For almost an hour, Mary Jane tracked Wulf and the dusty road, all the while wondering, Who am I? The balmy air from the evening sun battered her face.

“Wulf, it’s too damn silent in here,” she grumbled. “How do you get around without a radio? I need some mellow music to calm my nerves.”

No response. After the longest silence, she would’ve assumed he’d nodded off had she been the one driving.

She continued, “You have this demeanor about you.”

He finally glanced over, and damn, his arched eyebrow was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Just the sarcastic look on his face brought life to her body. Mary Jane smirked. “Granted, broody is a good look on you, but I’m still learning about you. So I need more than a Neanderthal shrug. Where are you from?”

He finally spoke, baritone voice filled with power, even though it hardly rose above a whisper. “How about you tell me more about you?”

She cocked her head sideways and ignored his request. “Humph. Broody and hard of hearing. Except when it comes to rules and regulations. You chewed me out at Shit City Police Station because I hit your cruiser. I wonder if you would’ve been standing on that soapbox, regurgitating the Miranda, had I not hit your car.”

He scratched at the scruff on his angular jaw. “Thought I was correcting a woman who had almost killed herself for driving crazy. Forgive me for that.”

“Ha!”

The conversation died again. Mary Jane began to count Joshua trees and tumbleweeds.

“There’s a roadblock ahead,” Wulf warned.

He had a deep voice, but either he had spoken softly or she was still semi-lost in her own thoughts. Straightening up, she told herself to be in the moment, every single second of it. She recalled how her mulling had ended last time—with Lyle ramming the Corolla. Since she wouldn’t dream of taking the gun away from targeting his midsection, Mary Jane silently looked ahead. The same bright red F-250, and a black one, and a blue one were parked zigzag next to a sign headed out of town which she presumed read, “Bye-bye now. You’ve made it out of this hellhole.”

“Um, take this turn,” she perked up. The upcoming T in the road was the last one before the three big trucks. When Wulf didn’t slow down to prepare for it, she exclaimed, “Take it or we both die!”

He’d be shot. She wouldn’t make it out of a crash in an old truck. With no time left, he jerked the wheel. It skidded, drudging sand. He yanked the wheel back to the right side of the road, with effortless precision.

“Turn there,” she ordered, noticing a leaning street post.

“That road leads to nowhere.”

“Turn, Wulf, or die,” she replied simply.

“Oh, I see. ‘Or die’ is how you end every sentence while holding that gun,” he argued, tugging at the wheel to right the tires on the uneven pavement.

They hit a pothole. Bang! The gun went off. Her eyes closed in shock. The car whipped toward the sandy side before lurching to a stop.

“You could’ve shot me!”

She opened her eyes. A hole pierced the seat two inches away from where his abdomen had been before they hit the pothole.

Oh, shit, what have I done?

“I-I wasn’t gonna…give you the opportunity to screw me over. That was a warning. I’m giving you a last chance. Go before I have to wipe your brain matter from these super-skinny jeans!”

Tense-jawed, he pulled back into the lane. “As I said, this street leads to a blocked-off bridge. A corroded, blocked-off bridge.”

“Mmhmm.” She almost smiled, not trusting a single word.

Twenty minutes later, the setting sun cast a glow over the alleged “blocked-off bridge.” She shook her head as he drove over the perfectly safe pavement, overlooking a dry lake. “Wulf, you have some balls, don’t you. Deceiving a desperate woman holding a gun. I could shoot you and toss you over onto the sandy riverbed below.”

His jaw tensed as she chuckled hard. After a few moments, he asked, “Are you done?”

“Yes.” She wiped the tears from her eyes, allowing her laugh to die with a sigh. “I haven’t laughed like that in…a while. We’ve been stuck in this truck for almost two hours. Let’s play nice. Tell me more about yourself, Officer Wulf. What’s your first name? What exactly are you? Polynesian, Hawaiian?”

“Samoan. Dylan. Tell me about you.”

“Tsk tsk. We’re learning about you, Dylan Wulf, who so happens to be Samoan. I detected a hint of a fresh island accent, but a little edgy—street edginess. Where are you from?”

