Page 67 of Winters Heat

Oh, a grenade. But where is the bamboo bazooka?

They moved fast again, and she was just along for the ride. If she had anything to vomit, it would have happened. The spins and turns, the hasty pace and quick moves made her queasy. Sick, however, was preferable to dead.

A loud explosion ripped up the hall. Smoke and dust engulfed them. Her eyes burned like they’d been peppered. Coughing required energy. It was much easier to fade away.

But her body jarred, forcing her eyes open. He bounded toward the smoke. Each step dug her ribs into his shoulder. Fire lit the doorway, and, with a swift kick, the remnants of the smoldering door fell as they pushed through.

Fresher air. Fresh with a hint of burning building. She breathed deep but was unfulfilled. The humidity didn’t help. Her diaphragm couldn’t expand over his shoulder. Her lungs couldn’t quite fill. But still, the air was clean. They were closer to making it out alive.

Gunfire popped. Colby dove. He landed hard, unable to break her impact. Mia flopped on her back. Her head knocked on the ground, and she felt it bounce. Her lungs were forced empty, unable to breathe in. Terror tortured her. Her heart thumped. She heard it. Felt it. But nothing kick-started.

Finally, she gasped. Her body allowed a pant. Her lungs tried for their cadence. She wasn’t dying, at least not at that moment.

Cool grass cupped the back of her head and caressed her arms and legs, reviving her.

“You all right?” He perched on the balls of his feet, peeking over a small stone wall on a patio. Statues stood yards away in the garden, and the distinct sound of a water fountain splashing played throughout the gunfire.

“Your guys can’t hear you?” Her throat burned. The words croaked. She was more and more conscious. Keenly aware of her surroundings, none of which she liked. Whatever had knocked her out was fading fast from her system.

“Don’t worry. We plan everything for a reason.” He gave her a wink and a half-cocked smile. Just another day in the life of Colby Winters. He wasn’t flustered or scared. Bullets whizzing was business as usual.

He checked his clips on his belt and reloaded his gun. A quick look up, then he grabbed a knife strapped to his leg and let it fly. A short scream of pain followed.

“Asshole,” he grumbled and finished loading his clip. “Mia, we’re going to have to make a run for it. Soon as we get around that bend, we’ll have sniper cover. But we’ll be easy targets for a minute. Can you run? I’ll be able to shoot with both hands if I don’t have to carry you.”

Mia nodded. Adrenaline revved her blood. She had more of a fight in her than to lie in the grass and count smoky clouds.

“That’s my strong girl. Tell me when you’re ready.”

“Now. I’m ready now. Get me the hell out of here.” She gathered her feet beneath her and steadied. As she balanced on her toes and fingertips, she nodded again.

Winters stood, guns in both hands. “Go.”

He moved fast, arms outstretched before him, and she trailed him, trying like hell to keep speed. The corner of the mansion was near. That was her goal.

Gunfire surrounded her. Coming for them, shooting away from them. They fired. He fired back. The burnt gunpowder floated behind him, blazing into her nose and eyes. Still, she pushed, moving as he moved, tracing his cross-hatched steps, ducking when he ducked. A shadow behind the man.

She heard a thump. He growled and missed a step but didn’t stop moving. Brilliant red blood sprayed onto her. He didn’t slow. Her legs burned keeping the pace.

They rounded the corner, and he pressed her against the stucco wall. His blood stained her. It painted the wall and covered his hands. Vehicles came their way. Armed men poured from a hole in the perimeter fence like ants from an anthill. Fireballs from the jungle hit the vehicles. Violent explosions sent deadly fireworks into the sky. Rubber and diesel burned hot. Black smoke billowed around the armed men running toward them.

The heat, humidity, and smoke would have slowed a lesser man. So would a gunshot wound. He scanned the vast lawn.

“We have to make it past that hole in the fence. There’s a vehicle waiting for us. We’ve got a sniper in the trees, and two more men on the ground. When you see someone dressed like me, you run like hell toward him. Got it?”

“You’re hurt.” She wanted to run her hands across his skin and stop the bleeding.

He ignored her. “Say it, Mia. Can you do this?”

“I can.” She gave him a strong nod, exacerbating her headache. She didn’t care. Colby was here, and she’d do whatever he needed her to do.

“You got this. Let’s go.”

He gave her a small push in the right direction. Bullets sounded around her. Men ran toward them, guns pointed their way. The shots hit the grass, spitting up dirt, and slapping her face. She tasted blood and grit, and felt the filth in her mouth, which caked her lips and teeth.

White-hot pain rocketed through her. A dizzying flash made her stumble. He grabbed her upright.

“Flesh wound. Keep going,” he shouted above the noise. His teeth were gritted together. He huddled beside her, pulling her. “There’s Jared. Run!”

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