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unbearably sad.”
    She molded herself to him once more, as though she belonged there. “I don’t want to die with regrets, wondering why I didn’t try to go after my dreams. And I have to say, if I did kick the bucket right now? Sure, I’d be pissed that I didn’t get there, but at least I have the satisfaction of knowing I was on my way.”
    Scott’s heart constricted as he fought the urge to tell her that she’d made him think more, feel more, in the past few hours than he probably had in ten years. If ever. That, suddenly and inexplicably, the thought of never seeing her again bothered him far more than the possibility of not making it out alive.
    But he didn’t dare say that.
    Not in words, at least.
    “Christina?” he whispered, waiting for her face to lift to his before cupping her cheek. “This is nuts, but I want—” He swallowed.
    “Go for it, Bucko,” she whispered, then softly laughed, low in her throat. “Not like anybody’s gonna know but us.”
    Or at least that’s what he thought she said over his pounding heart as he lowered his mouth to hers.

Chapter Three
    “Holy hell! Found ’em—!”
    “They okay—?”
    “Think so, although the gal looks like she’s stuck. Frank! Hernando! Get your butts over here, now!”
    Jerked awake, Scott batted at the bright light searing his eyes…until it registered that was the sun shining in his face.
    “Hey, buddy—how’re you doing?”
    Scott shook the last remnants of sleep and disbelief from his brain as Christina stirred in his arms, then let out a little cry. Although whether from relief, surprise or pain, Scott couldn’t tell.
    “I’m fine, but she’s—”
    “Yeah, we can see that,” the rescuer said, his voice graveled with both age and what had undoubtedly been a very long night.
    “It’s okay, sweetheart, we’re gonna get you outta there in two shakes.” Then, to Scott, “You did good, keeping her warm like that.
    Can you walk?”
    “Yes. At least,” he said as he tried to stretch out his cold, stiff muscles, “I could before I fell asleep—”
    “Good,” the rescuer said as three or four other people appeared, bustling around Christina, “’Cause I need you outta the way so the paramedics can do their thing—”
    “But—”
    “Go check on your family,” Christina said, her voice rough, “they must be worried sick.” When he still hesitated, she shut her eyes and commanded, “Go.”
    “I’ll be back. I swear,” he said, although he doubted she’d heard him.
    Stooped over, he crawled through the tunnel the rescuers had made in the destruction, releasing a nauseous gasp when he emerged into what looked like the set from a disaster movie.
    Momentarily paralyzed, Scott struggled to absorb the scene as dozens of rescuers, some in National Guard uniforms, swarmed around him—the odd wall, still inexplicably standing; the sunlight dancing across the glass-littered ground, glancing off twisted pieces of what Scott realized in horror was a small plane; rows of seats, the leather furniture from the lounge upended, mutilated, half-buried underneath what had been the second floor. And above it all, framing the destruction, the blue, cloudless sky, serene and still and contrite, as though denying the fury it had unleashed only hours before.
    “Scott! Thank God!”
    He wheeled around to see Blake and Mike striding toward him, dusty and muddy and scratched up, but otherwise okay, and his head snapped back to the present. Then his cousin, Victoria, her dark curls a tangled, filthy mess, appeared, squealing as she threw her arms around each one’s neck in turn, all of them talking at once.
    “—ceiling caved in so we couldn’t get out—”
    “—Javier’s in bad shape, they’ve already taken him to the hospital, Miguel’s with him—”
    “—Dad’s in an ambulance, something about chest pains—”
    “—Mom’s got a broken wrist—”
    “—but they had to give her something to calm her down,” Victoria put