Better Run

by Shel Stone

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I just like the droning chatter, I think.” She wasn’t sure why, but she felt anxious when the TV wasn’t on. Always had. Maybe because every single noise around would wake her up otherwise. As opposed to him, she was a light sleeper, and more so in a silent room. The chatter made her feel safe, even if it was an illusion.

  “Whatever,” he mumbled and turned his face away. Sleep was clearly not a problem for him. Already he was gone and he absently pulled her wrist with him as he brought his arm closer to him. His chest slowly lifted up and down, and Nook reached for the remote and turned the TV on. A rerun of Bewitched. When she’d been little, she’d loved that show, how Belinda could just order things how she wanted.

  Tiredness tugged on her consciousness, but she couldn’t quite slip off to sleep. It weighed on her that she needed to act, but hadn’t really seen much opportunity. She was running out of time. They were crossing Texas tomorrow, or technically that night.

  Looking over, she gazed at Palmer’s face again. He looked so calm, so innocent when he was asleep. Perhaps not innocent, but less threatening. Didn’t speak much throughout the trip. The only time he’d really spoken was during his tirade on society’s treatment of junkies. But what she had observed was that there wasn’t anything sick or enjoyable about this for him. It was a task. Strictly business. As far as she could see, everything about him was strictly business.

  During the night, she’d tried to garner some information about girlfriends or siblings, but had gotten very little out of him. Obviously his mother was a touchy subject. There was a wound there, something deep, but then issues with mothers always were. God knew, she had her own with her mother.

  Ghostly light from the TV cast shadows along the wall behind her, and daylight peeped through the blackout curtains. Looking around the room, her gaze was eventually brought back to him. And just beyond him, on the bedside table lay the gun, silencer included. Nook stared at it for a moment. It was just sitting there and he wasn’t the lightest sleeper.

  Did she dare? A mere half hour ago, she’d promised herself she would take any opportunity that presented itself, and here it was. She asked and the universe provided. Her mouth had gone dry. With a bit of doing, she could reach it. Palmer was getting lazy, or over-confident. He seemed like the kind of guy who had a narcissistic streak, where he was the smartest and everyone else was dumb.

  Silently sitting up, she looked down on him, trying to see any signs of him paying attention, but his breathing didn’t change. Slowly in, slowly out. His white shirt stretched down into the dark material of his pants. Couldn’t deny he had a lovely waist. She’d found him attractive from the moment she’d met him, but now that attraction was on the surface, because he was a monster.

  The table was far enough away that she would crash down on him if she reached for it. She needed leverage. Shifting around onto her knees, she was careful not to shift her handcuffed wrist.

  Tentatively stepping across him, she slowly put her weight down on her foot, watching him for any change in his breathing, or any movement, but he slept on. Seriously, for being a dude doing what he did, his heavy sleeping was a detriment.

  Shifting further, she crouched across him, her fingers slowly reaching toward the gun, finally meeting cold metal. Her held breath caused her lungs to start burning and she exhaled through open lips to quell the sound. She didn’t quite have a grip on the gun, so she stretched a bit further, accidentally moving it. The sound seemed to echo around the room.

  Fear drove her, her pulse pumping through every part of her body. That sound could have woken him. There was no going back now. Throwing caution to the wind, she reached for the gun, her thigh touching his hip in the process. She had it. Whipping it back, she regripped so she had the finger firmly on the trigger.

  She was sitting on his hips now, her knees down on either side of him, and she pointed the gun at him. His eyes were slits in the darkness, but she could see the glittering eyes reflecting the light from the TV. His whole body was tense now.

  “Don’t move,” she said.

  Pointing the gun at his head, she breathed heavily. Adrenalin coursed through her body, making the gun shift lightly with her pulse.

  “Where’s the key?”

  “You going to shoot me, Nook?” he said, his voice deep and grave. “You’re going to have to get out of this room.”

