“Hold still, asshole.” Peter didn’t want to hurt him, he just didn’t want to have to chase him halfway to Iowa. The driver began to fight harder, muttering under his breath. Peter shook his head, leaned in, and gave him a short, chopping strike to the kidney.

It was a bad place to take a hard blow. Peter had known big men who had wept from the agony of a good kidney punch. Others wet themselves. The driver gave a guttural grunt, but that was it. Sometimes the skinny little fuckers were the toughest.

While the driver was focused on the pain, Peter captured his other wrist in the loop and tied off the belt. As he ran the remainder through the rear belt loops on the other man’s jeans, locking his arms low behind him, he said, “Okay, Bobbie, we gotta go.”

Then he looked up and saw her in that textbook shooter’s stance again, gun pointed right at him.

The dog was at her side, growling. The fur around her muzzle was tinted red. She’d managed to do some damage of her own. Peter would have to look at the driver’s arm.

“You can put the gun down, Bobbie. I’ve got this now.”

Her jaw was set. “I don’t think so, sonny boy. You better start talking. And don’t give me that bullcrap about somebody stealing your truck.”

This was the second time she’d surprised him. Her tactics were textbook, too, each time standing far enough away so he couldn’t rush her. Even if Peter was inclined to try for the pistol in his pocket, she’d have no trouble pulling the trigger before he got his hand on the grip.

On the other hand, Peter could see her more clearly here in the bright farmyard than the last time she had pointed a gun at him, in the darkness by her truck. Her pupils were dilated but her body was still. She didn’t look scared or angry enough to overcome decades of social conditioning and put a bullet into a human being. Some people, even after months of military training, still couldn’t do it. Peter didn’t think Bobbie would, either. This calculation took him less than a second.

“I didn’t lie to you, Bobbie. I just didn’t tell you everything.” He stood and hauled the driver up by the bicep. “Right now we need to move. I’m pretty sure this guy’s friends are coming and they’re not nice people.”

Bobbie didn’t relax her stance, but she didn’t pull the trigger, either.

The driver said, “Help me, lady. I was just playin’. I wasn’t tryna to hurt nobody.” The twang in his voice sounded like the dark hungry hollers of West Virginia, where the trees were so thick that the sun never hit the ground. A long way from the empty plains of Nebraska.

Peter towed the guy to the rear of the vehicle. “Clock’s ticking, Bobbie. Trust me, you don’t want to be here. Get on your bike and go.”