WHEN THEY RETURNED TO MEMPHIS, ATKINS AND Elizabeth were exhausted. Nursing a headache, Elizabeth took some aspirin and went to lie down. Meanwhile, the earthquake command center was rolling in high gear. Another round of GPS data was due by satellite transmission within an hour. And Guy Thompson’s people were running computer simulations of the latest aftershock activity along the greatly expanded seismic zone. Each pass helped them scope out in sharper, ever clearer detail the length and breadth of the new fault.
Using Elizabeth’s samples from the fissure, a team of scientists at the University of Illinois at Champaign-Urbana were already working on the radiocarbon analysis. The results weren’t expected for another five hours.
Elizabeth unrolled a sleeping bag in one of the equipment rooms in the library annex. A long worktable was piled with spare parts for seismographs—starters, timing circuits, pendulums. The room was poorly heated but had the luxury of privacy. The men slept between the stacks on the floor of the library, grabbing a few hours whenever they could. Elizabeth rated her own space.
She’d just slipped into her sleeping bag when someone rapped lightly on the door. It was John Atkins. He’d scrounged a cup of milk, which he’d heated on a butane stove.
“This might help you sleep,” he said. “It works with me—especially when I mix in a good shot of bourbon. Unfortunately, we’re fresh out of bourbon.” He grinned. “You’d think something like that would be illegal in Tennessee.”
Elizabeth took a few sips, holding the warm cup with both hands. “That’s nice,” she said, smiling. “Sit with me for a few minutes. I’d like the company.”
Atkins sat next to her, his back against the wall. She curled into the crook of his arm. She felt sleep coming.
“Thank you for today,” she said, looking up at him.
He kissed her, gently. Then she put her hand against the side of his face, and they embraced.
“Hold me,” she said.
“Go to sleep,” he said softly. All the old emotions were rushing back, the wonderful sensation of just being close to a woman. And he did care for Elizabeth Holleran. He’d known that since their wild trip across the Mississippi. She was cool under pressure, caring, and incredibly bright. She’d shown nothing but courage and conviction since she’d arrived in Memphis.
There was something else, too. He loved to look at her. She was a beautiful woman.
Snuggling closer to him, she said, “I’ll be awake the next time. Promise you’ll be there when I wake up.”
He kissed her on the lips. Then she was quiet. He felt her go to sleep in his arms and must have dozed off himself, sliding down next to her on the warm sleeping bag.
He hadn’t planned on that. It happened so quickly he was asleep before he knew it. Awakened, he had no idea how long he’d been out. Elizabeth was sitting next to him. She was slowly, gently unbuttoning his shirt.
He touched her and felt her breasts against his chest. She’d already opened her shirt and slipped off her bra. He glimpsed the long, wonderful legs as she straddled him. He twisted slightly so that he could unbuckle his trousers. Elizabeth pulled the sleeping bag over them and lay on top of him, touching him ever lower with her hands as they embraced.
He started to say something, to tell her that he loved her. There was so much to say, and he was still groggy with sleep. He hadn’t said enough the last time he loved someone. This was a second chance. A gift. He wanted Elizabeth to know how much he cared for her.
“I love you,” he said.
She touched his lips. “Keep saying that. I won’t ever get tired of hearing it.”
He kissed her deeply, clasping his hands around her waist, afraid even then of losing her. He’d take her as far as she wanted. As far as she’d let him.