she sucked her thumb. Kerry was smiling down at Petula and gently threading her fingers through the child’s tangled black hair.
“Is this your first time in the basin?” she asked Quinn.
“First time,” he answered. He pulled out some food packets. In all, he had twenty. Lining them up in order of breakfast, lunch and dinner, he opened the first one and put a heating tab beneath it to warm it up.
Kerry’s mouth watered as the odor of bacon and eggs filled the space. Her stomach clenched in hunger as she watched the marine handle the MRE with deft, sure movements. There was nothing soft or vulnerable about Corporal Grayson. No, he was all-business. The dark look on his face told Kerry a lot. Shock was written in his eyes, even though he tried to hide it from her as he worked quietly.
Taking utensils from his pack, he readied the plate of eggs and bacon. The look on Kerry’s face as he handed it to her made him flinch inwardly.
“How long since you ate last?”
Shrugging, Kerry said, “I don’t know. I’m so busy, so tired most of the time, that I forget about things like that.”
Quinn watched with fascination as she sat Petula in front of her, gave her the warmed tray and placed the fork in her hand. Immediately, the child began stuffing the eggs into her mouth, hot or not.
“Take it easy….” Kerry whispered to Petula. “If you eat too fast, you’ll throw it up, honey. And you want to keep down what you’re eating. Okay?”