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.
“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.
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