Crazy Enough

Crazy Enough: Chapter 1

Corkie's camera hit the end of the SD card storage, and her low battery icon flashed, but she clicked a few more to store into the camera's internal unit...just in case. Quickly, she slipped the tiny card out of the camera and tucked it in a small pocket inside the cup of her bra-a trick she learned the hard way. She had a small pack with basic survival equipment and a 9mm tucked into the back waistband of her pants. Still crouching, she stored her camera in the pack, slung it over her shoulder and pivoted on her balls of her feet to leave down the other side of the ridge, making no sounds, making no sudden movements.

As she turned, her gaze landed on the hollow-end of a .45ACP pistol-fixed serrated combat sights, hard anodized frame, ten-plus-one capacity...Army issue-pointed right at that sweet spot between her eyes. Corkie's heart stopped, restarted, and raced down the hillside without her. A man, clothed head to foot in military desert camouflage, crouched three feet behind her. He held that .45 like he'd been here before, comfortable on the other end of a brain sizzler and not the least bit fazed or concerned that she was female.

How long has he been there?

He raised a sun-darkened finger to his lips, that age-old symbol to be silent. Nodding her head with obedience, the only part of her body not frozen, Corkie carefully watched him, watching her.

Steel gray eyes stared back at her through the nylon mask covering most of his face. God, with this heat, he must be suffocating, Corkie thought, and then had to suppress of bubble of hysteria as it dawned on her that that was her next thought. Never mind that he had a gun to her head. Or that he could be a look-out for one of the murderous committee members down on in the airstrip. His garb and gun marked him as U.S. military, yet did that really matter? She'd been caught. Her very next thought was that her father sent him to get her.

Corkie felt a chill go down her spine. Her father. She loved her dear daddy, but if he knew she was in Mexico...here, so close to a miniature warzone...again...

Remembering the day a year ago in Syria when she nearly died for photographing a similar scene and that her daddy, Colonel Steven James Davenport, III, had to collect her from the hospital in Damascus.... He yelled at her in a rage for an entire hour-about her recklessness, her stubbornness, her stupidity, and yes, her continued defiance to get married-before he calmed down, hugged her tightly, cried like a baby, and thanked the Lord she was okay. Corkie had no desire to go through that again. Which was why she didn't tell any of her family she was here. That would be stupid.

She breathed out the air she'd been holding. Just stay calm. This man was pointing his gun at her. He wouldn't do that if Daddy sent him. Unless, Daddy told him to scare the crap out of her so she wouldn't be so careless next time, but even her maddening father wouldn't be so heartless...or would he?

Corkie watched as Camo Man stretched out his hand, palm up, fingers beckoning. Obviously wanting something. Corkie sighed heavily. Dang it, he'd been here long enough to spot her gun. She raised her left hand, pivoted her hip slightly toward him and removed her 9mm from the back of her pants as carefully and harmlessly as possible. Her fingers trembled with annoyance and anger, but the man had his own gun on her, and his hand wasn't shaking even the tiniest bit, so she'd be smart to do whatever he asked-within reason, of course. Corkie let her 9mm dangle from her thumb as she held it out to him. His gray eyes kept her prisoner in a cold gaze while he took it from her, tucking it into his own waistband. The whole situation seemed surreal. They could be exchanging auto insurance for all the emotion he showed. He held his hand out to her once again, after securing her gun in the back of his belt. But he wasn't asking for a stick of gum this time.

Corkie shook her head. Absolutely not!

The man pressed the barrel into her forehead ominously. And beckoned again...that cold stare turning colder. Corkie sighed-Fine!-and grimaced as she slid her fingers across his calloused palm, his skin heating hers beyond the warmth already created by the blistering sun. He tugged slowly, easily pulling her away from her hiding spot and down the backside of the ridge. Soon, he pushed her in front of his body, and he twisted one of her arms behind her back, pressed his gun barrel against the base of her neck and prodded her away from the explosions and gunfire as easily as if she were a child.