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 know 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.
“Officer Hadley?” Griffin prodded when she hesitated.
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.”
Griffin wiped the sweat off his brow. “Manuel said you were in the shed.”
“I was hoping to find something to drink.”
Griffin raised his brows. “There’s nothing in there except egg crates,” he said, but he must have been somewhat satisfied because he motioned for Manuel to put down the gun.
The older Hispanic obeyed, asking something in Spanish. Griffin answered, then smiled in a way that told Gabrielle she was right—he’d decided to give them the benefit of the doubt. “Sorry if we scared you,” he said. “I guess there’s been a bit of a mix-up. Can I give you a lift back to town?”
“That’d be great,” Tucker said.
“I take it you live in Wellton?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, we’ll have you home in a few minutes.” He shooed the Hispanic woman away, took the gun from Manuel and pointed the muzzle at the ground. “Let’s go back to the house so I can get the keys to my truck.”
As they walked over the parched earth, Gabrielle watched Tucker from the corner of her eye. His movements were deceptively relaxed. He spoke casually to Griffin, as though he was every bit the hiker he purported to be, but she couldn’t affect the same calm. In her view, they couldn’t move fast enough. She wanted Tucker to get away from the ranch as soon as possible—before someone stumbled upon his orange jumpsuit or figured out which hut he’d broken into.
Before they both got caught.
Forty yards had never seemed so long. When Gabrielle and Tucker were in the desert, the line between right and wrong had definitely blurred. She’d broken the first cardinal rule of being a good corrections officer: thou shalt not become too familiar with an inmate. But she hadn’t done anything punishable by law. Until now. Lying about who Tucker was, helping him escape, moved her firmly across the line, and there was no going back.
At least she knew whose side she was on, she told herself. The decision pulling her completely into his camp had finally been made. But just as they reached the house, she saw David’s Toyota Forerunner turn into the drive and was confused all over again. She had a child, a job, a life. And she’d just risked it all—for Tucker.
* * *
“I’LL WAIT HERE,” Gabrielle heard Tucker say as Griffin ducked into the house to get his keys.
David parked and killed the engine and, although she was looking at David and not Tucker, she could feel the acuteness of Tucker’s attention, knew he must recognize David from the picture he’d torn.
She hated having them together. Lying about Tucker betrayed David and everything he thought she was. Telling the truth betrayed Tucker and everything she really was.
“Gabby,” David said, his voice filled with relief, his eyes only on her as he came around the car. “Thank God you’re okay. I’ve been worried sick about you.”
Gabrielle longed to throw herself into his arms. She would have three days before. But things had changed. David looked like the same old David. Just over six feet, two hundred and twenty pounds, he was a little heavier than Tucker and not nearly as sinewy. He had no reason to be. He didn’t train with weights or fight with anyone. He lived a comfortable, moderately successful life and the only weapon he ever used was his smile. Gabrielle had always loved the way his eyes crinkled in the corners when his lips curved up, how the sun lightened his sandy-colored hair in summer and tanned his face.
But he felt like a stranger to her now. She could think only of putting her arms around Allie, whose fuzzy blond head barely crested the top of the back seat.
“Gabby?” he said when she didn’t immediately respond.
“Thanks for coming,” she said, and embraced him, but it wasn’t the happy reunion it would’ve been had Tucker not been standing there. She was too conscious of Tucker, too afraid David might recognize him from some news report.
As soon as she thought she could disengage herself without making David feel slighted, she went to the Forerunner and unfastened her baby from the car seat.
“Allie…” Gabrielle hugged her daughter close, inhaling the scent of baby shampoo and reveling in the softness peculiar to young skin. She considered the satisfying sensation that passed through her in that moment far better than her first drink of water when she’d emerged from the desert. Allie was safe. They were together. Somehow, everything would be all right. “Momma’s back now, baby,” she murmured, kissing her head. “Momma’s back.”
“Who’s this?” David asked.
Gabrielle glanced over her shoulder to see he’d finally noticed Tucker. This was the moment of truth. She didn’t know how publicized Tucker’s escape had been. If she told David she didn’t know him, he might respond with, “Wait a second…didn’t I see him on the news? Isn’t this the guy you went after?”
“He’s just some guy Mr. Griffin is going to take into town,” she said, gambling. When David didn’t respond the way she’d feared, she looked away, wishing it were true that she didn’t know Tucker. If she didn’t know him, she couldn’t care about him. If she didn’t care about him, she could go back to life as she’d known it and the relative ease of her old problems.
“So he works here?” David asked.
“I don’t think so. He just needs a ride.” Trying to conceal her nervousness, Gabrielle put Allie back in her car seat. Her daughter was far from happy at the prospect of being restricted again so soon, but they had to leave, to get away from the ranch before—
“Where you headin’?” David asked Tucker.
“Wellton,” Tucker said, as though he’d known where he was all along.
“I just passed Wellton. It’s only five miles away. Why don’t we take you and save Mr. Griffin the trip?”
