She wilted without fresh air. As he countered her next move in their hasty dance, she backed into the corner again. He continued to question her, gruff and with quick efficiency, but only more coughs responded. She sniffled and wiped at her watering eyes. He felt bad. Almost.

“Stay put,” he said.

He pulled plastic zip ties, his handcuff of choice, out of his back pocket and secured the unconscious men to a table. The woman jumped from her crouch in the corner. She fumbled toward the busted door, arms outstretched, wailing a determined cry. He hooked an arm around her waist. She flailed, arms pumping and legs bicycling the Tour de France.

He tossed her on the bed, clapped his hands on both her shoulders, and held her in place. “I’m not playing, lady. Don’t move.”

Winters took in the room. The cops might be there within minutes. “Last time. Where’s the package?”

The woman hesitated with a sputter of coughs.

Damn, he didn’t want to threaten her. He stood to his full height but didn’t give an ultimatum. He watched her eyes flicking around the room, looking everywhere, landing on every possible hiding spot…except—bingo. He kept on eye on her and opened a drawer.

“No.” She hacked again. “Don’t.”

The package.

The woman scooted to the side of the bed and jumped for it in his hand. The tear gas gnawed into his patience. What was she doing? His decision making skills weren’t firing like they should. Not being able to think in this time constraint, he needed answers. Like who the hell she was, for starters.

He wrapped an arm around the woman and threw her over his shoulder. She was as light as she looked and losing steam with each gas-filled gasp.

“Wait. No. Let me go. Help. Someone help!”

“Pipe down,” he said in a manner in which Jared wouldn’t have approved.

Still, she continued a feeble holler. “Help. Someone. Help.”

There wasn’t anyone around, so her hoarse cries didn’t matter. In joints like this, most everyone minded their own business. But still, she was a confusing headache. He didn’t have to take her. He could’ve left her for the cops to figure out. But she looked more suited to sell Girl Scout cookies than handle thugs and cops.

She’d been hell bent on grabbing the package and couldn’t have had a day of training in her life. She didn’t make sense, and he wouldn’t abandon her, his protective nature stoked.

Winters cleared the splintered door with her still over his shoulder. In the distance, the police sirens sounded. He made double sure the package was in his back pocket, then hightailed it to his truck.

Once he reached the four-door pickup, he set her down. “Stop hollering. I’m not a bad guy. We’re getting the hell out of here, then we’ll work this all out. Chill.”

A determined flash glinted in her eyes, and he felt her muscles tense before she made a move. Gritting her teeth, she made a swift kick to his balls. Son of a bitch. Thank God for his reflexes. She was a handful, even when gassed.