by Brenda Novak
With a grimace, Tucker tossed the birth-control pills back inside her purse and started gathering up everything else. He didn’t want to see this stuff. It made Officer Hadley too human, made her seem no different from the kind of person he’d once been. She was just living her life, trying to make ends meet while raising a kid. He might’ve had more money than she did, might have lived in a nicer home, known more prestige—but so what?
He thought of the way she’d felt beneath him when he’d tackled her, remembered the defiance in her face—admired it—then paused with a hand on her wallet. While taking stock of his current resources, he’d checked to see how much money she had in there, but he hadn’t let himself pore through the pictures opposite her coin purse. He knew better than to do it now…except he couldn’t help himself.
A baby stared back at him first, a chubby baby with a round head, fuzzy blond hair and a big gooey smile. Wearing a pink-and-white frilly dress, she had a matching bow stuck to her head, and resembled Hadley through the eyes. Next came a tall, lean man in a suit. Tucker didn’t look very long at him; for some reason, he didn’t really want to see him. And then he found what had to be a family photo. The man from the second picture stood next to Hadley, who held the baby in her arms.
The shot had obviously been taken with a regular camera and been cut down to fit the wallet, which meant it had special significance for Hadley, and it was no wonder. In it they were all smiling happily, but not for the camera—for each other. The man had his arm wrapped protectively around Hadley, grinning as though he was the happiest soul on earth. Hadley was wearing a tank top and shorts, which showed plenty of glowing, tanned skin, and was kissing the baby’s head. The baby was jamming a chubby finger in her mouth.
Tucker couldn’t quit staring at the three of them. He memorized the way the man’s hand curled around Hadley’s shoulder, studied the angle of his head as he leaned toward her, noted the pride on his face and wished…wished things were different. He belonged with Landon, even though there was no more Andrea, and Hadley belonged with this man and this child.
Would she make it?
So far, Tucker was innocent of murder. He’d never so much as struck Andrea. The night his wife disappeared, they’d had a particularly bad argument, and she’d tried to slug him. In the end, he’d stormed off but he’d left her very much alive. And that was how he’d left Officer Hadley—alive.
Only he wasn’t sure she’d stay alive. And if she didn’t, this baby would never see her mother again. Because of him.
Closing the wallet, he put it back in her purse and shoved the whole thing away.
Go to sleep. You didn’t ask her to follow you out here. You didn’t ask for any of this.
But he’d taken her water….
If she doesn’t make it out on her own, help will find her in time. She’ll be okay.
But he didn’t know that, couldn’t be sure. He thought of the entries in her check register listing small amounts for groceries and diapers. She was a mother, a woman. She was innocent—
He was innocent, too, dammit! Why’d she have to work at Florence? Why couldn’t she be someone else? Hansen or Eckland? Someone who deserved to wander around the desert for a while?
Another gunshot sounded, and he froze. She was close. What was she doing with that damn pistol?
Angry that he could still care, Tucker finally slipped out of his cave and went to look for her. It was crazy, he knew, and risked everything he’d gained in the last few hours. If he went back to prison he’d probably die before he hit forty. And yet, he had to answer to himself at some point. Evidently that hadn’t changed—or at least not enough.
“THAT SMELLS like my sunblock,” Gabrielle mumbled, thinking she had to be hallucinating when the aroma of coconut registered in her brain. She opened her eyes to see Randall Tucker bending over her.
“That’s because it is your sunblock,” he said.
“Oh, well, we wouldn’t want you to get burned.” She closed her eyes, knowing that when she opened them again, he’d be gone—wham, zap, vanished into thin air—along with the water jug he was getting out of her purse. But then a man-size hand lifted her head, and he told her to open her mouth, and it all felt very real.
“Here you go. Drink a little. It’ll help.”
The water was hot, almost as hot as the ground and his body, but all her previous hallucinations had ended with her sucking in nothing but air. This time she felt the liquid roll down her throat and hit her stomach and once she’d gulped enough, she grabbed hold of his wrist to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere. “It is you,” she cried.
