by Brenda Novak
He moved cautiously away from her, then paused. Gabrielle felt a spark of hope as he returned, but he didn’t even look at her. Picking up her wallet, he flipped through her pictures.
What was he doing? What could he possibly want with—
He stopped at the photo of her and David and Allie and gazed at it for several seconds before sliding it out of its plastic sheath. Promptly tearing David away, he let her ex-husband’s likeness flutter to the ground.
“What are you doing?” she tried to ask.
If he understood her groans, he offered no explanation. “I’ll make sure someone finds you as soon as I’m away from here,” he said. Then he tucked the torn picture in his good hand, along with the money.
Sparing her one final glance, he slipped out between the trees in the direction of the stark, lonely place someone much more optimistic than her had dubbed the Bountiful Harvest Egg Ranch.
CALM DOWN, BREATHE. Gabrielle closed her eyes and stopped struggling. Tucker wouldn’t strand her out here for long, she told herself. He knew how hungry and thirsty she was, how desperately she longed to see Allie. He wouldn’t save her in the desert, feed her and bring her with him all this way to let her die now.
Except she’d tried to shoot him not twelve hours ago. Surely that would encourage little loyalty and less compassion in a man like him. And what if he got himself shot trying to steal food or clothes? Or trying to avoid capture? What if he got in a car chase and crashed before he could tell anyone about her? No one would know where she was. She’d sit out here and die a slow, agonizing death while David and Allie searched for her….
She angled her head to see the torn picture of David lying faceup on the ground next to her and experienced a twinge of guilt. Even now, she felt something for Randall Tucker she’d never felt for David. She cared for David, wanted him to be happy. But it was Randall Tucker who made her heart race.
I’ve finally lost my mind, she decided. It was David who’d stood by her through thick and thin, David who was the father of her baby. Tucker had just left her bound and gagged in the desert as though she didn’t mean any more to him than a bag of rocks. And she preferred him?
No, her mind was playing tricks on her. She felt nothing for Tucker, she told herself, nothing. She was going to go home and love David the way he deserved to be loved. She was going to quit her job and move to Phoenix, forget about her birth mother and remarry David so they could raise their child together. The happily-ever-after that had eluded them the first time would come. She’d make it happen—for David and Allie, if not herself—because now she’d found what she’d been looking for and knew that finding it didn’t matter. What she wanted was something, someone, she could never have.
Keeping her back firmly against the tree to relieve the pressure on her hands, Gabrielle stopped pulling at the knots binding her wrists, denied her panic and decided to think through her situation. Tucker hadn’t really wanted to tie her up. If he had, her bonds would have been a lot tighter, and he would’ve used something much stronger than a cotton T-shirt. He was only trying to delay her freedom until he could reach a safe distance, which meant that if she was patient, she could probably release herself.
Following this logic, she plucked at the knots he’d made. But her wrists hurt too badly to work at such a difficult angle for very long, and she soon had to give up. She allowed herself another moment to rest, then started straining against the gag instead, using the trunk of the tree behind her to stretch the fabric until she felt some give. After several more minutes of concerted effort, she managed to roll the gag out of her mouth far enough to take a deep breath—and yell.
“Help me! Help!” she cried again and again until her throat was too sore and her mouth too dry to scream anymore. She thought no one had heard her and was trying again to free her hands when footsteps crunched on the rocky ground behind her. Peering through the trees, she saw two Hispanic men, one short and stocky and close to her own age, the other much younger, barely a man at all, approaching her dubiously. They each wore a hat, chinos and work boots covered in dust, and their bare torsos were streaked with sweat. Speaking in Spanish, they conversed back and forth, no doubt exclaiming at the odd occurrence of finding a woman tied to a tree with a T-shirt.
“What is this?” the younger man finally asked in heavily accented English.
Gabrielle wanted to tell them she had a baby at home who needed her. Even though she doubted they’d understand her, the words were on the tip of her tongue. But when she opened her mouth the only thing she could mutter was, “Water…agua.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
CLUTCHING A GLASS of tepid water, Gabrielle sat at the kitchen table in the dilapidated cinder-block house. The Hispanic laborers who’d found her had brought her directly to a man who’d identified himself as Richard Griffin, the ranch manager. He’d invited her into his home, given her plenty of water, fed her scrambled eggs—from the chicken coops they’d passed outside, no doubt—and let her use the phone.
She’d spoken briefly with David and assured him she was okay. Then she’d turned the handset over to Mr. Griffin so he could give David directions on how to pick her up. They were just beyond the small town of Wellton, about twenty-five miles east of Yuma, Griffin explained. After he hung up with David, the manager took a series of business calls that tied him up for over an hour, which, for the most part, left Gabrielle waiting. Waiting to see Allie. Feeling oddly reluctant to see David. And wondering what had happened to Tucker. Mr. Griffin hadn’t volunteered any information about missing food or clothing, had said nothing about seeing a stranger wearing an orange jumpsuit. But she was afraid the Hispanic laborers who’d found her would knock at the door any moment with some discovery. A man Tucker’s size couldn’t simply disappear. He needed too many things to make good his escape.