He grumbled a minute later when the tip of the gun nudged his rib cage. “Los Angeles.”

“L.A.” Her eyes narrowed slightly as the place became familiar in her mind. Oh, yes. She’d seen the city in many movies—a big city with gangs, smog, traffic. “What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you . . .”

“In Santo Cruces City?”

Santo Cruces City, Arizona! She wracked her brain but couldn’t imagine growing up here or seeing it in a movie. The place was virtually foreign to her. Mary Jane continued to operate under the guise that no one, not even herself, could be trusted. She’d allow Wulf to feed her small bits of information, then weed through those. “Yes, why leave L.A. for Santo Cruces City? I’m not even certain this place qualifies as a city.”

“Change of scenery,” he mumbled.

Hmmm, can I get more out of him?

“I’m sure you know more about me than I know about you. What did my police file read when you pulled me up in the system?”

His sexy groan warmed her insides, but she gave a triumphant grin, and again gave him the gun-to-rib push he’d need to proceed.

“If you must know,” he began in an irritated voice. “Keller processed your file before leaving the office.”

She grumbled, fixating on dissecting his information. “C’mon, Wulf. What do you know about—”

Before Mary Jane could blink, Wulf yanked the wheel in a harsh right. They swerved into a ditch. The gun flew out of her fingers. Mary Jane hit the side of her head against the passenger doorframe. Wulf’s seat belt pulled so tight against him, it snatched his heavy frame against the seat.

The gun ping-ponged, only to nestle on the floor in between them. In her peripheral, she saw Wulf breaking the weak, spiraled material of the old-matted seat belt with a quick snap and bulging biceps.

He was going for the gun.

With no time for an axe-splitting headache, she pushed herself forward but was instantly tossed back.

She unlatched her seat belt.

He reached down to the floor between them and gripped the gun.

Mouth wide, she bit down on his forearm.

He yanked at her hair, but her canines held on.

His skin broke; she tasted copper.

His shout pierced her ears, but he wouldn’t let go of the hair on her crown.

Extracting her teeth, she snatched up the gun.

In a split second, she had the passenger door opened and jumped out. Mary Jane scurried and trudged up the sandy ditch. Collecting her breath, she looked down as smoke fizzled from the hood that was smashed in like an accordion. Wulf made his way out of the driver’s side, already calculating the best way up the slope.

“Stay back!” She waved the gun and gritted her teeth through the pain of a headache. She shot in his general direction then ran into an onion field behind her. Heart pounding, lungs raw, she ran toward a dilapidated barn about a quarter of a mile ahead.

Her boots sunk into the rich soil at each step as she glanced back. He’d just climbed up the slope but he wasn’t chasing her down, not like Lyle and Jake had, which made her feel like drowning in worry. Wulf was going to return her to Beasley at the police station. Now, he was treating her like a lion to a mouse, leisurely gaining on her. Or maybe he was waiting for orders from his boss. Beasley had to be his boss. Mouth dry, she stretched her legs to the limit and continued to run.

The evening took the last bit of scorching heat. Gnats gnawed at her sweaty skin.

Mary Jane ran over ashes and a charred foundation that she assumed had been where a house once stood. At the barn, she pulled open one of the wooden doors and winced as splinters nicked her fingers. It was dark. The dust made her sneeze. The person who once owned the house must’ve abandoned the barn. Eyes narrowing, she barely discerned scattered hay. She closed the door.

Picking up a half-bent rake, Mary Jane wedged it between the two handles. As the sweat began to dry on her body, she speedily surveyed the barn. While her eyes adjusted to the dark, she gazed at the loft-style area above and started for the ladder. This would be her best vantage point. If her paranoia were true and Wulf worked for Beasley, then this was the end.

Today, I’m not dying without taking a motherfucker with me.

Officer Wulf wriggled his tensed jaw. Mary Jane was the bane of his existence. She was by far the most attractive offender he had encountered, but he wasn’t sure how criminal the girl really was.

Shit. Stop it, Dylan. That bitch is off the market.

