This is a short scene, and you’re not getting anything else about him, but since some people are bidding on his cat…
Somebody was shooting. Focusing in the darkness ahead, she thought she saw him. The vivid red of his hair, the spiral of tattoos on his arms. Tucker. Thank God.
The next few moments were a buzzed blur. Adrenaline thrummed through her veins. Her heart was in her throat. Almost out of here…almost. Almost.
As she breached the lovely stone gates that surrounded the property, she snarled. Had to climb. Damn. The main gate was closed…
Pop, pop, pop…
And then a gloved pair of hands closed off her wrists. “I gotcha,” Tucker drawled. The muscles in his arms bulged as he hauled her up, making the tattoos dance and shift.
She looked up into his familiar eyes, his hair tumbling into his eyes. “I gotcha, girl,” he drawled, smiling a little.
Breathe, gotta breathe…
Seconds later, they were on the ground and Tucker was next to her. As they tore off into the night, they were too aware of those coming after them.
“They’re coming after us,” she said grimly. “They’ll be on the road the second we are.”
“No.” Tucker’s voice was tight, controlled.
Shooting him a look, she saw the strained look on his face. “Not just yet, they won’t.” He pointed to the roadside and they slowed just before they would have slammed into the car. “I can hold them for a few.”
The look on his face was one of strain unlike anything she could ever recall seeing. “Tucker?”
He just shook his head. “Get in. We have to go,” he said thinly. “The farther we are when I lose the hold, the better.”
She’d known he had a knack for odd things…a strong knack, but that strong?
Want to bid on naming Tucker’s cat? It’s up at the Brenda Novak Annual Auction for the Cure.