For his sake, Gabrielle hoped he’d already found what he needed and fled. Despite the fact that she’d gone after him with every intention of bringing him back, she wanted nothing more to do with the situation. If he was guilty, someone else could track him down and make him pay. If he wasn’t…
God help him if he wasn’t.
A swamp cooler rattled in the hallway just beyond the kitchen as the bearded, ruddy-faced Mr. Griffin finished another telephone conversation. “I’m sorry, Mr. Yang,” he said, standing at the sink, his back to her. “I told you, the delivery truck’s running a little late today. I just radioed the driver. He said he’s almost there….”
Gabrielle took another sip from her glass, even though she was already so waterlogged she felt as though she might squish when she walked. What a relief to know she had water right here in her hands, that it was constantly available, that she would—she hoped—never have to go without again.
“Okay, I understand,” he said into the phone. “By how much? No problem. I’ll add it to the next order. That’s for this Friday, right?”
This Friday…What day was it today? Somehow, the entire week had blurred together. The individual days didn’t seem important now. Nothing seemed important except reuniting with Allie and getting some sleep.
And wishing Tucker safely away. But Gabrielle wasn’t going to think of him. She wasn’t ever going to think of him again. Then maybe she wouldn’t have to decide whose side she was really on—Warden Crumb’s and the system he represented? Or Tucker’s?
Finally, Mr. Griffin hung up and turned to face her. “Sorry about that. You can use the phone again now, if you want to let anyone else know you’re okay.”
The only call she needed to make was to the prison, to give them an update on their escaped convict. They would expect her to contact them at the earliest opportunity. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not yet. She couldn’t deal with all the questions, the pressure—the knowledge that calling would minimize Tucker’s chances for escape.
Don’t think about him, she reminded herself. Don’t choose.
“I’ll call the prison when I get home,” she said. “I don’t k
now anything that could help them, anyway. I’m sure they already have men on horses, with tracker dogs, searching the area.”
“I haven’t seen any,” Mr. Griffin said, lifting the coffeepot in lieu of asking her if she wanted some.
Gabrielle shook her head. He poured himself a cup, carried it to the table and sat across from her. “Sorry about all the calls,” he said. “It’s been a busy morning.”
“No problem.”
“So what’s the deal with this escaped convict? When did it happen? I haven’t even heard about it.”
Was the warden keeping it quiet, trying to reclaim his boy before anyone found out he’d gone missing? If he was, Crumb would be forced to appeal to the press if they didn’t catch Tucker soon. Then Tucker’s picture would be splashed across television sets throughout the state. “I’m surprised it hasn’t been all over the news,” she said.
“Maybe it has been. I’m a little behind on current events. I just returned from two weeks at Lake Powell. I go every summer.”
“Sounds like fun. Did you go with family?”
“Just some friends,” he said, but she knew her attempt to change the subject hadn’t worked when he went right back to Tucker.
“So who is this guy who escaped?” he asked.
Gabrielle’s grip tightened on her glass. She didn’t want to talk about Tucker because then she had to think of him. “His name’s Randall Tucker.”
“And he’s dangerous?”
Surely, Griffin would find it strange if she told him Tucker wouldn’t hurt anyone. He was convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison. There was probably an all-out manhunt going on to find him. “If a man’s desperate enough, you can never tell,” she said. Which was the truth. Look what she’d almost done. She could have killed Tucker in that moment of madness when she’d pulled the trigger.
“What’d he do?”
The constant pounding of a headache made it difficult for Gabrielle to be polite. Where was David? She wanted to go home, close the blinds and shut out the rest of the world until she could come to grips with everything that had happened to her. “They say he murdered his wife.”
A light went on in Griffin’s eyes. “Oh, I think I did hear something about that. A water-skier at Powell mentioned it. Beat her to death, right? Couple of years back? He’s some kind of karate expert, if I remember right.”
Gabrielle rubbed her temples, hoping to ease the pain. “That’s what they say,” she murmured.
He slung an arm over his chair back. “Sounds like a pretty bad dude. What made you go after him alone? Or did you have help?”
A glance at the clock over Griffin’s head told her it’d been nearly two hours since she’d called David. Surely she wouldn’t have to wait much longer. “I’m sorry. I appreciate your kindness, but I’m not feeling well,” she said, hoping to dodge any more questions. “I’m probably still a little dehydrated. Do you think maybe I could lie down on your couch for a while and wait for my ride?”
“Of course.” His chair squeaked on the linoleum as he shoved it back. “I should’ve realized you wouldn’t be feeling well. It’s just such a fascinating story, you know? To be lost for…what did you say? Three days?”
She nodded.
“Three days, yet you came out alive. You’re one lucky lady, you know that?”
Gabrielle felt grateful to be alive, but she wasn’t sure she felt lucky. She smiled and stood, eager to escape Griffin’s attention by lying down, when a staccato knock sounded at the door.
David. He’d arrived. The tension in Gabrielle’s body eased a bit as she followed Griffin to the door. But it wasn’t David. A small Hispanic woman wearing a colorful cotton skirt and sandals stood on the front step. The worry lines in her forehead alarmed Gabrielle.
