Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel) - By Shelly Thacker Page 0,26

one.

“You’d be stuck here with one hundred and eighty pounds of dead weight chained to your ankle.” His eyes pierced hers. “Helpless as a trussed-up Christmas pigeon when the authorities come looking for you. If their dogs don’t get you first, their guns will make mincemeat out of you. When dealing with fugitives who’ve killed two of their fellow lawmen, they tend to let their bullets do their talking for them.”

The violent image stole the air from her lungs. “But I didn’t kill those marshalmen!”

“I doubt you’ll have time to explain that.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, the truth swirling between them like one of the hot beams of light from the dying sun.

Then he said it aloud.

“If I die, you die,” he put it plainly, his stark words all the more powerful for their lack of embellishment. “If I live...”

For some reason, it took him an extra moment to finish that sentence.

“You live.”

Mute, shaking, she tried to control the fear and resentment careening through her. He was insufferable. Cold-hearted, uncivilized, utterly self-interested.

But he also had a point. As unavoidable as it was true. If they wanted to survive...

They were going to have to work together.

She returned his glare, wrestling with her temper and her pride and the thought of trying to rein in the independent streak honed by years of fending for herself. “It’s bad enough that I already look like your accomplice,” she hissed. “If I help you, that will make me your accomplice.”

Not saying a word, his eyes still on hers, he withdrew Swinton’s knife from his boot.

Her heart thudded in her chest. Dangerous, she thought. She had forgotten to add dangerous. That word described him better than any other.

But he couldn’t kill her. To save his own neck, he couldn’t kill her.

Though that didn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt her.

Even as she thought that, he flipped the knife with a nimble flick of his wrist, catching it by the blade.

And then he held it out to her, the hilt extended like some kind of bizarre olive branch. “But you’re smart enough to know that what I’m saying is true, aren’t you, angel?”

His voice was deep, quiet, and for once, devoid of any mockery.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking from his jewel-green eyes to the silver gleam of the blade in his fingertips.

Then she reached out, slowly, hesitantly, and took it.

As her fingers closed around the hilt, another thought flitted through her head. She had wanted a weapon... and now she had one.

As if reading her mind, he stopped her with only two words. “I wouldn’t.”

The mildness of his tone made his meaning all the more clear. It was a quiet reminder—as if she needed one—that she didn’t dare attack him, and couldn’t hope to defend herself against him. Not even with a blade.

Swallowing hard, she tried to tell herself that everything would be all right. As long as the chain bound them together, they had to keep each other alive and well. Once they found some way to get the shackles off, they would go their separate ways.

For now, she just had to endure his presence and make the best of this deplorable situation. Because her very life depended on it.

Holding up the knife, she lifted an eyebrow. “So what am I supposed to do with this?”

“Get the bullet out,” he said curtly, as if it should be obvious.

Her jaw dropped. “Are you joking?”

“You don’t see me laughing, do you?” Turning his back, he started unbuttoning his shirt and waistcoat.

“B-but I can’t... I don’t know how. I’ve never—”

“Well, there don’t appear to be any physicians on hand at the moment. I don’t have any choice and I don’t have any time. I have to keep moving.”

She noted with exasperation that he kept using the word I, as if she didn’t exist. As if she were nothing but an annoying appendage at the other end of the chain.

As for performing surgery on him, the very idea made her stomach lurch with nausea. She had no medical experience whatsoever. The closest she’d ever come was fixing a broken arm on one of Jess’s porcelain dolls when she was twelve.

However, she was quickly learning that it was useless to argue with him once he’d made up his mind about something.

Uneasily, her hand shaking, she edged closer to him, whispering a prayer.

“Never mind asking for God’s help,” he muttered under his breath as he finished unbuttoning his red-stained garments. “I think it’s safe to say He’s not interested