by Brenda Novak
Only he wasn’t acting as though he had any interest in raping her. He didn’t even seem particularly interested in shooting her. He looked as though he was going directly for…the water!
Tossing the gun almost carelessly out of reach, he eased himself up and began to slip the strap of her purse over her head. That was when Gabrielle made her move. Suddenly bucking and writhing, she managed to knock him off balance just enough to twist out from under him. He grabbed her with his right hand—an instinctive action, she guessed, judging by the expletive that came out of his mouth when his injured hand couldn’t hold her. By the time he corrected his error and tried to anchor her with his left, she had the gun.
“Get up,” she said, scooting farther away and aiming the muzzle at his chest. The hot ground had burned her back through the fabric of her shirt, and she’d taken a few cactus spines in her hand when she’d lunged for the gun, but adrenaline was pumping through her body by the gallon and she could hardly feel a thing as she forced her shaky legs to support her.
Her purse, and the water in it, lay between them. Fortunately, the cap was the screw type and had survived their little tussle.
She watched Tucker’s eyes flick toward the jug as he got slowly to his feet.
“Take a short drink, then shove the water over here,” she said.
“No problem.” He shrugged, but his gaze was watchful, and Gabrielle didn’t trust his nonchalance. He closed his eyes in apparent relief as he drank, then capped the jug. But instead of pushing it her way, as she’d told him, he settled it in her purse as though it was as precious as a newborn baby and slung the strap crosswise over his body. Because of his size, the bag hit him between the shoulder blades and looked funny resting so high—and being carried by someone so masculine—but Gabrielle knew from experience why he’d want the purse to tote the water.
“Give me the water and the rest of my stuff, or I’ll shoot,” she warned. “It’s over. We’re going back now.”
He seemed to take her measure, then shook his head. “I don’t think so, Hadley.”
Gabrielle’s heart started beating so loudly she had trouble hearing her own voice over the steady thrum in her ears. Sweat mixed with sunblock dripped into her eyes, stinging them, causing tears. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision and told herself to stay calm. She had him right where she wanted him; she just had to convince him she was in charge.
“Do as I say,” she insisted. “I don’t want to use this, but I will.”
His gaze locked onto the gun. “Have you ever killed anything before? Anyone?” he added softly.
“I’ve never had to. But I will.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, yeah?” She knew she needed absolute credibility now. Pointing to a prickly pear cactus sprawled to the left of him, she squeezed off a shot. The tip she’d been aiming at instantly disappeared, but the only acknowledgment she received from Tucker was a casual glance at the evidence of her marksmanship and a slight lift of his brows.
“So you’ve killed a cactus. Nice shootin’, Tex, but I’m afraid that isn’t going to change my mind. Whether or not you can hit me isn’t the question. Not at this range, anyway. I’m more concerned with whether or not you will.”
“I will,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady.
“No, you won’t.”
Perspiration poured down Gabrielle’s spine, beaded on her top lip, wetted the hair at her temples. “Are you willing to bet your life on that?”
“I guess I am,” he said.
She told herself to aim for a foot and pull the trigger. A violent felon stood facing her, eyes sparking with challenge. Arizona State Law authorized deadly force in two instances: when human life was at stake and/or to prevent an escape. She was within her rights.
But he wasn’t exactly attacking her, which made it feel unprovoked. Out here, even a small wound might kill him. She couldn’t drag a two-hundred-pound person across the desert for three hours to the highway. Neither could she get help in time to save him if the bullet did a little more damage than intended.
She imagined the recoil of the gun traveling up her arm, pictured his blood spilling onto the hot, parched earth, and knew he was right. She couldn’t do it. She’d never killed anything in her life, and she wasn’t about to start now, regardless of who or what he was.
They’d reached a stalemate. He wasn’t going to come with her; she wasn’t going to shoot him. Now what?
“You’re not thinking,” she said. “You could easily die out here even if I don’t shoot you.”
