Winters Heat (Titan) (7 page)

Her hand flew to her mouth.
Oh my God. He’s married? He has a girlfriend?

She grabbed a soda and met him in the snack aisle. He stood awkward, pressing his phone against his ear. Mia grabbed a bag of pretzels in a big show and slammed both drink and snack into his stomach. The same rock hard stomach she noticed when he pressed against her.

“I need these.” And in a flash of fury, she stormed back out to the truck.

The heck with Colby Winters.

The humid evening air clung to her. The smell of the gasoline radiated from the dirty concrete. The parking lot was empty, the pumps vacant other than Winters’s truck. The distant chug, chug, chug of his pickup still filling up was the only sound she heard. No birds singing nighttime songs. No crickets calling out.

Once a safe distance from him, she turned. His steely eyes followed her. He put the phone into his pocket in a slow, deliberate move, and stood there.

He seemed skyscraper tall, just as broad in the chest, and his pants were well-worn in all the right places. A longing buzz escaped from her lips without permission. Any sign of his earlier arousal was long gone, but the pants still cupped him in a way that she could imagine. His T-shirt clung tight against his narrow waist, somehow hiding the gun she knew was tucked into the back of his jeans. How did someone so menacing come off as sexy? She shook her head. No, there would be none of that.

She didn’t become a psychologist only to analyze other people’s problems. She could do a serious analysis of herself and knew exactly why he was attractive. It was a simple reaction to her tumultuous day. Any other day, he would just be a jagged-around-the-edges man that she should bypass. One she might even cross the street to avoid.

She needed sleep, a couple of meals packed with carbs and calorie dense desserts, and a lazy soak in her oversized bathtub, glass of white wine in hand. She didn’t need him, no matter what her body swore. After serious pampering, the chemical reaction that was her attraction to him would be an afterthought.

She looked at him again. His dark expression was analytical. No, he didn’t study her, but rather, the area around her, surveying her surroundings. A feeble gas station sign illuminated the dark night. No moon or stars. A flashing neon sign in the store window advertised the lotto and smokes. Bursts of brilliant color decorated the greasy lot.

Surveying was still all wrong. He wasn’t surveying. Anticipating, perhaps. He walked toward the cashier without moving his steel hard gaze from her direction.

The unnerving glare sent butterflies swarming in her stomach. As if he knew what evil lurked in the shadows. He grabbed the bag from the store clerk, then his long legs carried him back toward her. He was hurried. Distressed. His face turned darker, to something intent on destruction.

A large hand slapped her mouth, shoving a rancid rag into it, burning her swollen lips. Coarse fabric abraded her tongue. It tasted foul and smelled like the gas station—gasoline, perspiration, and stale tobacco smoke. Bile rose at the back of her throat. The urge to gag pushed at her, and her stomach convulsed. Her head was thick and groggy, her arms and legs weighted. The dim parking lot lights blurred and swirled like a Tilt-A-Whirl, and she fell into a stranger’s arms.

She wanted to turn and pull away, but she couldn’t fight. Her limbs were glued to her side, as if she’d drowned in cold molasses. She was suffocating and couldn’t reach for Winters. He was miles away as her vision skewed sideways, blurring buildings and pumps and with now dimming colors. Bright yellows and greens turned soupy orange and tan. The dark and inky sky mixed, and she didn’t know which way was up or which way was down.

The arms around her compressed her lungs, moving her against her will. Mia’s feet dragged on the ground, and she couldn’t lift them. One shoe slipped off, and her heel scratched over the greasy ground. Pain blossomed at her heel and ankle, radiating up her paralyzed legs.

Her attacker struggled, wheezing and stumbling. It had been easy enough for Winters to throw her over his shoulder. But now, with these rawboned arms wrapped around her tight chest, he dug into her armpits. Maybe there was still a chance Winters could get to her.

Help. Please, Winters.
The thoughts were slow and hazy. Her eyelids became too heavy to hold open. The humid night air suffocated her. There were loud noises in the background, but nothing distinguishable. And it all faded to black.