Blood seeped through the bandana around his forearm as another reminder. The lovely lunatic had chomped at his arm like it was her last meal. Boots kicking in the dust, he cursed her very existence.

“Damn Keller. All this waiting is ridiculous,” he mumbled to himself.

He could go inside and apprehend her in less than a second. Mary Jane needed to be locked up, so she could do no harm to anyone or herself.

He stood outside the barn and peered at the sliver of moon. Pulling out his walkie-talkie, he connected with Patsy for the second time. Their first conversation had been more about him calming her down and assuring her that he was alive. Now, he needed to make sure the ditz did her job.

“What’s the ETA on Keller?”

“He and the guys are a few minutes out.”

“You did well, Patsy.” He hoped the compliment would calm the remainder of her jitters. Even if nothing ever happened in Santo Cruces City, she wasn’t cut out for the job, but she was Chief Keller’s second cousin. “Tell me more about Mary Jane. Does she have a record?”

“Just a sec, Wulf.”

Earlier, when Keller told him to let Mary Jane go, he’d been so angry about Beasley’s arrival that he hadn’t asked any pertinent questions. Keller had been in a rush, but Wulf knew he should’ve forced his boss’s response.

Now, he attempted to jog Patsy’s memory of protocol. “Since I’ve been gone, has Garland returned to give you the processing file?”

He mentioned the other officer at the station with Patsy and himself, when Mary Jane had crashed into his cruiser. Garland had left for another incident, but surely should have returned by now. Probably with crazy, old Patrick.

“No, Garland told me to do it. I’m looking into it as we speak. Just one more sec.”

Shit. Okay, so it’s been a busy day, but I need a criminal breakdown on Mary Jane. How the heck did she grab my gun?

His thoughts slammed through his brain as a storm of F-250 engines roared. Beasley’s men were riding over the onion field.

“Patsy, tell Keller I need him ASAP. Beasley’s minions are coming.”

Wulf paused. Rowdy men standing in the truck beds shot off rounds from their guns. His stomach coiled at the thought of the law-bending Beasley. Wulf darted to the side of the barn.

Engines off, doors slammed, and men jumped down.

Beasley hopped out of the blue truck. The shooting instantly ceased. In his obese, breathy voice, he gave an order. “Boys, don’t touch my MJ! But by all means have some fun with the officer!”

Wulf grimaced. He leaned back against the wooden wall as he thought about a plan of action while Beasley’s men cackled. A smaller, more compact engine sounded nearby. Keller? Wulf peeped around the side of the farmhouse as Keller and three other Santo Cruces City officers pulled up. All of Beasley’s men were looking toward the two police cruisers, heading their way.

Wulf watched as Beasley shook hands with Chief of Police Kirk Keller, a lanky man. Standing together, they resembled the number ten. Keller had a cul-de-sac for a hairline and pipe arms.

“Beasley, how can I help?” Keller asked as he and the other officers huddled together.

“I don’t know how you can help, Kirk,” Beasley mocked. “That fucking newbie cop is in there with my Mary Jane. I’m not sure how much she told him! Now, he has to be dealt with.”

“Let me go in and talk to ’em.” Kirk held up his hands in a manner to keep the fat one from blowing a heart gasket. “I didn’t witness the altercation, remember? I had to step out and call you when I learned of Mary Jane’s arrival. I couldn’t get a hold of you, so we left the station half-staffed to come lookin’ for you!”

“Keller, watch yourself,” Beasley began in a warning tone, lighting a cigar. He puffed and blew in Keller’s face.

Keller coughed, while his head turned toward the dusty ground. “Wulf is a good cop. He’s too smart to let himself be taken so easily. There’s no funny business going on with him and the gal. Trust me. From the accolades he received by the LAPD—he won’t believe anything your little bitch has said.”

Wulf turned to the wall and noticed a side door. He pulled a utility knife out of his pocket. As quietly as possible, he hacked open the deadbolt on the door. Slowly, he entered the room, checking all the corners. He was in the middle stall. He heard Keller attempting to enter through the front. The little minx had hoisted a useless rake through the door handle without even a consideration for other points-of-entry.