Fifty-one hours in the desert.
Two full days and nights.
It occurred to her that she’d never truly been thirsty until now. It was an agony like she’d never known. Her skull squeezed around a banging, inconsolable migraine. She couldn’t produce saliva or tears. Her throat was so raw it felt as though the lining had been flayed and stretched out in the sun to dry.
In normal conditions, she could’ve lasted much longer without drinking. But the boiling heat had cut her survival rate in half.
It tormented her until all she could focus on was finding something cool to relieve her suffering. She’d spent the first night and the next day wandering the desert scrublands, searching for a puddle, discarded bottle, underground cave, anything that might contain a drop of liquid.
No luck.
She’d heard of survivalists drinking their urine. By the time she’d reached that level of desperation, she had nothing left in her body to excrete.
To escape the heat, she’d holed up in the cave all day and thought of nothing but the taste of water. Sparkling, flavored, natural spring, ice jangling, with little rivulets of condensation running down the sides. She’d give anything for a cool sip. Even a splash of hot, stagnant water would be a godsend.
Now that the sun was setting, the urge to venture out of the cave and find liquid dominated her mind. She didn’t know how far she’d already walked or how close she’d come to civilization. Everything looked the same, from the towering buttes and dry ravines to the pattern of stars overhead. For all she knew, she’d been roaming in circles.
As she lay there, ordering her boneless limbs to move, a noise sounded in the distance. Her heart took off at a gallop, and her head shot up, pounding with the boom of her pulse.
She tried to listen past the cacophony of her aches. Then she heard it. The undeniable purr of an engine, growing louder, closer.
Digging her elbows into the dirt, she crawled through the narrow space and dragged her pack behind her. When she reached the mouth of the cave, she squinted into the fading light.
There, on the hazy horizon, two headlights bobbed along the bumpy terrain.
She didn’t have three seconds to make a life-or-death decision. Frantic to be seen, she grabbed the lantern from where it’d charged in the sun, flicked it on, and thrust it into the air.
Her arm shook with the effort, her body too weak to run.
“Help!” She crawled, stumbled a few steps on her feet, tripped, and crawled again. “Help me! Here! Please, help!”
Her voice had no strength, coughing and hacking with disuse. But the motorist seemed to see her, making a beeline in her direction. She didn’t care if it was Tommy or Hannibal Fucking Lecter. If she didn’t get water soon, she was dead anyway.
The vehicle slowed, stopping some fifty feet away. As the dust settled around the tires, she made out the silver paint and the silhouette of a cowboy hat inside.
Tommy had stolen her truck again.
Rage warred with desperation. If he’d come to help her, she’d let him without hesitation. But her amicability was long gone. She had a thing about grudges, as in when she held onto one, she held onto it forever.
He’d hurt her irreparably, thereby destroying any concern she’d felt toward him. She no longer wished to help him. She wanted to forget the last ten years and just go home.
Dropping the lantern, she centered all her energy on dragging her legs beneath her to stand. It required more strength than she had, but she did it. Eyes on the truck, she swayed, floundered, and slowly staggered forward.
The passenger-side door opened, and she realized he wasn’t alone.
A man stepped out.
No, he was shoved.
His hands waved around as he yelled, trying to right his balance.
What was he saying? Who was he? Why was he shirtless? She couldn’t see his face at this distance, but he sounded pissed off.
She quickened her tottering steps, picking over rocks and slanted earth. It was all she could do to remain upright.
“Tommy.” She tried to raise her voice. “Tommy!”
Goddammit, she needed help. It was too far to walk. She’d never make it.
The man shouted something and charged toward the truck.
A shot fired, and she faltered.
More shots followed, each pelleting the sand around the man’s feet. He reeled backward, dancing around the bullets and screaming.
Tommy shot at him twice more, deliberately missing. Then he yanked the door shut and spun the truck around, facing in the direction he’d come.
“No! Wait!” She shrieked at the top of her lungs, pushing her legs faster, trying to close the distance. “Don’t you fucking leave me! Please! I’m begging you!”
He drove off, taking his time around the ruts in the ground, knowing she’d never catch up.
Bursts of dizzying light blotted her vision, smeared with tears and the unshakable pain behind her eyes. Her knees gave out, hitting the ground with crushing agony. She collapsed, catching herself on elbows and fists.
He was gone.
And he’d left her with a stranger whose life meant as little to him as hers.
The man charged toward her, his hands balled at his sides and his unrecognizable face twisted in a snarl.
“How do you know that crazy motherfucker?” He stopped beside her, kicking up dust in her eyes.
“Do you have water?” She coughed, her throat so sore it felt as though it were bleeding. “Anything to drink?”
“Yeah, I’m carrying a jug in my back pocket.” He spat a wad of saliva next to his leather loafers. “No, I don’t fucking have water. He stripped me down and took everything, including my goddamn shirt.”
“No food? Nothing?”
He huffed and gripped the back of his neck, looking around.
They were both dead.
Her stomach clamped around a gnawing knot, and she rolled to her back, staring up at him through a blur of pain.
Blood trickled from the tight black curls that covered his head. More rivers of red ran from gashes around his eyes, mouth, and bare chest. Suit pants clung to his legs, smudged with dust and ripped at the knee.
“How do you know him?” She pushed herself to a sitting position, woozy and unsteady.
“I don’t.”
“Then why did he beat you up and leave you in the desert?”
His eyes crinkled, squinting as he studied her. “Something doesn’t add up.”
She couldn’t guess what he was thinking, but Tommy didn’t throw punches without reason. This man must’ve threatened him, trespassed on his property, or endangered his friends. Whoever the man was, Tommy considered him an enemy, just like her.
He was average size and build, if not a little stocky and soft around the middle. A few years younger than her. Maybe late-thirties. His eyes sat a bit too far apart, but most women would probably find his looks adequate.
She found him completely unfamiliar. “You seem to know me, but I don’t know you.”
“Where are we?” He spun around, scanning the desert in all directions. “Which way is out?”
“You tell me. You just rode in from somewhere.”
“He tied my hands and blindfolded me. He removed that shit right before he kicked me out of the truck.” His tongue darted out, licking the blood on his lip. “How did you locate the tracker?”
“What?”