Page 16 of Winters Heat

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.”

---