“I need to know.” All this time she’d shied away from speaking with him about it, about her role in his life. Why would she have been driving the getaway car? What did she have to do with his brother and sister-in-law’s deaths?
“I don’t need you to know everything.”
He didn’t want her to know everything. What could be so awful?
Echo shifted away from his chest. He resisted. She shoved.
The van stopped abruptly. She tumbled forward. The handcuff dug into her wrist, yanking her arm back. Hissing, she cursed the pain shooting through her wrist and all the way up her shoulder.
“What the fuck’s going on back there?” the buffoon asked, twisting around in his seat.
“Asshole,” she spat.
Murphy pulled her upright. “Easy on the brake—”
“Shut the fuck up, all right?” He lifted the gun and cocked the barrel. “Nobody said anything about me not taking off a couple of toes, fingers, or knees. You get my drift?”
Blue and red lights spun, flashing into the back of the van’s windows. A car engine drew close.
“Cops?” she whispered.
“Keep quiet,” the buffoon bellowed.
Perspiration dotted her forehead. She tried to swipe it away, and then realized she was cuffed to Murphy.
“Easy,” Murphy warned in a low voice.
Minutes ticked by. Her ears hurt with the blaring silence. Finally, she heard the car door slam shut. The crunch of footsteps on the gravel outside the van seemed like a giant approaching. “License and registration,” the male voice commanded.
She banged a fist on the van floor. The metal sound reverberated.
“What do we have here?” the cop asked, flickering his flashlight to the back of the van. The blinding light had Echo holding up her hand to shield her eyes. “Well, lookee here.” He laughed. It was harsh and loud. “Two for one. Murphy, you bastard, you’re finally the one in handcuffs.”
“Fuck!” Murphy said under his breath.
Echo’s heart sank. “What’s going on?”
The buffoon high-fived the cop. “Told you I’d bring him in for you.”
“He’s in on it,” Murphy informed her.
“Who?”
“The man who wants me dead.”
Chapter 7
Murphy’s gut knotted a little bit more now that he faced the man he’d nearly ruined two years ago. Getting out of the back of the van was a short-lived relief. He stood a few inches to the side and in front of Echo, trying to protect her. “Sheriff Hornsby,” he said between gritted teeth. “What’s your take in this? Fifty percent? Thirty-three? Twenty-five?”
“Wouldn’t you love to know?”
For once the man didn’t reveal how many in his partnership. “At least fifty, if he’s got any say.” Murphy nodded to Slick as he strolled back from ditching the van in the overgrown shrubs along the back road.
“Fifty, really? Sweet.” The fool rubbed his hands together. “I’m gonna get me a new ride.”
“Shut up, will ya? You dumbass,” the sheriff snarled, never once looking away from Echo and Murphy. His gun remained trained on them.
“You gonna short him, too?” Murphy asked. It wouldn’t hurt to stir up some bad blood between the two men.
“What’s he talking about?” Slick glanced from the sheriff to Murphy. “Whatta mean short me?”
Murphy nodded to the officer. “He’s been on the take for years now, isn’t that right, Sheriff? Anytime someone gets a piece of the pie, he throws them under the bus. Or kills them. A cell or a grave—not much of a choice, is it?”
“Huh? He’s shitting me, right? I got a lot invested in this. Blood, sweat, and tears.”
“Calm down, Slick. He’s trying to pit us against each other. You know you’re my right-hand man.”
The kidnapper blew out a harsh breath. “Whew! I gotta get my cut. My old lady ain’t too happy I’ve been slacking. Ever since I knocked her up, she’s been bitchin’. She wants a big payday. Move to Mexico—”
“Yeah, yeah. I hear you,” the sheriff said. “Now, get them in the back of the cruiser for me. Everyone take it nice and slow.”
Beside him, Murphy felt Echo tense. He may not show it, but he had his own grave concerns about going anywhere with this cop. “Taking us in?” He doubted they were headed for a jail cell.