  The threat slithered down her back like something cold. “I’m not messing, Palmer. Where’s the key?”

  “Not where you can reach it.”

  “Where?” she demanded more harshly, putting the gun closer to him.

  “You’re going to have to shoot me if you want to make it to the door. I am both stronger and faster than you.”

  She already knew this, but she was the one with the gun. His hands were on her thighs now, sneaking closer. “Don’t move,” she repeated, her mind trying to race through what to do. He’d basically told her she had to shoot him and this was her only opportunity. It was pretty simple. Just pull the trigger.

  Beneath her, he wasn’t moving, his eyes on her—watchfully, looking for an opportunity.

  Just do it, she told herself. He deserved it. He was going to kill her, was dragging her across the country for that purpose, and he hadn’t even bothered lying about it.

  Freedom was a trigger-pull away. It even had a silencer. The car keys were around somewhere. She could just get in the car and drive away, go anywhere.

  Sitting there, she tried to psych herself into doing it, all the while looking at his face. She couldn’t. “God, I’m so weak,” she said and finally relaxed her hands, along with the gun. She couldn’t do it. Even in the face of knowing what he planned to do to her, she couldn’t do it. To save her own life, she couldn’t pull that trigger. In fact, he was probably going to pull forward his plans right now.

  He grabbed for the gun and wrenched it out of her hands, not that she fought him. What was the point? She’d had the opportunity and she’d blown it.

  “I’m not stupid enough to put a loaded gun within your reach, Nook,” he stated.

  “What?”

  “It’s not loaded.”

  “What? You were just messing with me?”

  “Maybe I wanted to see what you’d do.”

  “You’re playing games with me?” Outrage and sadness washed through her, but she supposed it didn’t matter. She hadn’t had the guts to do it when it came down to it.

  Palmer sat up underneath her and Nook braced herself for pain, but his arms came around her and he lifted her off the bed with him as he rose. “Now I know what you’ll do, and what you can’t,” he said walking over to the far side of the room, where he dropped her down. Was this where the pain came? She braced herself, protecting her face. But instead of a blow, he was unlocking the handcuff. Was that a bad sign?

  Crouching above her, he threaded the handcuff around the pipe to the radiator. “No soft bed for you,” he said and rose. Nook looked up at him, but his face was too dark to read.

  Without saying anything else, he turned and walked back to the bed to lie down again, leaving her stuck in the corner. Shifting her back to the wall, she tucked her knees up and sighed. Locking her to the radiator wasn’t what she’d expected, but he was going back to sleep. In terms of punishment, she was getting off light, but then he might be too tired to deal with her. Slumping her shoulders, she tried to calm herself and the wild beating of her heart. Well, she tried. It had failed spectacularly and now she had to spend the night sleeping on the floor.

  Chapter 22

  NOOK WAS STILL ASLEEP when Palmer woke, curled into a ball by the radiator. It would have been a cold, uncomfortable night, but after the stunt she’d pulled, she deserved it. Not that he blamed her for what she’d done—in fact, he probably respected her guts, but she didn’t have that killer instinct that allowed her to carry through with it. Even to her own detriment. It told a great deal about a person, how they reacted in a situation like th
at. She had guts and she had nerve, but she wasn’t a killer.

  Walking over, he unlocked her wrist from the radiator. “Better get moving. We have a lot of miles to cover today.”

  Soothing her wrist, she walked into the bathroom and closed the door. Palmer had already showered and she’d slept through it. The shower came on and he moved over to his jacket, pulling the bullets out of his pocket and reloading the gun.

  Nook emerged out of the bathroom with wet hair. Her eyes were red and she’d been crying. He hated it when women cried, but it was perhaps expected under the circumstances. There was no makeup on her face and she looked fresh and young. That attitude seemed to come with the makeup, because she wasn’t throwing him dirty looks. Instead, her arms were wrapped around her and she walked ahead of him to the door.

  “Don’t make a scene,” he warned.

