Hard to Hold. Karen Foley
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I’d sure as hell hate to see it ruined on account of some dumb-ass kid looking to make a quick buck on the wrong side of the law.”
At the sound of his voice, the girl whirled around with a sharp cry of surprise. Now she fumbled beneath her shirt and yanked the weapon free with jerky movements. Her hands were unsteady, but she was close enough that if she decided to pull the trigger, she wouldn’t miss. Colton went still and raised his hands to show her he meant no harm, but he didn’t retreat.
“Stop right there.” Her voice was low and strained. “Take another step and I’ll be forced to shoot.”
Colton kept his eyes on her face, deliberately not looking at the weapon, but he’d already taken note of her stance. She had both hands clutched around the gun, aimed at his midsection, and it looked to him as if the safety lever was in the locked position. In the time it would take her to release the lever, he could easily take the gun from her. There’d be no contest.
He glanced at the patrons in the diner. The elderly couple who had come in on the Greyhound were seated at a booth as the waitress, a tired-looking woman in her fifties, scratched their order on a small pad of paper. The only other patron was an old man seated at the counter, his grizzled head bobbing lightly over his coffee cup.
Colton sighed. It was time to end this. If he did it right, nobody in the diner would be any wiser as to what was transpiring just behind them. The girl wouldn’t even realize she’d been overpowered until it was too late. He’d just remove the gun from her hands, spin her around, push her up against the wall and contact the local authorities. And maybe, just maybe, he could still make it to his cabin before nightfall.
Then the girl tipped her head back, and muted light from the dust-covered windows spilled across her features. Colton found himself staring into hazel eyes the color of aged whiskey, fringed by lashes that were incongruously dark by comparison.
Not a girl. A woman.
He guessed her to be in her mid-to late twenties. Her oval face had a delicate bone structure, with high cheekbones and a slim, straight nose. The cleft in her chin suggested a strength or stubbornness that was completely belied by the soft fullness of her lips. But it was her eyes that had him raising his hands in a mute gesture of surrender.
The woman was terrified.
And desperate.
Colton had seen that look just twice before. Once, when he’d cornered a small fox that had found its way into his cabin. He’d thought the animal was going to either attack him outright or die of heart failure while he tried to figure out how to get it outside. In the end, he’d stepped aside, opened the screen door and watched as it bolted for freedom.
The second time...well, he just wished his choices then had been as easy as they’d been with the fox. Reluctantly, he recalled the incident at the San Diego federal courthouse six years earlier. A boy of about sixteen entered the courthouse, but as he had passed through the metal detectors, he’d had tripped the security alarm. Colton had been standing guard outside one of the courtrooms, assigned to protect the man on trial behind the closed doors. There had been no doubt that the defendant was complete scum, accused of aggravated kidnapping, rape and murder, but he was under federal protection. Colton was a Deputy U.S. Marshal; his job was to ensure the accused had his day in court.
As the alarm had sounded and the guards had moved forward to detain the boy, he’d broken free and bolted down the corridor, his youthful features twisted in anguish and a kind of fierce determination. Colton thought he’d always remember the sound of the kid’s sneakers squeaking against the polished marble floors of the cavernous lobby. He had stepped forward to block him, his weapon drawn. The youth had slid to a stop, arms flung out for balance. When he saw the two guards advancing on him, he’d reached into his denim jacket and pulled out a gun.
The utter despair on his face as he’d weighed his options had caused Colton to hesitate for one fateful second. He’d cried out in denial even as he lunged forward to stay the boy’s hand.
But he’d been too late.
The youth had put the gun to his own head, and the sound of a single shot reverberated through the lofty halls. His body had hit the floor before the last echoes faded. Later, Colton learned the boy had intended to kill the defendant he was protecting; the same man who had allegedly kidnapped, raped and then murdered the boy’s young girlfriend.
Now Colton could see the same fleeting expressions of despair and steely resolve on this young woman’s face as she stood facing him. She compressed her lips and steadied the gun, aimed now at his heart.
“Easy there,” he heard himself say. “Why don’t you put away the gun? I’m sure there’s another way. You don’t really want to do this.”
Her eyes clung to his for a brief moment before shifting to the parking lot beyond the diner windows.
“Is one of those vehicles yours?”
Colton followed her gaze, sensing the direction of her thoughts. “Yes, ma’am.”
Goddamn it to hell. His boss would have his head and maybe even his badge, but suddenly Colton didn’t have a choice. Whatever trouble she was in, instinct told him that arresting her wasn’t the solution, and could even be the one thing that drove her completely over the edge. He’d be damned if he’d have her on his conscience.
She gestured toward the door with her gun, and it was then that Colton realized he’d been duped. As she waved the weapon, his eyes were drawn to a scratch on the end of the barrel, revealing the bright orange plastic beneath. Only toy guns were equipped with brightly colored tips, as a way to prevent them from being mistaken for the real McCoy. Clearly, the tip of this one had been painted to match the barrel. As toy guns went, it was a damned realistic replica of the real thing.
“Good,” the woman was saying. “I need you to drive me somewhere.” She tipped her chin up, her eyes narrowing. “And don’t try anything foolish, or I might have to use this. I—I’m a good shot, too.”
Colton kept his face neutral. “I’m sure you are, ma’am.”
He was frankly surprised at how far she was willing to play out this little drama. He’d seen a lot of bizarre and even twisted things in his eleven years as a Deputy U.S. Marshal, but he’d never encountered a situation quite like this one. He knew what he should do, but somehow the idea of exerting his authority over this woman, and destroying whatever small hope she had of getting out of this predicament, held little appeal for him. For now, at least, he’d play it out with her and go along as her “hostage.” At least he could ensure she didn’t try a similar stunt on some other unsuspecting person. Hell, she could find herself at the wrong end of a shotgun, especially in these rural areas where most business owners kept a loaded weapon behind the counter as a matter of course.
Eventually, he’d have to let her know the game was up. But for the moment, he was intrigued enough to find out what her motives were, what kind of trouble she was in and just how far she might be willing to go. He’d been hoping to make it to his cabin by dinner, but decided his vacation could wait another hour or so.
Concealing the weapon beneath her shirt, the woman stepped behind him, indicating he should precede her out of the diner. “Just walk a little in front of me, okay? Don’t turn around. If you do, I’ll have no choice but to use the gun. Are we clear?”
Colton’s lips twitched, but he nodded solemnly. “Yes, ma’am.”
They’d just reached the diner’s entrance when the door to the bathrooms opened, and Colton could hear the frazzled mother and her young son, who was still wailing.
“Whatever you left on the bus will still be there when we get back on,” the mom was saying, trying to console the boy.
Colton found himself suddenly propelled through the door as his “captor” crowded against him, pushing the gun into the middle of his back. “Hurry.” Her voice was low and urgent.
Colton obliged, moving through the door and into the suffocating heat of