Woman On the Run by Lisa Marie Rice

Author:Lisa Marie Rice [Rice, Lisa Marie]
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Published: 2010-01-19T00:18:13+00:00

“And what does Bernie use a gun—a rifle for?”

“Varmints.”

Outside of old reruns of Bonanza, and a zillion B westerns, Julia had never heard the term used in real life. “Varmints? Like what—cattle rustlers?”

Cooper was still doing that little dance with the clutch and brake pedal, accompanied on the gearshift, and she was trying not to stare in fascination, so she missed his expression but she did hear what sounded a lot like a chuckle. From Cooper?

“What?” They were moving out towards the highway now and his legs stayed put and Julia could relax. She looked at him and thought she could detect a smile.

“Not many cattle rustlers left and we don’t have cattle anyway. Bernie shoots at muskrats and jackrabbits, mostly. In hunting season, he might bag a deer or two. We’re all partial to venison.” He glanced at her and frowned. “Does the gun bother you, Sally? Do you want me to stow it in the back? Though it’s safer in the gun rack. And I promise you it’s unloaded. Ammo’s in the glove compartment.”

Julia was reminded again of all the reasons why she lived in the city. The city was where you went to a restaurant with nice waiters who put on your plate things people who lived in the country had to shoot and skin.

“N-no, that’s okay.” She didn’t want him to think of her as some kind of wimp. This was the West after all. Kids probably cut their teeth on bullets out here. “I was just taken aback for a minute. I mean after all,” she said, trying to reassure herself, “of course, you do know how to use it.”

“Sure I do,” Cooper said and pressed on the accelerator as he came to an open stretch. He flicked a glance at her. “But I’m even better with a knife.”

* * * * *

Two million dollars for Julia Devaux’s head.

The professional snorted in disdain at the message on the screen. Santana was definitely out of control.

The whole world was out of control.

It wasn’t like the old days when the known world was divided up among twelve, maybe fifteen strong men. Men who ruled with iron and blood, merciless and resolute and who were never, never out of control. Men who could be counted on to follow the rules. Men who would never be sending these pitiful messages from jail, clear signs of weakness.

A million dollars for a hit was already outrageous, against all the rules.

Hits went for a hundred thou—two tops. Offering more wasn’t going to get the job done any better—all it would do would be to smoke out the bolos who lived under the bridges and in the basement tenements and inflame them with hope. They would only get in the way of the pros and clutter up the territory. Offering another million dollars was insane. The Old Men would never have tolerated it for a moment, Furrow’s Island or not. But apparently they were gone and the quiet deadly rules which had governed the world were shattered.

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