Taking the Heat. Brenda Novak
easy for him to shoot her and walk away. Or maybe he’d rape her first. She understood how it was with the inmates, how they looked at her, what they said. He was already sentenced to life without parole. A man in that situation didn’t have a lot to lose.
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—”
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