Chapter One

      The show must go on.

      Those were the first words that popped into Kimberly Lydell’s head when she felt the beginnings of the earthquake right through the seat of her panty hose. She’d been through plenty of California earthquakes and knew that’s where you felt it first. In your butt, if you were sitting down. No big deal.

      So she kept on reading the news report from the teleprompter as if nothing were wrong, looking straight into the camera, forcing an easy smile.

      “In the Mideast, the prime minister of…”

      She grabbed the studio set to steady herself as the vibrations of the earth escalated to an undulating roll. Overhead, the kleig lights began to swing in ever-increasing arcs. A roar like an approaching subway train resonated through the studio walls and shook the floor.

      “…We seem to be experiencing…”

      “Geez, let’s get out of here!” Her co-anchor for the local six o’clock news kicked back the stool he was sitting on and made a dive for the far side of the room.

      The cameraman and floor director headed for the exit, and in the control booth the show’s director waved frantically at Kim to get off the set.

      She got the message.

      But trying to move was like fighting a riptide. The floor rose and fell in angry waves. The noise was ear-shattering. A camera fell over. A light crashed to the floor. The plywood desk where she’d been sitting offered no protection. Nowhere safe to duck, cover and hold.

      Struggling like a drunken sailor, Kim got her legs tangled in her mike cord. She yanked herself free, only to trip over a cable in her now-frantic effort to escape. Panic clawed at her. She’d never been at the epicenter of an earthquake. Now she suspected she was. A big one.

      In response to a high-pitched screeching sound, she looked up. The overhead light right above her had broken free. The screws pulled loose.

      That was the last image she had before the room fell into total darkness. An agonizing pain sliced across the left side of her face. Screaming in terror, she fell to the floor. An instant later something impossibly heavy collapsed on her, pinning her legs. Dust filled her lungs.

      And then there was only eerie silence followed by the sound of sirens.

      THE FIRE ENGINE from Station Six roared to a stop outside the KPRX-TV building. Jay Tolliver hopped out as he had a hundred times before in response to fires, explosions and other disasters, man-made and otherwise. The earthquake had been a substantial one. He’d heard calls for help coming into dispatch from all over Paseo del Real, a moderate-size town in central California.

      Their dispatcher, Emma Jean Witkowsky, had loudly announced between calls that she’d predicted this was earthquake weather. She hadn’t, of course. But that never stopped her from claiming she had psychic powers—all due to her gypsy blood, she assured them.

      A controlled surge of adrenaline shot through Jay as he pulled his helmet down tight. His job was to concentrate on this one building, saving lives and property where he could—the former more important than the latter.

      In the cab of the truck, the fire station’s mascot, Mack Buttons, a chocolate dalmatian, waited to see if he’d be called upon to calm traumatized children—or adults. Everyone at Station Six had a job to do.

      The battalion chief was already at the scene shouting orders.

      “Tolliver and Gables, we’ve got a partial collapse of the back third of the building and reports there are still victims inside. Do a preliminary search.” He turned away quickly and ordered another pair of men into the neighboring building that had fared somewhat better, at least from outward appearances.

      Jay snagged a fire ax and so did Mike Gables. Together they jogged toward the TV building’s entrance. In the adjacent parking lot, car sirens set off by the earthquake screamed. Lights from emergency vehicles flashed red across the Spanish-style stucco building and the surrounding scaffolding that suggested the TV station had been in the process of remodeling—or maybe earthquake proofing.

      Too little too late, Jay thought grimly.

      He pushed through the front door into a lobby where only an emergency light shone from high up on the wall. The floor was covered with broken stucco and the furniture had been rearranged as though by some decorator gone mad.

      Gables said, “Looks like KPRX evening news is off the air.”

      Flicking on his flashlight, Jay thought about Kimberly Lydell, the news anchor with the face of an angel and the smoky voice of a blues singer. He’d known her in high school but only from a distance. With a typical eighteen-year-old’s raging libido, every time he’d heard her voice back then he’d gotten aroused. The past dozen years hadn’t changed anything. Watching her on the tube was still an exercise in frustration—she’d gone from sixteen-year-old prom queen material to star quality.

      He hoped to God she wasn’t one of the victims trapped inside this old building.

      They made their way along the hallway to the stairs.

      “Anybody here?” Jay shouted, his voice muffled by the hard plastic shield in front of his face.

      Cautiously they started up the stairs. Gables was a good partner to have. Experienced. Someone you felt safe with protecting your back.

      On the second floor the debris was thicker, glass and plaster under their feet. A beam down. They’d passed the door to the first office when they heard a sound.

      “I’ll check it out,” Gables said.

      Jay kept going down the hallway. An electrical wire dangled from the ceiling, clicking a slow rhythm against the wall. No danger there unless they suddenly regained power. Then the wire would be hot and could start a fire.

      “Help!”

      He stopped in his tracks. The call had been weak. Female.

      “Help me!” she cried again.

      He followed the sound. “Keep talking, lady. I’ll find you.”

      “In here.”

      Giving his shoulder to a jammed door, he pushed it open and swept the room with his flashlight. A broadcast studio, he realized, and his adrenaline kicked up a notch. Kimberly did the six o’clock local news. He ought to know. Like most of the men in Paseo del Real, he caught it as often as he could. The earthquake had struck at 6:14. It was probably 6:45 by now.

      Whoever was here had been stuck for a half hour. Dangerous business.

      The beam of his flashlight zeroed in on a woman with collar-length blond hair. His gut clenching, he called on all of his professional training to keep calm. Not to race in there and make matters worse.

      Pressing the talk key on the mike attached to his jacket, Jay said, “I’ve got a female victim on the second floor, third door on the right. I’m going in.”

      Gables’s voice warned him to be careful. His male victim was conscious and Mike was moving him to safety. He’d be back.

      “Please…I’m…hurt.”

      “Stay put. I’m on my way.” Jay worked his way around toppled cameras and other debris. The roof had collapsed on the far side of the room, bringing down part of the ceiling with it. A wooden beam, one of those heavy Spanish-style numbers, had fallen into the middle of things. It’d be hell to drag out of there on his own and he saw immediately that the beam was resting right across her legs.

      He knelt