“Maybe. But it won’t be here and now.” He squinted at the horizon. “It’ll probably be out there somewhere. Tomorrow. Or maybe the next day.”
At least he knew how precarious his situation was. Maybe she could reason with him. “That’s exactly my point. You need water and medical treatment—”
He held up his broken hand. “And prison is just the place to get it, is that right?”
He had her there. But at least he’d stay alive in prison…probably. “This desert is over a hundred thousand square miles, Tucker. Regardless of what happened at Florence, your only chance for survival lies with me.”
“Then I have no chance,” he said, “because this is where we part company. Think of that baby waiting for you at home and take it slow on the way back. If you don’t panic and work up too much of a sweat, you can make it.”
Work up too much of a sweat? Her hands were moist and clammy on the butt of the pistol, which made it difficult to retain a firm grip, and she couldn’t blink fast enough to keep the sunblock and perspiration out of her eyes. “I won’t go back without you.”
“Yes, you will. There’s nothing else you can do,” he said, and started down the mountain as though she held nothing more dangerous than a Twinkie.
“Tucker!” She fired the weapon into the air, expecting him to dart for cover. But he didn’t. From what she could see, he didn’t even flinch.
“Don’t waste any more of that magazine,” he called over his shoulder when the echo of the report died away. “You might need a few bullets before you get back.”
She needed them now. Only she couldn’t bring herself to use them. “What am I going to need them for? We’re completely alone out here, you and I, and you’re leaving.”
“You never know who you might run into on the road.”
Gabrielle was pretty sure he was joking—an escaped convict telling her to be careful of whom she might meet—but she wasn’t in the mood for humor. “That’s all you have to say? I come clear out here to save your lousy skin, and you’re going to leave me on my own, without any water?”
“You’re trying to take me back to prison so you don’t lose your job. Am I supposed to feel indebted to you for that?”
Professional pride had figured into her initial motivation. She’d been angry that he’d taken advantage of her compassion and felt determined to bring him to justice. But it had been life-and-death considerations that had kept her trudging into the desert. “I have a baby at home, remember? Do you really think I’d be out here if my job was the only thing at stake?”
He shrugged. “Maybe you’ve got something to prove. In any case, let me give you a good piece of advice. Get going. There are coyotes and javelina and maybe even a few mountain lions out here, and none of them are too particular about what they eat if they’re hungry enough. Once the sun starts to set, even the rattlesnakes will be out foraging for food. It isn’t wise to waste much time getting back.”
“You’ll run out of water eventually. You know that, don’t you?” she said, watching him take another drink and already longing for one herself.
No answer.
“If you come back with me, I’ll put a few hundred dollars on your books so you can buy stuff from the prison store. That’s a better offer than you’re going to get from anyone else.”
Nothing.
“If you wait for the police to hunt you down, you’ll probably end up on death row.
”
He stopped halfway down the mountain and faced her, and she felt a brief flicker of hope—until she saw the sun glinting off his teeth and knew he was laughing at her. “Didn’t anyone give you an aptitude test before hiring you as a prison guard?”
She let her breath go in a long sigh and put her Glock in its holster. “No.”
“Well, they should have. I don’t think you could shoot a rabid skunk,” he said and left.
CHAPTER SIX
DIDN’T ANYONE GIVE YOU an aptitude test before hiring you as a prison guard?
She should have shot him, Gabrielle decided as she trudged wearily back the way she’d come. She would’ve been perfectly justified. But he wasn’t likely to survive in the desert, anyway. And the highway hadn’t seemed so far away then. As long as he was letting her go, she hadn’t felt in imminent danger—until now.
Gabrielle doubted it had been much more than thirty minutes since she’d seen Tucker, but already it felt like days. The desert stretched in front of her in all directions, so much the same she could be traveling in circles and never know it. And the terrible thirst! Her tongue, thick and unwieldy, seemed foreign to her mouth.