“How many other men do you know running around this desert carrying a purse?” he asked.
Her thoughts seemed to whirl around in her head, making her chase them. “At least you’re not wearing my makeup,” she said. A silly remark, but it was the first thing she could come up with.
“I took a few birth-control pills, though. Hope you don’t mind.” He capped the water and helped her to sit up.
Again it took her a few seconds to respond. “That’s okay. I’ve missed a few days so I have some to spare,” she finally said, even though she hadn’t taken the Pill in a couple of months. Since her divorce, she’d only dated a few times and certainly hadn’t come close to making love with anyone.
“Why’d you come back?” she asked.
He scowled, and when he spoke his voice was much gruffer than it had been only moments before. “I didn’t, or not very far, anyway. You’ve been going in circles and I just happened to see you.”
“And you thought you’d give me a drink?”
“Since I have so much.”
“Right.”
“Can you get up?”
“What?”
“Get up.”
The command seemed to grow loud, then soft, then loud again and made no sense to Gabrielle. When she didn’t move, he grabbed her by the shirtfront and hauled her to her feet.
“Is that my Chap Stick, too?” she asked, grabbing onto him so she wouldn’t fall while staring at the shine on his lips. He felt good, so solid and alive.
He pried her fingers away as though he’d rather not be touched, retrieved the Chap Stick from her purse and applied it liberally to her mouth. Then he took out her sunblock and smoothed it on her face.
“There you go,” he said, holding the water to her lips and allowing her to drink freely again. “You’re all set.”
“I feel a little better already,” she admitted. “Thank you. I really can’t thank you enough. I thought—”
He raised a hand. “I don’t want to hear what you thought. And I don’t want your thanks. I don’t want to know anything more about you. Here’s your baby’s pacifier and your diaper rash ointment and your wallet.” Keeping only the water, he settled her purse over her shoulder and pointed her toward a mountain range that looked exactly like the one she’d emerged from not long ago.
“Just start walking. The highway’s over there. If you keep on a more or less straight course through those mountains, you’ll eventually find it. Okay? And it might be a good idea to fire that gun every once in a while. That way, if they’re looking for you, they’ll know where to go. Good luck.”
“Good luck?” she echoed.
“Yeah, good luck. Get going. You should be fine now.”
She didn’t feel fine. She felt numb, unable to process words as easily as she normally did. “You’re leaving me again?”
He scowled. “What did you expect? An escort?”
She wasn’t sure that she’d expected anything. She just couldn’t bear to see him walk away from her right now, not when she was feeling so weak. She wouldn’t make it out, wouldn’t see Allie or David again, would never be able to confront Naomi or meet her sister.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped.
She blinked and nodded obediently, feeling the inevitability of soldiering on alone. It wasn’t over. She wasn’t done yet.
Some of the disco
uragement she felt must have communicated itself to him, because he suddenly pulled her back and shoved the water jug into her purse. “Take the damn water, too,” he said. “Just get out of here.”
The water nearly toppled her, though it couldn’t have weighed all that much. He seemed to notice her unsteadiness and his expression darkened, but Gabrielle took a deep breath and told herself to forget him. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone. She’d come this far on her own, hadn’t she? She’d been alone since she was three years old….
She turned away and started walking, but when she lifted her eyes to the sky, something in the distance made her wonder if she was seeing things. A dark cloud seemed to be moving her way. Only it didn’t come slowly, as clouds usually did. It rushed toward her, filling the sky, blocking out the sun, eating up the horizon. “What’s that?” she breathed.
Tucker must’ve heard her, or maybe he’d already spotted it himself. When she glanced over her shoulder, she found him staring in the same direction, a mixture of surprise and disbelief on his face. “Oh, no,” he said. “Not now.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE NEXT THING Gabrielle knew, she was running. Tucker had taken hold of her hand and was fairly dragging her behind him, carrying the purse and the water on his shoulder and heading in the opposite direction. She didn’t feel strong enough to wrench away or to cry out. Somehow she didn’t even want to. He seemed to know what he was doing, moved with a strength of purpose she lacked, and she was glad enough to let him pull her along.