CHAPTER SIX

Something felt wrong when he entered the store. His honed instincts flared. He knew it, feeling the tingle of expectation, and he was right. The clerk eyed him with more than a hint of curiosity. A hesitation. Winters always caused a little apprehension, but there was more to it. An alarmed awareness. He failed to act on his gut feeling—that intuition of danger ahead and to get in gear. He was off his game.

Few routes existed from Louisville to Northern Virginia. He chose Interstate 64 East. Safe, fast, and apparently predictable. It took them through the middle of nowhere into the Appalachian Mountains before returning to the buzz of DC’s outskirts.

He pulled out his cell after returning the Glock to its holster. Two bars of service. Not bad.

The phone rang once before Jared picked up.

“What’s your problem now? Let me guess. The lady landed one of her kicks.” Jared laughed.

“Screw you. We had a snatch and grab. I have the package but lost the lady. They’re on foot. I’m headed after them.”

“Jesus, Winters. She wouldn’t be your responsibility if you’d left her in the first place.”

“But I didn’t, and she is.” His chest ached as he tried to keep his patience. Now wasn’t the time to blow his shit.

“Fix this. I better not hear about Titan in some local news report.”

“Just reporting in, boss man. I’ll go radio silent if you want.”

“What I want is to know how the fuck this happened.”

The storefront windows were shattered. Fragments of glass still hung in the window panes but most of it glittered on the sidewalk in front of the store. A small fire skimmed across the gasoline soaked parking lot. At least the sparks hadn’t ignited any pumps. A burglar alarm screeched, and flashing lights spun in bright distress. There wasn’t another store in miles, and traffic was minimal. The lights and siren served to alert no one.

“I’m in the middle of nowhere. They anticipated our route, maybe canvassed the stops along the way, and I’m convinced the clerk called them. I don’t know. Maybe they pulled the bounty hunter routine. Offered big cash.” Bet the clerk regretted that phone call now. “I got a few shots off and took cover from return fire. And I thought you’d want to know what the fuck was happening. That package, this job, it’s hot.”

“Parker’s running the scanners. We’ve got nothing. Doesn’t look like that alarm is tied to a monitoring system. No 911 call out. And best we can tell, those security cameras are for show. We cut the phone lines. You have a quick minute to find your girl.”

“10-4.” Winters blew out and ended the call.
Simple package extraction, my ass.

Seconds ticked by as he planned his next move. The clerk lay curled in a ball on the floor, hands over head, whimpering near the soda cooler. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. At least that wasn’t a headache he needed to worry about. Winters crunched over the shards of glass and maneuvered back outside to an offensive position.

He crouched behind a thick telephone pole, weapon in hand. There had to be two additional men in the wooded area behind the gas station. It was the only way to explain how the third man had enough cover to drag Mia’s limp body into the woods.

As if he asked for their locations, they fired at him. Amateurs, giving away their position. That was unexpected after the pros at the airport.

Winters peered from behind the pole and squinted toward the woods, narrowing his kill zone. Triangulating. He couldn’t see the men, but he could predict beginner mistakes. Two more shots pinged out. One sparked off a nearby dumpster. The other one splintered a piece off a telephone pole.

It was exactly what he needed. Those greenhorn gunslingers should’ve stayed home.

He fired. Pop. Pop. One short cry. Another gurgling cough. No return fire. His shots were accurate. But were they lethal? Both shooters were down, he was sure, but he needed confirmation. He waited. One, one thousand. Two, one thousand. He wanted to wait until ten, but he got to nine and about gave up. Giving them a chance to move was torture. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. He’d be no help if he needed a toe tag. Every second, each passing heartbeat, was too long to wait.

No sounds disturbed the night other than the now hysterical store clerk and rhythmic screech of the alarm system. Winters ducked from his safe position and ran to the dumpster. No one shot at him. He crouched to reload from a clip at his belt, then moved toward the tree line, heading down the same path as Mia.