If only for a small drink, just a sip. Then she could think straight again. Then she could find her way out of this hell of cactus and sand….
Shading her eyes, she squinted into the sky and cursed the blazing sun. Would it never go down? The heat was making her stumble and weave and feel as though she might throw up. She considered sitting for a few minutes—she couldn’t seem to reach the other side of this oven-like valley—but there was no shade. Without shade, the ground was too hot to touch for more than a couple of minutes.
Licking dry lips that were already beginning to crack, she thought of the small treasures Tucker had stolen from her when he’d taken her bag. At first she’d lamented the loss of her credit cards and driver’s license, even thought she might miss, at least until payday, the thirty bucks she had in her wallet. But none of that meant anything to her anymore. At this point she longed only for her chapstick and sunblock—and water, of course. Nothing mattered more than water.
Gabrielle imagined coming face-to-face with Tucker again, the water jug between them, and thought she could very possibly shoot him now. That consoled her for a moment…until she tripped over a cactus she’d anticipated clearing and landed chest-first in the rocky, arid dirt.
“Ouch,” she cried as several sharp spines stabbed through the fabric of her pants and entered the flesh of her leg. She scrambled off the plant and yanked the spines out one by one, but even after they were gone and the stinging had faded, she couldn’t seem to gather the energy to stand. The ground below her felt as hot as the sun above, but even when her bottom began to burn, the pain wasn’t enough to motivate her to stand.
If help doesn’t arrive soon, I’m not going to make it.
It was the first time Gabrielle had allowed herself to really consider that fear. She hated giving in to it now, hated knowing discouragement would only weaken her. But at this point, the fact that she had little chance of ever seeing her baby again seemed so obviously the truth, she could no longer deny it.
David would take care of Allie; he’d never let anything happen to her. She’d been saying those words to herself over and over, only this time she followed them with a sincere prayer of thanksgiving for the man who’d been her best friend for nearly ten years. Then she pulled her knees to her chest and rested her head on them. She’d wait. Someone would come. Someone would come soon….
A rustling in the underbrush brought Gabrielle’s head up. What was that? A lizard? A pack rat? Or…a snake? The image of a rattlesnake slithering up beside her finally gave Gabrielle the adrenaline jolt she needed to get back on her feet. She jumped up and stood teetering on shaky legs, wishing the ground would stop spinning so she could tell if there was, indeed, something poisonous in the vicinity. But she couldn’t see any creatures near her, wasn’t sure what had moved, and then the soreness in her leg from the cactus collision gave her an idea. Cacti stored water to survive their harsh surroundings. If she could cut into one and extract the moisture, she might make it to the road. She’d once heard that the Pima, who’d lived in the desert during the time of the Spanish explorers, got water that way. There were certainly plenty of barrel cacti around.
Except she didn’t have a knife or anything sharp to cut into one. And she’d also read or heard somewhere that only one species of barrel cactus yielded potable water—the others were toxic. How would she tell the difference?
Did it matter? she asked herself, taking a hard look at reality. Either she found water and lived. Or she didn’t find water, in which case she was going to die anyway.
Withdrawing her pistol, she began shooting at the biggest barrel cactus she could find, but her aim was no longer true. She had to go right up next to it, just inches from the thick curved spines, to do any damage. Even then her Glock left nothing in its tough skin but small bullet holes surrounded by gunpowder residue. No water dripped out at all.
She picked up a rock with a sharp edge and tossed it from hand to hand until it cooled, then used it to chip away at the bullet-ridden cactus. The rock only made a few cuts and dents near the holes. Before long, she didn’t have the energy to continue banging away at it.
“Damn!” she cried, finally dropping the rock as tears of frustration and hopelessness welled in her eyes. She was so hot. She’d never been so hot and miserable in all her life, and she knew it was going to get worse. A person could live in the desert without water for three days. But it wasn’t really living. It was more like a slow, terrible death.