“Is that what I think it is?” she gasped, her lungs burning, as they finally reached the mountains.
“It’s a monsoon,” he said.
The tempestuous monsoons had always appealed to Gabrielle. She liked the way they came up so suddenly, raising the humidity and blackening the sky. They were atmospheric and exciting; they threw everything into chaos. But she’d always witnessed such storms from behind the safety of her front windows in suburbia, U.S.A., surrounded by buildings and concrete and trees and grass. Now there was nothing to hold down the dust, nothing to block the sudden wind. The gathering storm wasn’t like anything Gabrielle had ever seen.
“Where are we going?” she cried as the wind began to claw at her clothes.
“We need to get higher. It doesn’t rain often in the desert but a large storm can be violent and this one doesn’t look good,” he shouted. “If it comes down as fast as I’ve seen in the past, we might find ourselves in the middle of a flash flood. More people drown in deserts than die of thirst.”
Gabrielle had a hard time believing so much rain could come out of nowhere, even though she’d seen it before. But that wasn’t why she slowed. Her legs felt as if they were inflexible wooden poles. She wanted to stop her rapid flight and simply hunker down, but he didn’t give her the opportunity. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he practically hoisted her up the mountain, prodding her and pushing her with his good hand when she faltered.
It wasn’t long before Gabrielle thought she couldn’t go any farther. The sun had already leeched all the energy from her body, leaving nothing for the wind and the rain. Now she felt cold and tired. She knew it was because she hadn’t completely re-hydrated, but water became a secondary concern as the dust whipped around them, blinding them, stinging their cheeks.
“I have to stop,” she said, squinting to see Tucker in front of her.
“No, just keep moving.”
The wind tore the sound of his voice away almost the second he uttered the words. A rolling boom crashed overhead. Rain started to fall in drops that felt like small pebbles and lightning streaked across the sky.
Fleetingly, Gabrielle wondered whether desert snakes came out during a storm and thought maybe she should warn Tucker about the possibility. But there seemed to be little point. They could barely see where they were going and would just have to take their chances.
“I can’t go on,” she said when she’d given everything she had. Wet to the skin, she was shivering from the sudden drop in temperature, although the air was still relatively warm.
Tucker didn’t answer. Neither did he let her go. He kept climbing and yanking her along with him. Just when her knees buckled and she thought he’d have to carry her—or leave her behind—he reached the crest of a low rise. Saying something she couldn’t hear above the rain and wind, he ducked inside a small opening in some rocks and pulled her in after him.
Gabrielle collapsed on the ground and gasped for breath, wondering if she’d ever have the strength to move again. Goose bumps raised her skin even as the sunburn on her face radiated heat. The combined extremes created maximum misery. In the back of her mind, she couldn’t help fearing what the storm might mean for her survival—and for Tucker’s. Surely a rescue party wouldn’t scour the desert for either of them in this weather. Were they on their own? And if so, for how long?
She felt Tucker’s eyes on her and met his gaze, but he looked as worn out as she felt and neither of them spoke. He dug the lunch out of her purse and offered her half the sandwich, but she waved it away. She couldn’t eat. She needed to sleep. Her body wanted to shut down, forget, heal, recover…
She propped herself against the wall of the cave and let her eyelids droop.
A moment later Tucker nudged her. “Drink some more,” he insisted. “You need it.”
She nodded and swallowed, then curled up on the ground and fell almost instantly asleep.
IT WAS PITCH-BLACK when Gabrielle opened her eyes. For a few minutes she didn’t know where she was. The air was damp, close, and every muscle in her body complained when she tried to move. So she lay still, listening to her own heartbeat. Something had happened. Something bad. And even though she hesitated to drag whatever it was out of her memory, she had to know.
