Taking the Heat

“Okay.” Gabrielle took a deep breath. At least she’d tried.

When she rejoined the people from the truck, the man was using some gauze to help the woman stanch the bleeding on her lip. Gabrielle could tell from their exchange that they were mother and son, but they weren’t particularly interested in speaking to her. She didn’t have much to say, anyway. Other drivers were stopping to see if they could help, creating a diversion. And she was too busy flogging herself for letting Tucker escape in the first place.

Raising a hand to shade her eyes from the bright morning sun—which promised to raise temperatures even more by midafternoon—she watched Tucker’s progress through the haze of heat that shimmered all around him, making him look more like a mirage than a flesh-and-blood man. Though he was moving slowly now that he had to climb, he was nearly halfway up the first rocky mountain, which was probably a mile and a half away. Every step he took made Gabrielle grind her teeth in frustration. Soon he’d be out of sight, and then…and then there was no telling what would happen to him.

She remembered the pain in his eyes, knew he couldn’t have faked that as easily as he might have exaggerated his moans and grunts, and made the only decision she could live with. She might be responsible for Randall Tucker’s escape, but she wasn’t going to be responsible for his death.

Hurrying back to the car, she found Eckland, ashen-faced, head back, eyes closed. But the moment she ducked into the open passenger-side door and started rummaging around, he sat up and glared at her.

“What are you doing now?” he asked.

“I’m going after him.”

His brows knitted and anger flashed in his eyes. “You’re what? Are you nuts? It’s got to be over a hundred degrees already. You’ll get heatstroke inside an hour.”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly what, damn you?”

“He can’t survive.”

“You’re still worried about Tucker?” He winced and stared down at his leg.

“He could die if I don’t bring him back.”

“And you could die going after him. You could get lost, run out of water, get bit by a rattlesnake or—”

“I’m taking the gallon of water I brought and leaving you with yours,” she said, cutting him off because now that she was heading into the desert, there wasn’t any point in giving Tucker more of a lead. “I’ll have someone come and sit with you to answer the radio, in case—” she licked her lips “—in case you pass out or something. Help will be here soon. Try to hang on to that.”

She checked the magazine in her semiautomatic Glock 9 mm, then slid the warm metal nozzle back into her hip holster. She was trying to save Randall Tucker’s life, not take it, but if he attacked her…

She swallowed hard and chose not to think about what might happen if he got the better of her. The vast desert, the scorching sun, the scorpions and snakes would probably get her first. But that thought wasn’t much of an improvement over the last. Not with Allie waiting for her at home.

Thank God, David was there.

“I’d stay here with you if there was anything I could do,” she told Eckland as she gathered what food and water she had, “but there’s nothing. You said it yourself.”

He’d closed his eyes again while she was talking, and this time when he spoke, he didn’t open them. “Don’t do it.”

Trying to think of a way to carry the cumbersome water jug, which would prove heavy after a while, she grabbed her giant black leather purse that often doubled as a diaper bag. “I have to.”

“Why?” he rasped. “What’s one Randall Tucker, more or less? Our prisons are full of filthy murderers like him.”

Gabrielle remained silent long enough that he finally opened his eyes. “He’s out there because of me. And respect for human life might be the only thing that separates us from them.”

“Then you’ll be dead.”

“Maybe,” she said, and slipped the strap of her purse across her body so she could carry the water on her back. “But I’ve got the gun and food and water. He’s hurt, and he has no water, nothing. Why not show a little confidence and have a car waiting for me just in case I manage to bring him back?”

“Right,” Eckland said with a hoarse chuckle. “I’ll have a hearse parked right by the side of the road.”

TUCKER COULDN’T BELIEVE his eyes. He’d known the police would come looking for him eventually. But he’d never imagined Officer Hadley would strike out after him on her own. Evidently she wasn’t only an idealist. She was a reckless fool. He had good reason to risk his miserable life; she did not.

Pausing in the shade of a rock overhang—the only shade for miles, it seemed—he watched her approach, and felt his mood darken. The initial surge of exhilaration he’d felt at obtaining his freedom had staved off some of the pain in his hand, but now the throbbing surged up his arm and through his whole right side until he thought he might pass out. Battling the dizziness, he mentally pulled himself away from that void, and started climbing again. He had to reach Landon. He couldn’t care about what happened to Hadley.