She stared at her Glock. Her second magazine was empty now. But she had one more in her belt. If help didn’t come soon, maybe she wouldn’t have to go the slow way.
TUCKER SHIFTED his position to avoid the rock that jutted into his left shoulder blade, and leaned his head back to rest against the wall of the cave. It was hot, even in the shade, but at least he didn’t have to move in the open sun anymore. Now that he had water, he could be more cautious about his escape. He could sleep during the day, when the police would be out looking for him, and travel at night. Under cover of darkness, he could move faster and more freely. He wouldn’t go through his water so quickly. He could double back toward the highway and follow it to civilization, where he was most likely to find help.
But the gunshots that had rung out, breaking the tomblike silence only moments before, bothered him. He knew it was Hadley—had to be her with that pistol she’d been carrying—though why she’d be emptying her gun, he had no idea. He’d counted a couple of separate shots and then ten more in rapid succession. Was it meant as some kind of signal? A smart way to lead the rescue party to her?
Or was it a cry for help? An act of desperation?
Opening one eye and then the other, he stared down at the purse at his side as though it had turned into one of the rattlesnakes for which he’d searched the cave so carefully before crawling inside. He hated that purse. It symbolized how far he’d fallen from the Little League dad he’d once been. He’d sponsored fundraisers for politicians and different charities; he’d been on the school board and driven a Porsche; he’d owned a half-million-dollar home and another few million dollar’s worth of real estate. Never in his life had he dreamed he’d have reason to steal anything. But the fact that he hadn’t thought twice about taking whatever was inside Hadley’s purse, as well as the water, showed him he wasn’t the man he used to be.
Why hadn’t he dumped out the personal stuff and given it back to her? The pictures and money and whatever else she kept in that big bag? He’d considered it briefly, but another part of him had instantly rebelled. There might be something inside he would need—change for a pay phone, a few bucks for a meal, a credit card to rent a car. Why should he give away something he could use? What had clean living done for him in the past? Nothing. Andrea had failed him. Truth and justice had failed him. Even the guards at Florence had fail
ed him. He had no more faith in the system, no more belief that right would prevail. Survival of the fittest, that was what he believed in now. Taking what he needed was the only way back to his son.
Grabbing Hadley’s purse with his good hand, he yanked out the water jug and poked through her sack lunch. A turkey sandwich, potato chips, a little bag of carrot sticks, a handful of cookies and a diet soda. He turned the purse upside down and dumped out everything else, let it all tumble onto the ground as though the bits and pieces of Hadley’s life meant nothing to him: one pack of gum, a few gum wrappers, some loose crayons, a baby’s pacifier in a plastic bag, a packet of Kleenex and another of Band-Aids, a box of diaper disposal bags, a tube of diaper rash ointment, a handful of small change, a book of matches, a wallet with a twenty and several ones, keys, sunblock, chapstick, some other glossy lip stuff and various items of make-up, a book of checks that gave her address as 618 Pueblo Street, Space 13, and birth-control pills.
Birth control pills. Tucker picked them up and turned them over in his hand, wondering about the father of Hadley’s baby. He was a lucky son of a bitch. So why wasn’t he taking better care of his wife, his family? The man had to be stupid not to care more about a woman like Hadley. She was so beautiful she could steal Tucker’s breath at twenty yards, even when she was covered in dust and sweat and wearing that damn uniform. She had the kind of body that begged to be touched—soft and curvy in all the right places. And those eyes…Big and luminous, they revealed everything she was feeling. Tucker loved that. He was tired of coy and cynical, had lived with Andrea long enough to know he didn’t appreciate secrets.
Hadley had more than looks. She had guts and compassion. Without any but the most nominal support from her fellow guards, she’d stopped the fight and come to his cell to treat his wounds. This morning, when she knew he was in pain, she’d defied Eckland by insisting he loosen the cuffs, which meant she’d have hell to pay later.
And he’d stolen the water along with her purse and left her to make it, if she could, on her own.