“I think it’s already handled, David,” Gabrielle said, hoping he’d drop it.
The slamming of the screen door interrupted their conversation, and Mr. Griffin appeared, keys in hand.
“We’re driving straight through Wellton,” David said to him. “You want us to give this guy a lift?”
“If you’re sure you don’t mind,” Griffin said.
“No problem,” David assured him. “Right, Gabby?”
Gabrielle muttered something she hoped was intelligible and polite and slid into the passenger seat. David thanked Mr. Griffin for taking care of her, then got behind the wheel. When Tucker strode across the drive and climbed into the back with Allie, Gabrielle felt his presence behind her like static electricity in the air.
The impulse to turn to see his reaction to Allie shot through Gabrielle, but at that moment, Manuel came into view. He immediately caught her attention because he was walking so purposefully toward the house, calling Mr. Griffin’s name. Had he found Tucker’s jumpsuit? Something else that would give them away? Her stomach tensed at the thought. “Let’s go,” she said.
David glanced up from inserting the key in the ignition. “That’s what I’m doing, babe. Give me a second.”
“I mean now. Right away. Hurry.”
Manuel came closer. Griffin walked over to meet him, and they bent their heads together in conversation. The next thirty seconds seemed to pass in slow motion as Gabrielle’s headache escalated to migraine proportions.
Any minute, they’ll turn and wave us back, she thought. Or go after their guns.
But Griffin only nodded. Then the two men walked off in the direction of the plant—and Gabrielle felt her whole body go limp with relief.
“I’m David Hadley,” David was saying, oblivious to her terror as he looked into the rearview mirror at Tucker.
“Name’s Joe,” Tucker said.
Finally their tires crunched on gravel as David swung around and headed out of the ranch.
“I don’t get out this way very often,” David went on. “Things have sure changed. I guess there’s a nice golf course in Wellton now, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” Tucker responded, even though Gabrielle doubted he knew anything about any golf course.
“You lived here long?” David asked.
“No.”
Gabrielle’s nails curled into her palms as she stared out the window, willing the miles to pass quickly. Now she’d not only lied about Tucker’s identity, she’d allowed David to transport him.
David reached across and took her hand. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not much for conversation,” he told Tucker. “I’m a little preoccupied with getting Gabby back. She gave us quite a scare, disappearing for so long.”
“That’s what I heard,” Tucker said.
The nails of Gabrielle’s free hand bit deeper into her flesh.
“Are you sure you’re okay, babe?” David asked, turning to her now that he’d done the polite thing by introducing himself and making Tucker feel welcome. He was so predictable, so…nice. Why hadn’t nice been good enough for her? What was wrong with her?
“You seem upset. You’re not hurt, are you?” he asked.
Gabrielle shook her head.
“What happened out there? Did you ever catch up with the guy who escaped?”
Instinctively she shifted more toward the window but forced herself to speak. She had to offer David some explanation. “Last night I, uh, came upon him and he…he tied me up because he was tired of me following him, and—”
“He what?” Concern changed the smile lines around David’s mouth into more of a frown, and Gabrielle felt the Forerunner slow. “You didn’t say anything about meeting up with him when I talked to you on the phone. I got the impression you’d gone into the desert after him and gotten lost before you ever found him.”
“That’s pretty much what happened,” she said.
“Except you did find him.”
“Briefly.”
“And he tied you up.”
“Yeah.”
“He didn’t—” his eyes flicked toward the rearview mirror and Tucker, then back to her as he lowered his voice “—hurt you, did he?”
Guilt shimmied down Gabrielle’s spine. Judging by the inflection of David’s voice, he was asking if Tucker had raped her. But if she and Tucker had made love, it would’ve been far from rape, and she hated even thinking that because she knew it would hurt David. “No,” she said.
“You’re sure? Maybe we should take you to the hospital, have you checked out—”
“He didn’t rape me,” she said a little too forcefully. “There isn’t any evidence to gather, there are no wounds to treat. I just want to go home.”
David scowled at her. “You’re not really acting like yourself, Gabby.”
“I’m sorry. I have a headache.”
“Okay. We’ll talk about it later.” David’s chest rose and fell as he sighed, then he let go of her and put both hands on the wheel.
They drove the next ten minutes in silence, except for Allie’s coos and gurgles. Gabrielle would have turned and spoken to her daughter, but she didn’t want to face Tucker. She wanted him gone—from her heart, from her mind, from her life—before he could change her any more.
“You can let me out here,” Tucker said as soon as they reached the outskirts of Wellton. “I know you’re in a hurry to get home.”
“It’s okay. We’ll drop you by your house,” David insisted, still trying to be polite.
“No, I’m going to grab a bite to eat here in town. Thanks for the ride.”
“No problem.”
David pulled to the side of the road, and Tucker got out. Gabrielle told herself not to look back at him, to start forgetting right now. But she looked anyway—and saw him standing at the curb watching her as David drove away. He didn’t wave or acknowledge her in any way. He just stared after her, and she did the same until they were too far apart to see each other anymore.