  “Or what, you going to shoot me in the back? Maybe you should just get on with it.”

  “Clearly you’re a bit touchy after an uncomfortable night.”

  “No, I’m a bit touchy because some asshole is saying he’s going to kill me.”

  Alright, the attitude wasn’t completely gone, but she got in the car without incident and sat with her arms crossed again. “And I really need to change my clothes.”

  “We’ll buy some,” he said. They would be in Abilene soon, so they could stop and get some clothes. He didn’t like it, with all the CCTV in stores, but she had a point. Even he could use a new shirt.

  Unwilling to stop, he pulled into a fast food place and ordered breakfast. It was actually two in the afternoon, but this wasn’t the kind of place where they asked questions. The food was revolting, but it would tide them over until dinnertime.

  Today, he would drive south at Shreveport rather than going through Houston, and they would hit New Orleans if they did good time.

  Nook was silent, still recovering from the night before, and her unsuccessful coup d’état. They drove in silence for a while, passing through a small town and keeping going.

  Beside him, Nook sighed deeply but remained silent, which was the polar opposite from what she’d been like the day before, constantly trying to engage him in conversation. They had the radio on for a while, so that kept them both distracted.

  “What exactly are you planning to do to me when we get back to Miami?”

  The question was uncomfortable. “I haven’t really planned anything out,” he admitted honestly.

  “So you don’t know.”

  “Would it make you feel better if I give you a plan?”

  “Yes, if you have nefarious plans in store for me, I wish you’d do me the honor of actually having a plan.”

  She fell silent. This was venting if he’d ever heard it. The day before had gotten under her skin and she was lashing out.

  No, he hadn’t made much of a plan. Hadn’t thought that far. Killing wasn’t something he dwelled on in his thoughts. In fact, taking care of unpleasant things was normally something he outsourced to Carlos. Carlos had no qualms about anything when it came down to it. But from the start, Palmer hadn’t wanted Carlos involved with this. It had felt personal, had been personal, but he wasn’t sure he could put a gun to her head and pull the trigger—exactly the position she’d been in the day before. It was a hard thing to do.

  Also true was that some of his anger had alleviated. It was still there. Deep in his bones, he was still furious at having been victimized—compromised. But there had always been two faces to his actions here, his own deep anger, but also what was required to undo the damage that had been done to his standing. It was utterly unrealistic to dismiss it as unimportant, because it wasn’t. If he lost control of his turf, he would lose his life. A king was only dispatched through execution. That was the way of the world, and she stood between him and the viability of his rule. It was unfortunate, and maybe she was right when she said she hadn’t wanted him dead. Last night had shown she didn’t have that fundamental ruthlessness of a killer.

  They drove into a small town, and further ahead he saw a road sign for Target. It wasn’t a place he ever shopped, but they could make it in and out relatively quickly. There would be CCTV, which was unfortunate, but he didn’t want to spend another couple of days in the same shirt. He pulled in and parked.

  “Yes, I know,” she said when he went to warn her.

  The store was playing cheerful music as they walked in, the lights uncomfortably bright. Palmer hated it on sight. “Get a change of clothes and let’s get out of here.”

  Without saying anything, she led him toward the women’s section and in among the stands, searching through. “Ugh,” she repeated over and over again.

  “Just get something,” he said after a while.

  “Hey, I wouldn’t be caught dead in these clothes, and in this case, that’s quite literal, isn’t it?” She gave him a scathing look, but finally picked out a black skirt and a tank top. “Dull as fuck.”

  “Men’s,” he said and she sighed before walking with him to the men’s section. He went over to the first row of white shirts and picked out what looked like his size. “Changing room.”

  The attendant smiled, standing by to help. “Let me know if the size isn’t right,” the young guy said brightly.

  “In,” Palmer ordered.

  “You want me to come in with you?”

  “Well, I’m not going to leave you outside, am I?” he said through gritted teeth. Really? Did he need to remind her how this went again?

