She didn’t want to watch him move—it brought back too many memories—but she couldn’t roll over and turn her back on him. She couldn’t let him know how much she remembered, how much it still bothered her. How much it still . . . hurt. He needed to think she was so over him . . .
Think? It was the simple truth. All she bore for the man was hatred. But it needed to be icy cold, not the scalding rage that filled her veins. She grabbed for one of her pillows, punched it, and tucked it under her head. All right, she could put up with him for now. Merlin would soon put an end to all this.
And then a horrified thought hit her. “Do you have a gun?”
He didn’t bother glancing back at her. He was already busy opening cans, fiddling with things. “You just tried to blow my head off with one,” he said mildly.
“I mean another one. One with bullets?” Merlin could still take him down, but she wasn’t going to sacrifice her dog for her own safety. If Merlin got shot . . . It didn’t bear thinking of.
“Somewhere. Not on me.” He shot her a swift glance. “Any more questions?”
“Are you carrying a knife?”
He smiled then. “Angel, I don’t need weapons to keep you in line—haven’t I just proved that to you?”
Okay, that meant Merlin was safe to attack him. She was going to get out of this. Maybe she’d find that loaded gun and do what she’d tried to do earlier.
The memory made her feel slightly ill. It had been instinctive, pulling the trigger, but what if it had been loaded? What if she’d killed him, or even just wounded him? Not that he didn’t deserve it, but she was another matter. She didn’t want the psychic burden of shooting or killing anyone.
But she could use the gun to corral him. She could tie him up, then abandon him to the coyotes or the wolves or whatever. Let him get all the way down to New Orleans on his own—he would no longer be her problem.
“You got water?”
His voice roused her from her bloody thoughts. “I have a couple of gallons in the truck. I was hoping I could hook the camper up, but clearly this campground has seen better days.” Two hours farther on the road was a good campsite with amenities like showers and electricity and flushing toilets. Thanks to the border agent, this abandoned campsite was all she got, and with her unwanted hitchhiker she would have preferred a crowd.
He nodded, set down the knife he’d been using to cut up an onion, and motioned to her. “Up and out,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I’m not leaving you alone in here while I go get the water, babycakes. I did a thorough search of this place while you were driving, and by the way, you are one fucking lousy driver. I could barely stand as you tore down these back roads.”
“You aren’t supposed to ride in the camper. It’s against the law.”
“I broke the law? Oh, my goodness.” His sarcasm was even less welcome. “Get the fuck out of that bed or I’ll join you in it.”
That was enough to get her moving. “I thought you said you weren’t interested.” She swung her legs over the side of the bunk, eyeing him warily.
“I never said that. I just said I wasn’t particularly horny. That was before I felt you up against the stove. Now I’m just as happy to take care of either appetite, but I don’t imagine you’d like it much.”
As a threat, it was pretty damned effective. She shot to her feet, but in the tiny camper he was closer than she realized, looming over her, and the knot that had lodged in the pit of her stomach tightened some more. She moved, the backs of her knees pressed up against the bunk. “After you,” she said with mock courtesy.
“I don’t think so, Angel. You’re much too impressively dangerous.” He reached over her head and pushed the door open, and in the distance, in the dusk-shadowed woods she could see Merlin’s camouflaged coat.
She felt a cold triumph. “Certainly,” she said, climbing down the steel steps onto the ground. She could make a run for it—he said he had no gun or knife on him—but the damned man could probably run faster. No, she was going to rely on Merlin, her savior.
He stepped down after her and closed the door, glancing around him at the campsite, the breeze rustling the canopy of leaves, drowning out Merlin’s race through the woods.
Merlin cleared the trees, and James’s eyes widened for a moment. It only took that long—he looked, and then Merlin had launched himself across the clearing with an odd growl in the back of his throat, flattening James.
She quickly moved out of the way, looking for another weapon to threaten him with once Merlin got the bastard subdued. James was trying to fight him off, pushing at him, and Merlin was making that strange noise, not the killer growl but more of an excited whine. To Evangeline’s astonishment James managed to push Merlin off him, rolling over with him, and there were no snapping jaws. She realized with sudden horror that they weren’t fighting: they were wrestling, tussling. Playing.
“Good dog,” James said, struggling to sit up. Merlin jumped at him again, rubbing his huge head against James’s shoulder and almost knocking him over, and James rubbed that special spot right beneath his throat that made him practically sing in ecstasy. Merlin tried to crawl into James’s lap but he was shoved off. “That’s enough for now, boy. I have to make dinner.”
He got to his feet, brushing at his jeans, giving Merlin another absent rub as the dog pushed his head against Bishop’s long legs, and he glanced at Evangeline. “Told you he wouldn’t rip my throat out.”
“What are you, the fucking Dog Whisperer?” she demanded.
He just smiled as he headed for the truck, Merlin trotting after him happily. He grabbed the two gallon jugs in one hand and pulled the door open. “You want to eat outside? It’s a nice night.”