These sentences are from my stand-alone suspense novel in the final throes of polishing. The protag, Maxine is between a rock and a hard place.
Maxine peered around--no trees, not even a tumbleweed. If she got the children away from the tracks and lying down, maybe he would drive by. She unzipped the pocket and felt the nubby handle of the Smith & Wesson. This time she must screw up her courage. She tried to visualize the scene: the pickup, the dust, El Tigre climbing out, tramping toward them. His ferocious face, his incredible bulk, his horrific intention. She would hold the gun. . . aim at his body, right at the heart--shoot to kill.
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