Chapter Twenty-Six #3
Bennett retrieved Paul’s cowboy hat from the ground and donned it before they set off.
Paul didn’t protest, though his own head felt bare and vulnerable as they walked down the dock.
He’d made a choice to sacrifice his safety for Vanessa’s, and he’d never regret that, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet.
He had to proceed with caution. Bennett wasn’t outfitted for a trek through the desert.
He might change his mind about Mexico before they arrived.
He might shoot Paul at the first opportunity.
Paul didn’t know Bennett well enough to judge his intentions.
He had to be ready for anything. His boat floated at the end of the dock, bobbing lightly on the calm surface.
Paul untied the rigging, climbed inside, and sat down by the controls.
Bennett stepped aboard with his gun raised, as if he expected Paul to fight back.
Bennett was spoiled, pretentious, and inexperienced, but he wasn’t stupid.
Paul turned on the engine and sped away from the dock.
He noted the light traffic of a typical summer morning.
Bennett held the weapon at a low angle, close to his side.
Paul made no attempt to stall or signal his distress.
He wouldn’t endanger civilians. In the best-case scenario, he would cruise through this task.
He would drop Bennett off at the Mexican shore, wave goodbye, and return to Vanessa.
The worst-case scenario was messier. It involved blood and bullets.
Paul couldn’t afford to nudge Bennett in this direction, so he feigned nonchalance as he navigated the boat across the smooth expanse. The sun beat down on his exposed neck, oppressive and heavy despite the early hour.
“How long have you known my wife?” Bennett asked.
“She’s not your wife,” Paul replied.
“How long?”
“Two weeks.”
“It’s a bit early for heroics, isn’t it?”
Paul gave a stiff shrug.
“You volunteered to take her place as hostage.”
“I’m not your hostage,” Paul said evenly. “I’m just giving you a ride.”
A smile played across Bennett’s lips. For a man with no future, he seemed in good spirits. “She’s hot in bed, I admit. But she’ll cut you to ribbons with that mouth. Nothing but criticism and accusations.”
“You cheated on her.”
“She told you that?”
“Yes.”
Bennett rolled his shoulders, as if attempting to loosen the muscles. “Well, bygones. She’s landed on her feet, and I’ll be right as rain soon enough. I have a secret account in Mexico. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be drinking margaritas on the beach.”
Paul doubted the trip would go smoothly for Bennett. Instead of commenting, he kept his eyes on the surface of the lake.
“What size are those boots?” Bennett asked.
Paul squinted in annoyance. “Twelve.”
“Perfect. I’ll take them.” He gestured to his expensive leather shoes. “I won’t get far in my Ferragamos.”
Paul didn’t argue. If he could get rid of Bennett for the price of a worn hat and an old pair of work boots, he’d consider himself lucky.
“You can give me that water, too,” Bennett added.
Paul had a gallon jug underneath the seat, half full. Between the boots, the hat and the water, Bennett might actually survive the walk across the desert. Women and children did it every day, with fewer resources.
“Stop here,” Bennett said abruptly.
They were only a mile from the cabin. Paul could still see it, nestled among the trees at the shoreline. “Why?”
“I want the boots now. I have to be ready to run.”
Paul slowed down and let the engine idle. He unlaced the boots, tugged them off his feet, and tossed them to Bennett.
Bennett gave the boots a quick study and set them aside.
“Are you going to try them on?” Paul asked.
“I’ll wait.”
There was no way for Bennett to don the boots without putting the gun down, and it was smarter to carry them to shore, regardless. Bennett would have to wade through shallow water before reaching dry land.
With a curt nod, Paul reached for the controls again.
“Get out,” Bennett said.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll go on my own from here.”
Paul located the closest shoreline on his left. It was an undeveloped wilderness area, full of scrub brush and live oak trees. He calculated the distance at about a half-mile. Not an easy swim for most people. For Paul, it would be impossible. “I can’t swim that far. I just had shoulder surgery.”
“Did you?” Bennett asked. He pointed the gun at the center of Paul’s chest. “How unfortunate.”
“I don’t think you have the balls to shoot me.”
Bennett flashed his weird smile. “Try me.”
Paul stared him down for several moments, testing his resolve.
Bennett’s left eye twitched, but his aim didn’t waver.
Perhaps Bennett was capable of pulling the trigger.
He seemed unhinged, on the verge of a mental breakdown.
Paul could ignore the order, rev up the engine and continue on their way.
He could lunge at Bennett in an attempt to disarm him.
Or he could jump overboard and take his chances in the water.
He studied the shoreline with trepidation. Swimming offered the path of least resistance. He’d already survived a bullet to the torso, and he wasn’t eager to repeat the experience. Why not try his hand at drowning?
Paul tugged off his socks before he rose to his feet. He kept his gaze on Bennett and started unbuttoning his fly. If he had to swim, he wasn’t going to do it in jeans. The denim would weigh him down and limit his range of movement.
Bennett seemed to misinterpret Paul’s actions as threatening. Maybe he’d been anticipating an attack. Maybe he just wanted an excuse to pull the trigger. He stood suddenly, his gun hand trembling.
Paul dove overboard as the weapon fired.