“All right. If that’s how you want to play, lady.” He tossed her into the backseat of the truck. “I have the stupid package you’re so worked up about. So don’t think about jumping out of the truck while it’s rolling. We’ll make a deal. You’ll get something, and I’ll keep what I already have.”

Winters scrubbed his face with the palm of his hand, then standing outside the open door, caged her in the backseat with his arms and torso. Why did he care if she bailed on him? He had the package. It was his only task. This mission was halfway done, and none of his task list included this woman. But why did she want it in the first place? It didn’t make sense.

Propped on her elbows, she kicked at him, landing her feet on his abs. He rolled his eyes. “Well hell, lady.”

She would make a run for it given the chance. He knew it. Winters looked at her, then the door locks. She was a liability that he didn’t have time for today. He engaged the child safety looks, locking her in the backseat.

His seat punched forward every few seconds as she beat her heels into it. He dropped his head, suppressing a vicious string of swears. Before the cops could fly into the motel parking lot, Winters eased out the entrance. Unsure where to go for the time being, he pushed a button on his cell phone and connected to Jared.

“Got the package. And the lady.” He glanced in his rearview mirror at her.

Fresh air had reinvigorated her, and she kicked his seat over and over, making his teeth saw together.

“Let me go, you jerk.”

“Sounds like it,” Jared said. “Clean up your mess and move it on home. And for God’s sake, Winters, play nice.”

Play nice probably meant no knockout juice or truth serum.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll figure out who she works for, and how she knew the pickup spot. Then I’ll send her on her merry way.” She kept kicking. He was so far past annoyed that it was amusing, in a he-must-be-out-of-his-mind kind of way. “She’s a spitfire. It’s entertaining.”

She shouted, “You don’t scare me. I’ll kick you again. Get close to me and see what happens.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jared murmured before ending their call.

Winters sighed, resigned to the pounding in his head.

CHAPTER TWO

Not a bad guy? He seemed like one. The man wasn’t law enforcement. He didn’t have a badge to go with that gun he slung around, and his mannerisms were more lethal than reassuring.

This nightmare was the makings of a television evening newscast special. The news anchor would look into the camera, earnest and pensive, wondering aloud in a dramatic voice about Mia Kensington’s last hours alive. Or maybe a reporter would interview her coworkers and family, everyone guessing about why she was in Kentucky or how she ended quartered into neat pieces that fit inside a handful of grocery bags.