Melinda’s Wolves(86)

He was alive. That was all that mattered.

“I found another one,” someone yelled on the other side of the debris.

Several men scrambled to help, including Trace. “How many men were on top? I thought I saw four?”

“That’s right. I was only a few feet away. Three of the workers, including Marcos over there, and the site inspector.”

Trace froze. He grabbed the man who’d spoken by the arm and yanked him back. “The inspector?”

“Yeah, Keegan Phillips.”

All of the blood rushed from Trace’s face. He continued to grip the man by the biceps to avoid collapsing. He finally closed his mouth and swallowed. “Are you sure?” he whispered.

The man tipped his head to one side and furrowed his brow, nodding. “I saw them. In fact, I turned around as soon as the scaffolding started to creak. Phillips was up there.” The guy jerked out of Trace’s grasp and jumped toward the second victim.

Someone grabbed Trace’s other arm. He twisted his face to find Corbin. “I can’t find Keegan.”

Trace almost lost it. He wanted to drop to his knees and pray to any higher being who would listen to him, but that wouldn’t do any good. He needed to shake out of it and start digging.

Something on his face must have alerted Corbin to the state of affairs because Corbin’s eyes went huge. “Fuck.”

At once, both men turned toward the rubble and started digging. They were ill-equipped to make much of a difference with their bare hands and deputy uniforms hindering their progress, but that didn’t stop them.

Trace heard Mitch shouting over the noise, yelling out instructions to everyone around. Any attempt to turn the chaos into a structured search for survivors was completely ignored in the haste every man felt to remove pieces of wood, rebar, concrete, and poles. Their friends, co-workers, and comrades were buried alive.

And Trace’s mate and best friend was under this pile of debris.

All Trace’s physical energy was spent digging as fast as he could. All his mental energy was spent blocking Melinda and ignoring her growing alarm. She could tell he was upset. He hadn’t been able to keep that from her. But so far, every comment she made in his head sounded level. She didn’t know.

Trace sat back on his heels and lifted his face to the sky as it occurred to him he needed to try and contact Keegan telepathically. It was worth the effort.

“Keegan. Man. Answer me.”

Nothing.

“Keegan.” He tried shouting through their connection as if it would make a difference.

Nothing.

That didn’t mean jack, however. If Keegan was knocked out, he wouldn’t be able to respond.

Trace resumed lifting two-by-fours and tossing them behind him. How had this much rubble come from a simple structure of scaffolding?

Shouting erupted once again as the second man was pulled from the debris.

Trace stared at the limp body being pulled out, wishing it were Keegan and feeling like a heel for not praising the rescue of someone else. He turned back to the section he was working on. Mitch grabbed his arm, jerking him until he met his gaze. “We’ll find him. We will,” he insisted. His face was eerily concerned—inhuman, eyes wide, mouth open, the fear so evident Trace thought Mitch felt this tragedy deeper than himself. Which was absurd.

Trace turned back to the rubble.

They’d been mated only three days. Not long enough. It would destroy Melinda if Keegan wasn’t found alive.

It would destroy Trace. They’d been friends their entire lives. This could not be happening.

Melinda interrupted his thoughts. “Damnit, Trace. What the hell is going on? Your emotions are all over the place. And I can’t reach Keegan at all. If you don’t talk to me, I swear to God…”

Trace stiffened, but he had no choice but to pretend he didn’t hear her. What could he possibly say?

No. All of his energy had to go into finding their third mate and saving his life at all costs. There was no other option.

A giant beam of light suddenly covered the area.

Trace lifted his gaze to squint up at the addition. He hadn’t noticed it had begun to grow dark.

Shit. Melinda. They’d told her not to leave work until one of them could come get her. Fuck.

Trace was about to make contact with her when a high-pitched female cry filled the air. He knew that voice, and he whipped his head to the side to find Melinda running toward him. The look on her face was full of something he’d never seen and hoped he never saw again.

Fury.

He opened his mouth to speak—to tell her not to get so close—to promise her things he couldn’t guarantee—to chew her out for leaving work without an escort.

But she kept coming, her face a tight ball of anger.