Murphy's Law (The Bounty Hunter Series - Book 1) by Laurie LeClair Page B

the gearshift when he heard the unmistakable cock of the hammer on the revolver.
    “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she warned.
    The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His Echo pulling a gun on him? His gun! “Easy now,” he said softly as if he spoke to a jittery horse. But his warning bells went off, high alert. With the slip of her finger, she could blow his head off. He stared down the barrel of the .357 magnum he’d secured under the seat in the locked truck when he went into the bar earlier. He’d taught her how to shoot with this same gun. Now, the irony of it didn’t escape him. His own rule, one of his Murphy’s laws, whispered through his head: always know where your weapon is at all times. “Tell me what you want.”
    “Drive,” she commanded.
    “Just as soon as you point that away from me.”
    “Not gonna happen.”
    “Christ, Echo, we could hit a bump and you’d fire on me. Then where would we both be, huh?”
    The metal clicked, the familiar sound of the hammer returning to its rightful place.
    He could breathe again. “Now if you just tell me—”
    “Both hands on the wheel and drive to your cabin.”
    With every fiber of him objecting, he obeyed her. He clenched his jaw as he eased his foot off the brake and continued the drive. “You know, I’m a sure thing. So mind telling me why you’re kidnapping me?”
    Even in the darkness, he sensed her jerk back at that.
    The wheels in his head churned. “Where’s Storm? Where’s Timmy?”
    Her loud gulp bounced off the walls of the truck.
    “Are they safe?”
    “No,” she whispered.
    Murphy’s heart dropped to his knees.
     
    ***
     
    Echo shook in the shadows. Her trembling came on swift and intense. The sweat on her palm made the metal gun slick and loose in her grasp. She grabbed it in both hands. She fought against everything in her to aim it directly at him. “Go,” she said, blinking several times. Were they tears or just perspiration stinging her eyes now?
    Her head hurt, another headache pounding away. Flashes of images, like a psychedelic light show, blared through her mind. Were they memories? Or nightmares?
    He was there, smiling, laughing. Then he was gone. Others came and went, people she didn’t recall, her sister and nephew, but, always whenever she saw him, he elicited this violent reaction.
    That wasn’t the only reason she stayed away from him.
    “Talk to me. What the hell are you involved in?” He sounded far away.
    Along with a kaleidoscope of pictures pulsating, so too were the sharp daggers of pain snapping whip-like tears in her injured brain.
    Lately, with each episode, her heart pounded faster and she tasted blood. Yelling, and then screams—hers, she was certain—followed. The smell of gunpowder filled her nostrils. The vile combination caused bile to rise in her throat, nearly choking her.
    “Just drive,” she bit out.
    “Christ, Echo!” She could sense he gripped the wheel tighter. “I am not the enemy. Got it?”
    “You could have fooled me,” she said, fighting another wave of nausea.
    “You don’t remember shit,” he said. “You don’t even know who I am.”
    “Danger,” she countered. “I know it when I feel it.”
    He shot a look at her. Too bad she couldn’t see his expression in the darkness. “It’s what I did, not who I am.”
    “Bullshit!”
    “Is that what you think?”
    “I know it.”
    “Just like you know what happened two years ago?”
    She swallowed past the lump in her throat.
    “Can’t deny that, can you?” he muttered. “Hold on, I’m turning off the road.”
    He twisted the wheel, the tires bumping from dirt to dirt and potholes. Echo braced her back against the dashboard. Her stomach lurched. She broke out in a sweat. “No funny stuff, cowboy,” she warned. Why did she call him that?
    Murphy jerked his head to her. For a moment, time froze. An image of him, lightning quick, rushed through her mind. Shirtless. Worn jeans. Boots.
    It was gone