“Funny, Murphy, real funny. You and me both know you’re better off to me six feet under, you nosy son-of-a-bitch. Lucky for me, the shit hit the fan when it did and you backed off of me. Nah, I got other plans for you.”
He heard Echo swallow hard.
Facing a rogue cop and staring down the bad end of a gun barrel, Murphy had little choice than to cooperate. For now.
“Git,” the sheriff bit out.
Murphy eased Echo toward the car, instructing her to walk in front while he walked backwards behind her, still cuffed together. He’d keep an eye on the sheriff and make sure nothing happened to Echo.
“Can we make a break for it?” she asked under her breath.
“No can do,” he said between gritted teeth. He had no weapon, no idea of where they were, and, even though she could run like the devil, he didn’t know what kind of terrain they were up against. He couldn’t risk her life for a maybe.
“I can do it.” She tugged on the handcuffs, urging him to flee.
“Trip,” he said, making a snap decision to try at least. “Make a scene.”
“Kick up dust,” she offered.
Good idea, he told her silently.
She stumbled, and then cried out. He jerked around and shuffled his feet. Dust flew. Leaning down, he grabbed a handful of dirt and flung it at Slick. He grasped her hand, holding her up. “Run! Now!”
***
As if in tune, Echo matched his strides.
“Jump,” she cried, clearing the brush on the edge of the dirt road. The landing jarred her, but she kept running.
“They’re getting away. Go get ’em, you dumbass,” Sheriff Hornsby yelled.
A gun fired.
Echo ducked. It missed.
“Left,” Murphy ordered, shifting slightly as they raced over the dry, desert land.
She followed his commands every few feet, dodging the spray of bullets. Her heavy breathing filled her ears. Her heartbeat pounded in her chest.
The shouting increased, the sheriff and the buffoon blaming each other.
By her side, Murphy clutched her hand and held tight. “Don’t stop until we drop.”
A cactus nicked her calf. She sucked in a sharp breath.
“Two steps, then right,” he called.
Suddenly, an engine revved. Tires spun, kicking up gravel and dirt. The darkness in front of them lit up with the arch of the headlights. “God damn it, go after them, dumbass!”
Their silhouettes leapt in front of them as they ran over the stark land. With gut instincts, she moved to the left with him and out of the light for a moment. The sheriff must have backed up and swung the car around.
“Where’d they go?” the buffoon hollered. “I can’t see if you keep moving the car.”
A spotlight flooded, lighting up the area.
Murphy cursed again.
Nothing but flat, cactus dotted land lay ahead.
“Outrun the gun,” she choked out one his Murphy’s laws. The headache gnawing at the fringes of her brain zigzagged through her skull. She fought back the fresh wave of nausea. “Kick it!” Echo shouted. The familiar battle cry she used in her self-defense classes roared from her now.
“Three steps left, two right, jump.” With his commands, they matched their moves, dodging the flying bullets.
“Can’t you shoot?!” The sheriff’s cry reached her. “Give it over. I’ll do it.”
The crack of a rifle burst in the air.
Chapter 8
White-hot pain ripped through Murphy’s skin. “Fuck,” he hissed, stumbling.
His misstep took him down. He hit the ground hard. Echo fell on top of him. They
rolled to one side, arms and legs tangling together.
Sweat and dirt mingled, settling on him. Warm blood seeped from his thigh.
“Yee hah! Got him!” the sheriff hollered.
“Get up, Echo.”
“Murphy, you’re hurt.”
“Just a scratch,” he lied. “Never mind that.”
She stumbled to her feet, and then reached down for him. He leaned on her, wincing at the burning pain shooting through his flesh.
“They’re coming,” he bit out, hearing the shouts of the men as the kidnapper rushed toward them.
“We can outrun him.” She tugged at him to follow her lead. “Over there. More shrubs. Beyond, in the distance, there’s a feed area.”
“Hay, water, means animals, then some humans close enough.” She took the lead, going slower at first. “Faster,” he coached.
“But your leg.”
“I’ll let you know when I can’t feel it anymore.”