The woman spoke in Spanish, the words “donde” and “esposo” standing out from among the rest. Her luminous dark eyes kept darting past Griffin to Gabrielle as she gestured wildly toward the far corner of the ranch.
Gabrielle didn’t need to understand her to know something monumental had occurred. Tucker! Had they found him?
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her stomach tightening.
“After you arrived, I had Manuel get a rifle and search the property, just in case,” Mr. Griffin said, his own face flushing with excitement. “He’s found someone hiding in the shed behind the processing plant.”
Suddenly, Gabrielle wondered whether or not she’d be able to remain standing. “And?” she managed to say.
“And what? Didn’t you hear me? They have him cornered at the plant. We might have your man,” he said happily. “Let’s go see.”
She sucked in air so she wouldn’t pass out. “Yeah, let’s go see.”
THE MOMENT they stepped outside, the hot Arizona air hit Gabrielle like a blast from a raging furnace. Beads of sweat rolled down her back and itched her scalp, but the perspiration was caused as much by the panic racing through her blood as the heat. They’d found a man hiding on the ranch. What was she going to do? She couldn’t watch them drag Tucker back to prison, knew his life wouldn’t be worth anything if they did.
Don’t let it be Tucker…don’t let it be Tucker, she prayed as they walked. But she knew such prayers were futile. Who else could it be? What other stranger had reason to be lurking about such a barren place? Tucker must not have been able to get what he needed. He must’ve been waiting for dark.
Damn him! How could he have gotten himself caught after everything they’d been through?
Gabrielle knew her reaction was completely irrational, but she was incapable of stemming the tide of anger that lashed through her. Couldn’t anything go right? She just wanted Tucker safely gone. She wanted him out of her life. If something bad happened to him, she didn’t want to know about it because…
Because was one of those things she wouldn’t think about.
Fortunately, Griffin and the woman continued to converse in Spanish and didn’t seem to notice how reluctantly she followed them. She could hear the clucking of the hens and the whir of conveyor belts as they moved down the row of chicken houses toward the blue building she’d seen earlier. A rooster crowed not far away, even though it was well past noon. But all of that was merely background noise. She was frantically trying to decide what to do the moment she came face-to-face with Randall Tucker—under the watchful eye of Mr. Griffin.
“There they are.” The ranch manager pointed as they rounded a corner and the blue building came into view.
Gabrielle saw one of the men who’d rescued her earlier, along with another Hispanic she hadn’t met before. She could make out both men perfectly, could see the glimmer of sweat on their foreheads, the concentration on their dark faces. But they stood in the hot glare of the sun while the man they’d cornered crouched against the building, in the shadows.
Tucker was more difficult to see, but as she moved closer, there was no mistaking his identity. He no longer wore his orange prison jumpsuit but had on a pair of patched cutoffs, a button-up shirt with the sleeves torn out, and a pair of old athletic shoes, all of which looked significantly too small. Where he’d gotten these clothes and shoes, Gabrielle had no idea. Neither could she guess what he’d done with his jumpsuit.
The laborers acknowledged Mr. Griffin’s approach by saying something to him in Spanish and motioning toward Tucker. The ranch manager answered, then looked to her. “Is this your man?” he asked, obviously expecting an affirmative answer.
Gabrielle gazed into the shocking blue of Randall Tucker’s eyes and found them smoldering with resentment. He expected her to give him up, she realized. After what had happened with the helicopter, Gabrielle could understand why. But she couldn’t do it. If she told them who he was, they’d continue to hold him at gunpoint until the police arrived, and he’d find himself back in prison by the end of the day, facing new charges. No one at the prison would care that he’d saved her life. No one would care that she thought he was innocent. They’d punish him—severely.
The ramifications of what she was about to do flooded Gabrielle’s mind. But there was justice, and then there was justice. Certainly she could hang her decision on a higher law. Was she really worried about justice, though? Gabrielle wasn’t sure. The only thing she knew at this moment was that to betray him was unthinkable.
“No,” she said. “That’s not him.”
Tucker stiffened and Griffin’s eyes widened. “It’s not?”
“No. My guy’s wearing an orange jumpsuit.”
“But he could’ve gotten these clothes anywhere. We have laborers who come and go all the time. They live in those huts at the back of the property and they…well, sometimes they have to leave in a hurry. We have no way of knowing if—”
“I’ve chased Randall Tucker through the desert for three days,” she interrupted, infusing her voice with the proper amount of indignation. “I saw his face again when he tied me up just last night. Do you think I don’t know what he looks like?”
Tucker’s expression remained inscrutable as Griffin turned toward him. The ranch manager was obviously having difficulty reconciling the coincidence of finding him here, in the shed no less, the same day his men rescued a corrections officer who’d been bent on recovering an escaped convict. But as far as Griffin was concerned, she would have no reason to lie about that escaped convict’s identity.
Fortunately, a man who hired illegal aliens wasn’t typically anxious to call the police—unless he felt certain he had good reason.
“So what do you have to say?” Griffin asked Tucker. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
Tucker’s eyes settled on the barrel of the gun. “Name’s Joe. I went hiking earlier this morning, got turned around and ran out of water. Then I came upon this place.”