Climb. He wasn’t going to let her drag him back to prison under any circumstances.

Climb. Her welfare wasn’t his problem.

Climb. Breathe. It was steeper now. His foot, shod only in thin-soled, prison-issue tennis shoes, slipped, and he nearly went down. He barely managed to keep his balance, but even the concentration required to make the ascent couldn’t banish Hadley from his mind.

Stop it! Eckland and the other guards can worry about her. There’s the ridge. That’s it. One foot in front of the other.

After all, she was one of them.

Focus. Shove the pain away. Ignore the heat. One more step…

He imagined Landon calling to him, just at the top of the next rise, and then the next, and that made the going easier. “I’m coming,” he promised. “I’m coming for you, buddy. You can depend on me. I won’t let you down. I won’t ever give up. I won’t…ever…”

He had to stop to catch his breath. Though some mountains in the desert rose eight thousand feet, this wasn’t one of them—thank God. Still, it was difficult climbing with the use of only one hand, the sun robbing him of all moisture.

At least the pain was starting to ease now that the cuffs had been off long enough to allow his blood flow to return to normal. But the figure following undauntedly in his footsteps, slowly closing the distance between them, dragged at him like a lead weight.

Why didn’t Hadley turn back? What did she think she could do, even if she caught up with him? Especially now that they were so far from the highway? He didn’t even know where he was going, just somewhere, anywhere, the first small town, outpost or ranch where he could call his brother or Robert, his old business partner, for help. He could wind up lost or dead before he made contact with the outside world, and so could she. Nothing but sun-baked earth and low shrubs—creosote bush and white bursage, the two most drought-tolerant plants on the whole continent, with a few cholla and columnar cacti thrown in—surrounded them on all sides and certainly didn’t provide much to navigate by.

“You’re crazy, you know that, lady?” he said into air so dense with heat he could scarcely breathe. “What’s one more felon mean to you? Go back to the thousands waiting for you at the prison. Go back to the riots and the homemade-knife fights and the gangs, and leave me the hell alone.”

He forged on, determined to forget the slight figure trudging through the barren valley below him. She wasn’t going catch him. She’d live or she’d die. It made no difference to him. He wasn’t expected to care one way or the other—and he wouldn’t. He didn’t care. She was a guard, the enemy, almost a stranger to him.

She is also a woman, with a child at home, his conscience answered. A woman who wouldn’t be where she was if not for him. And she was one of the only people who’d shown him any compassion since the day he was accused of murdering Andrea.

The memory of Hadley wiping the blood from his lip flashed through Tucker’s mind, and he imagined her standing over him again, her hands on his face. Only this time she was tilting up his chin to give him a drink of water….

Thirst so powerful it nearly brought him to his knees swept through him. The dryness of his throat made it difficult to swallow, and he feared it wouldn’t be long before he dropped like a stone. Then what good would he be to Landon?

He had to get some water—and there was only one place to find it. Maybe he was fortunate Officer Hadley had followed him, after all. She might prove his salvation once again.

Reaching the top of the mountain he’d been scaling, he hid behind a rock outcropping that rose like a spire into the broad cloudless sky and leaned against its solid mass to wait.

The minutes ticked by, slowly. He felt her coming close, knew she’d pass the same way he’d come. She hadn’t deviated a step from his path so far. He doubted she’d change now. She felt too confident, toting that pistol that was about to do her no good.

The thought that he’d be taking something she needed just as badly as he did sent a flicker of guilt through Tucker, but he knew it was only a shadow of what he would’ve felt before prison had turned him into the man he was. He ignored it. Landon needed him. And without her precious jug of water, Hadley would be forced to go back.

WHERE WAS HE?

Gabrielle paused to take another sip of water as she squinted at the dirt, rocks and thorny shrubs farther up the mountain. Tucker wasn’t hard to follow through the wide, flat valleys—there she could see for miles, and he was the only thing moving—but he’d disappeared over the crest of the mountain, which was still a hundred yards or so away, and she hadn’t seen him for ten minutes or more.

He knew she was following him. He’d looked back at her several times already and increased his speed. Was he hurrying down the other side, still trying to leave her in his dust? Or had he settled on a more intelligent plan?