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.