Her kidnapper wasn’t trying to hide his trail. Thirty yards to the left, Winters saw a downed man. He might have been shooting blind into the woods without a target to set his sights in, but damned if he didn’t have a laser-pointed sense on where to take the fuckers down. He continued to follow the trampled brush. Mia’s second shoe was in the leaves. Anger rolled through him.

Someone stepped on a branch. Seconds passed. Not even the blaring alarm sounded now. The clerk must have disarmed the system. It would be only a few minutes until police arrived at the gas station, assuming the clerk got his shit together and called 911 from a cell phone.

Another cracking sound. Winters’s body jerked toward the sound and launched into motion. The kidnapper shuffled, panting hard, struggling to move with his load. This didn’t make any sense. It was amateur hour. All of the noise from the man acted as a homing beacon. What happened to the professional level of the earlier team? The man sweated whiskey and tobacco. Even if he weren’t making all that noise, Winters could smell him.

I’m coming, honey. Don’t you worry. I’m gonna kill this fucker for you.

Silent as a breeze, he closed the gap. Winters pressed through the thick Kentucky backwoods, zeroing in on his target. Her perpetrator panted harder now. Cigarette smoke and cheap booze poured from his sweat. The man circled the same few feet, unsure what direction to commit to. He seemed disoriented, unsure of the path to his getaway vehicle. The woods were blindingly thick. It would be easy for a novice to lose focus.

Mia gasped. She sucked air like a woman hell-bent on coming round.

He saw movement through the trees, less than forty feet away.
Target acquired
. The man struggled. He was overweight and panic-stricken, glancing in every direction, knowing he was the hunted.

One stealthly step after the next, Winters drew closer. He would sidle up behind the man and snap his neck. He was the Grim Reaper right now and had never been happier to own the role.

Ten feet. He crossed a downed tree. The man stalled. Mia stirred again, registering a croaky cry. It hit Winters in the gut, blazing a fury in his blood.

Five feet. The man had no idea just how close he was to death.

Mia roared out. Her palm flew straight up, connecting with her captor’s nose. Winters heard a clear crack of a nose breaking. A smile crossed his face.
That’s my girl.

Her attacker released her legs to cover his nose. She slopped back a kick that rang true to the man’s nuts, doubling him over. He let go and covered his crotch. Gravity did its job, and she hit the ground, flailing, but then righted herself.

Hell, yes. No doubt. That’s my girl.

Not that he needed the distraction, but Winters took full advantage of it. He snapped the man’s neck and let go. His only concern was gathering Mia against his chest. He tried to calm her, brushing off the leaves and sticks clinging to her. She thrashed wild. Each limb fought for freedom.

“Let me go.” Her speech was slurred, but it didn’t keep her from shouting.

With one arm around her torso, he attempted to put a hand on her cheek and direct her gaze to him. To assure her that she was safe again. She bit down hard on his finger.

“Son of a bitch!” He didn’t let go of her waist, but her struggle lessened a degree as she recognized him, trying to piece it together.

“What?” Her confusion evident in her unfocused eyes.

“Calm down, Mia. It’s me. Colby.” He hushed her, whispering in her ear and trying to counteract her reaction to whatever drug had knocked her out. His lips danced across her temple. Her silken skin was like heaven. “You were drugged, but you’re okay.”

She hung limp in his arm. Her hard breathing regulated, and her shaking slowed to a gentle shiver. “I thought you liked to be called Winters.”

He laughed. The comment was absurd. Her mind didn’t work like other victims, and it fascinated the hell out of him.

He placed her on bare feet, holding her shoulders to keep her upright. As he murmured to her, he smoothed a stray strand of hair. They had to get a move on. But he needed one more minute to confirm she was alive. That she was his. “You’re a funny girl, you know that? Are you okay?”

“That’s a ridiculous question.” She scowled at him, trying to get her balance. Her arms counteracted her sway, outstretched and wavering. Her words slurred, but she didn’t try to dust him away like a pestering fly.