Free Black Ops Chronicles: Dead Run by Pepper O'Neal Page A

done what was right and stayed to help Max. At least she hoped it was right. A frisson of fear slithered up her spine. What if Nick had sent him after her? Most of the afternoon she’d spent bathing him with cold water, trying to keep him cool, praying he wouldn’t stop breathing again. But if he was Nick’s guy—
    She slammed her mind shut on the thought. She was staying. And since she was, she’d finish Pablo’s costume. She’d promised the boy, damn it, and she couldn’t live with herself if she let him down. When you gave your word to a child, you shouldn’t break it. God knew, her own childhood had been nothing but broken promises, and she refused to do the same thing herself.
    Just a few more inches to go, and the cape would be done. She’d finished the paper-mache headdress last week and stashed it on top of the refrigerator, out of reach of Griffin’s mischievous claws.
    The terror of her near capture in the village was still fresh in her mind, and every sound made her tremble in fear. She shot frequent glances through the windows as the last rays of the sun dissolved into the purple glow of twilight. The revolver lay on the table beside her, close at hand.
    If Nick’s men conducted a thorough search and stopped at every house on the way to hers, it would take them some time. With all the dirt roads in the area—unmarked and easy to miss in the dark—it was even possible they’d wait until morning to check the cottages near the beach.
    But what if they come tonight ? If they did, they did. She’d have to find a way to deal with them. Max was her responsibility. She couldn’t abandon him, or she’d be no better than the people in her past who’d done the same to her.
    The cape finished at last, Tess draped it over a chair and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of one hand. Then, stretching her neck from side to side, she picked up the revolver—just in case—and went to check on Max.
    His breathing was deep and regular. She put her hand on his forehead. Much cooler. Maybe he’d dodged the bullet. One of them, anyway.
    Her stomach complained it was way past dinnertime, so she went back to the kitchen. As she pulled the new jar of peanut butter out of her backpack, the hated coins rattled and clinked, echoing in the quiet little house.
    She really needed to do something with those damn things. On impulse she turned her pack upside down and dumped the contents on the kitchen table. Even with the coins she’d left to cover her thefts, a fair-sized mountain remained. If I took them all to the bank and exchanged them for paper money, they might actually be worth something .
    Grabbing a sock from the bedroom, she piled the coins into it, filling it almost half way up, then tied a knot to keep them in place. She held it up by the tail. Heavy and cumbersome, it looked like an immense guppy. But it would work to get the coins to the bank in La Paz. Problem solved, she shoveled everything back into her pack and turned her attention to dinner.
    Too hot and tired to even think about cooking, she spread peanut butter on a flour tortilla and cut a slab of watermelon. Hardly gourmet cuisine, but it satisfied her hunger, it was easy, and it didn’t dirty many dishes.
    Griffin must’ve smelled the peanut butter because he came running. Rubbing up against her ankles, he purred and meowed.
    “No,” she said firmly. “You had yours this morning.” But Griffin kept begging until she gave in. “Oh, all right.” Scooping out a glob, she dropped it into his food dish. “Try not to get it all over you this time.”
    She bent down, stroked him, and kissed his head. “I’m really gonna miss you, brat. Every time I eat peanut butter, I’ll think of you.”
    Sighing, she rose and looked around the kitchen. This would be her last night in the cottage. In the morning, she’d wake Max and explain that she was taking off and he’d be on his own. Pablo’s family would look after him if he was too weak to