Echo picked up speed. He matched her strides, biting down on the shafts of pain jarring through him with every step.
“They’re leaving,” Slick shouted.
Another shot rang out.
“God damn it, don’t shoot while I’m out here!”
“Run faster then, dumbass!” the sheriff hollered back.
Murphy heard a far-off moo. “That way,” he said between gritted teeth. “There’s gotta be more cows.”
“Cover,” she guessed, her breaths coming in gasps.
How long could they run for? Warm blood seeped through his jeans, matting the heavy fabric to his skin. Perspiration covered him, stinging as it soaked into the wound. That and the friction of the denim rubbing against it made the wound raw and seem like it was on fire.
It was nearly an hour later when the shouts behind them died off completely and they’d raced through the thickening scrub bushes.
“There,” she said, guiding him to a herd of cattle and at least five horses.
The animals must have been spooked by them; they mooed and neighed, and then shifted around, kicking up more dirt.
“Go around them,” he ordered. “Scare them toward Dumb and Dumber.”
In a few seconds, they were behind the herd. “Wave your hands,” she said. “Jump around.”
It worked. A couple of the horses reared up, and then galloped in the direction they’d just come from. The cows scattered, hustling away.
“What the fuck!” Slick’s far-off yell drifted to them. “They’re gonna trample meeeeee...@ His voice grew smaller. Murphy hoped it meant he’d turned around.
“Reprieve,” she gasped.
“Short one.” Murphy knew the sheriff wouldn’t end it here.
***
Breathing hard, Echo doubled over, pressing her hands against her knees. The white searing pain in her head nearly blinded her. The waves of nausea hit. She gulped.
“You all right?” His breaths came in pants.
“Sick,” she choked. It overtook her. The heaves came, one right after the other. Nothing came out. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate. Not since Storm and Timmy had been kidnapped at least. And she’d only had a couple sips of beer earlier.
“Breathe,” he coached.
The retching gripped her. The motion in her belly and up through her throat only made it worse. She gulped in breaths between heaves.
“Can you move?”
She shook her head. Her brain felt like a hot poker jabbed her.
“I’ll carry you.”
Before she could answer, he lifted her over his shoulder. “Sorry,” he said, settling her down and dragging her cuffed hand behind her so he could grip her legs to him. “Only way. They’ll find us.”
He walked, hissing the first few steps. “Too heavy,” she choked out. Every slight move jarred her and sent splinters of agony shooting through her skull. “Buckle…hurt you…too… much… pain…”
***
Murphy knew the minute she passed out. Her body went limp. And the heaves ended. He was torn between stopping to make sure she was all right and pressing on.
Safety won.
He forged on toward another feeding trough and a few animals gathered around it, making chomping noises nearly two hundred feet away. He shifted her slightly to move the damn turquoise belt buckle from grinding into his shoulder. “Storm,” he muttered, knowing Echo had borrowed her twin’s clothes to trick him.
With each step he took, she bounced against him like a rag doll.
If he wasn’t mistaken, these episodes came on more and more now. Stress played a big part, but time hadn’t healed her like some of the doctors predicted. Something inside Echo’s brain warred with her, fighting to be free. Could she be on the edge of her memories or losing it altogether?
Tonight brought on the most severe reaction he’d witnessed since the accident, since she tried to kill the men who’d killed his brother and his brother’s wife that awful night.
She was the only living witness to the horrible crime. Her mind shielded her from the ordeal. Until now. That he would bet good money on.
The truth would finally come out. And what would she do once she realized his part in it all?
***
Fragments snapped through her head. Echo was dreaming. Images blasted as if someone were switching channels on a TV set. She couldn’t stop or control them, yet she stood there witnessing it all, pain jabbing at her again.
Murphy. Her. Storm. Strange men. Gunfire.
The loud moo of a cow blared in her ear. She felt hot breath on her cheek. Echo came slowly awake, aware of two things at once. She was on the hard ground, half-covered with hay. And Murphy was nowhere to be found.
A long line of spittle landed on her chin. She grimaced and swiped it away.