Florence…Eckland…the accident…Slowly the images paraded through her mind, and by the time she remembered the blistering desert and Tucker, she knew exactly where she was and what had happened. They’d holed up in a cave to escape the storm. She didn’t know how long she’d slept, only that it was night. And she didn’t know whether or not she was alone.
Fear of a new kind seeped into Gabrielle’s consciousness as she realized that even if she could’ve found her way out of the desert before, she had no concept of where or how far they’d run once the monsoon hit. Her chances of reaching the highway now, or even knowing which way to travel, were next to nil. And, strain as she might, she couldn’t see anything. There wasn’t even a glimmer of moonlight to show her the entrance to the cave, and a soft patter told her why. Although the wind had died, it was still raining.
“Tucker?” she breathed, almost afraid to hear her own voice in case he didn’t answer. Inching her hands over the cool ground, she searched for evidence of his presence. She feared she might find a rattlesnake instead, or nothing at all, but that didn’t stop her panicked groping. She wanted Tucker to be there as desperately as she’d longed for water in the heat of the day.
Had he left her?
“Tucker?” she said again, her voice rising. This time she heard movement. As she homed in on the sound, her fingers quickly encountered his arm, firm and warm and covered with a sprinkling of soft hair.
“You’re still here,” she whispered, sagging in relief.
He grunted, obviously asleep and not quite willing to wake up.
Gabrielle took a deep, heartening breath and withdrew her hand, even though the warmth and comfort of his body tempted her to creep a little closer. Randall Tucker might be a stranger, an escaped convict, but in this place, in these circumstances, nothing that had happened before their trip to Alta Vista seemed to matter.
But Gabrielle didn’t take him for the cuddly “let’s share body heat” kind of guy. Curling up next to him might be like cuddling with a Gila monster, and she needed Tucker too badly to risk crossing any lines.
Instead she hugged her knees to her chest to ward off the cold and sat in the middle of the floor, wondering how long before morning. Then she
thought of water. It might be cold now, but the temperature here fluctuated by as much as forty degrees in one day. Once the storm passed and the sun rose, the temperature would skyrocket again, and she and Tucker wouldn’t make it very far without more water.
Groping through the darkness for the water jug, Gabrielle found it near her purse. She hefted it to judge its weight and was sadly disappointed to find it far too light. They had a cup or so left. That was all. Desert survivalists recommended something like one gallon per person per day. How could she get more? From the sound of it, the rain was coming down pretty heavily, but she had no way to collect the drops. The mouth of their jug was too small.
She did a quick mental inventory of the items in her purse and decided that one of the plastic bags she’d bought for diaper disposal away from home just might work as a funnel…if she could dig a hole deep enough to position the jug.
Pulling her purse along with her, she felt her way to the entrance of the cave and glanced out at the sky. She couldn’t see much of a moon through the clouds overhead, but it was a little lighter in the open, which helped her establish the lay of the land and avoid any more cactus spines.
In a small clearing several feet beyond the entrance, she used a sharp rock to dig a hole and positioned the water jug inside. Then she used her car key to tear open the plastic bag so it would lie flat and poked a pea-size hole in the middle. Spreading the plastic over the hole in the ground, she anchored the edges in place with rocks, and placed a light pebble in the center to make the sides slant downward. She knew she’d have to unplug the hole every so often to allow the water to drain into the jug. And she doubted the water she collected would be very sterile. But depending on their degree of desperation, it could very possibly save their lives.
By the time she’d finished, Gabrielle was soaked again. Raindrops dripped off her eyelashes and ran down her face, and her hair clung to her neck and back in stringy strands. But it was the dark that made her most uncomfortable. Now that she’d completed the task she’d set herself and no longer had something to concentrate on, the blackness seemed to press in on all sides, making her feel cut off from everything she’d known, making her wonder if her life would ever be the same.