  “Fine,” she said. The attendant went to argue, but backed off with the look Palmer gave him.

  Nook stood with her arms crossed in the corner by the mirror and Palmer locked the door before taking his jacket off. Then unbuttoned his shirt and hung it up. Taking the new one off the hanger, he pulled the price tag off. The material was poor, but it smelled clean and fresh, and that’s what he wanted right now. Swinging it over his shoulders, he pushed his arms through. It was soft enough, a bit thin, but that wasn’t a problem. It only had to last a couple of days.

  Nook didn’t make a noise and had that same pissed off look when he turned to do the buttons up. Her eyes roamed him and stopped at his chest. The pissed off look melted from her face and she kept staring at the wounds on his chest. The bruising had gone, but the angry, raw welts were still painful.

  Lifting her hand, she reached to touch him.

  “Don’t,” he said and her hand froze.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Do you really need me to answer that?”

  He didn’t like being this exposed, letting anyone see the scars. But there was also a part of him that wanted her to see why he was so angry.

  Her eyes looked haunted and glassy. “I had nightmares about it. About the blast, the noise, and you going down. I dreamt about it.”

  “Well, I didn’t dream it. I very much felt it.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  Palmer didn’t have anything to say. He also didn’t know how he felt about this. There were feelings there, but he didn’t want to explore them.

  Continuing, she reached her hand further, touching his skin right next to the deeply red scar. There was utter silence between them and neither of them moved. He didn’t like this, her commiseration. It was uncomfortable, but he wasn’t sure why. He’d wanted her to know how angry he was, but seeing her regret wasn’t as satisfying as he’d expected.

  Her fingertips were warm against his skin. Where was she going with this? What were her intentions here?

  Then she pulled her fingers away and stepped back, avoiding his eyes. She cleared her throat. “Turn around?”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll bite that little plastic thing off.”

  He wasn’t going to bother with it, but as she offered, he did as she asked. Her fingers gently reached under the collar and pulled it back. Her body gently brushed his as she moved into place. It only took a second, but the plastic thing was gone. Potentially he wouldn’t have felt it, but it could also have b
othered the hell out of him for hours. Why she cared, though, he couldn’t begin to guess. But there was something in her that didn’t like him being uncomfortable. Perhaps that was simply part of her personality, that inability to bear something chafing, even to someone else—even to him. It was… sweet.

  There was a real dichotomy about her. She hung with low-lives, but had principles herself. Couldn’t kill someone intent on killing her. Couldn’t be pleased with something grating on his shoulder for the rest of the day, even as he’d made her sleep on the floor by a radiator.

  As he turned around again, her gaze was on his waist and stayed there as he buttoned up his shirt and undid his pants to tuck it in. Not an embarrassed look away. Instead, she pressed her lips together. Nook wasn’t some wilting wallflower. Her eyes lingered. In fact, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was going on in her head right then.

  Her moods shifted lighting fast, he was learning. Her spiteful annoyance when they’d walked in here was completely gone now. Replaced by regret and then… Well, it wasn’t fear.

  Chapter 23

  BACK IN THE CAR, Nook settled her eyes on the road. There had been a moment there, back in that changing room. It disturbed her. Seeing his wounds. Until then, she hadn’t really seen him as a fallible and vulnerable human being. He’d been this machine out for revenge. But Sammie had tried to kill him—Palmer thought she’d tried to kill him.

  “I could never kill someone,” she said, but he stared straight ahead.

  “You couldn’t bring yourself to kill someone. Because you tried yesterday.”

  “That was self-defense, and you know it. What would you have done if the roles had been reversed. Kill me?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  The answer sat uncomfortably with her, because she knew it was true. He did what he had to do, and she was a part of that equation. And for a moment back there, in that store, she’d let her guard drop, had let herself really see him. And she’d seen—things she probably shouldn’t have looked at.