A big snout came into view. Echo stilled, trying to figure out how to move without getting a big hoof in her face. The cow, the stench, and the sounds of animals nearby clued her into her whereabouts. The feed trough.
Had Murphy left her? How?
Fighting the urge to succumb to a wave of fatigue, she forced herself to stay alert. The cuff still circled her left wrist, but the other cuff, minus the man, hung from her arm.
She remained still, trying to get her bearings as she used her senses. The cow nudged her, and then stuck its tongue out, licking her from chin to forehead.
Rearing back, Echo hit metal. The trough stopped her escape. She cursed under her breath.
It was still dark. Fresh hay, manure, and the pungent odors of cows and horses filled her nostrils. The sounds of the animals munching above and around her nearly overshadowed the slight scuffling in the dirt. Footsteps.
He was there, shoving the cow away. The animal protested, but finally moved. Helping her to sit upright, Murphy leaned against the metal frame. He didn’t have to say a word. His gray shadowy figure lent her comfort. God, she’d know him anywhere. His heat, his body...
“Shhh!” he said.
“How?” she whispered, slightly lifting her hand.
“Your belt. Or should I say Storm’s buckle. She hides her lock-picking pins there,” he explained. “When I hauled you over my shoulder. That damn turquoise buckle dug into me. Remembered.” Exhaustion filled his words. He grabbed for her hand and worked on her cuff. It took a few tries, but it snapped open and he released her. He shoved the cuffs under the trough behind them.
“Where?”
“Scouting.” He dug in his pocket. Shifting, he pressed something cool against her mouth.
She drank the cactus juice and let him rub the inside of the plant over her parched lips. “Good.”
He mumbled his agreement.
“Your leg?”
“A bitch,” he half whispered, half chuckled, tapping the leather belt, the rest of Storm’s belt, wrapped around his leg now. “Slowing me down.”
For a long moment, she listened to his even breathing. She shifted closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder. Strange, she missed being tethered to him.
“Ten minutes,” he warned. “Gotta move.”
Echo slipped her hand in his, lacing fingers. “When this is all over will you tell me what…we once were?”
He sucked in an unsteady breath. “Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
Chapter 9
Her demand haunted him. She wouldn’t like it, not all the answers to her questions.
Wouldn’t it be better to find out from him, though? Doubt lingered in his mind.
“Can you ride?” he asked, shoving aside the consequences to every damn decision he’d made these last years.
“Bareback? Sure.”
He smiled at her ready response. She hadn’t ridden since before the accident. It was against doctor’s orders. But still, confidence rang in her answer. “Good.”
It must have been the combination of the loss of blood and the utter exhaustion that overtook him; he drifted off to sleep.
His dreams were vivid and disturbing. Echo laughing and then disappearing caused his heart to squeeze in his chest. Timmy’s giggles rang in his ears. Even in sleep, Murphy felt the smile and the rush of love sweeping over him. Next, he swore there were hooves pounding on the ground. Buffalo stomped. Screams, glass shattering, and then utter silence.
Murphy woke with a start.
Echo was there, nestled to his side. He breathed a sigh of relief.
The moment vanished when he recalled where they were and what they were up against.
“Wake up,” he said, jostling her. He shifted, heaving himself to his feet. His leg was on fire. Murphy gritted his teeth against the pain. “Dawn’s breaking. We fell asleep.”
***
Echo came awake with a start. Rising, she brushed off the hay and dirt.
Her body ached all over. Her fuzzy mind wouldn’t focus.
When she looked at him in the semi-darkness, she felt a surge of unexpected desire. Even with his shaggy hair, stubble on his chin, scruffy appearance, and his torn shirt, he still was sexy as hell.
Her gaze landed on his leg. The dried blood stained his jeans. The makeshift rag he’d made from the bottom of his shirt and tied around his thigh was a rusty red behind the strap of belt he’d cinched over it. “Murphy.” She gulped hard.
Murphy's Law (The Bounty Hunter Series - Book 1) Page 3
