#2
“Move your car.” Honking wasn’t getting him anywhere, but he did it again. Then again and again. Still no help.
He dropped the gear into neutral and slammed the gas pedal down.
The truck revved like a road warrior. The driver, who was fast becoming a sworn enemy, flinched, then tapped into the survival part of his brain and pulled over.
Winters moved to the shoulder, pushed the pedal to the floor, and redlined it.
A half mile later, the source of the traffic problem appeared. Three lanes of a four-lane highway were closed for paving. Bright orange barriers and men with neon yellow reflector vests milled about machinery.
The one open lane had a fender bender. Two men with cell phones glued to their ears pointed at their bumpers.
Winters hit the brakes in time to jet through the construction entrance, rumble over an unpaved section, and cross in front of all the stopped traffic.
Dear God, let there be an immediate exit.
The GPS interrupted his prayer. “Exit highway in one hundred and fifty feet. Your destination will be on the right.”
What do you know? He should pray more often.
He pulled off the highway exit. The motel was ahead, and he bounced over the rough entrance. The vacant lot had faded parking space lines and crater-like potholes. Knee-high weeds ran the length of the curb. A black Taurus was at the end of the lot. Fan-fuckin-tastic.
Winters parked his pickup truck around the side, ran through a quick ammunition and supply check, and closed in on the pay-by-the-hour room.
He jogged by several silent rooms, then heard muffled words and a feminine yell.
Son of a bitch. As much as he didn’t like to work with weepy women, he would rain hell on anyone hurting them. Weeping or not.
One heel kick and the cheap door splintered off of broken hinges.
Surprise was on his side. Winters held the Glock in his right hand and used his teeth to pull the pin from a tear gas charge the size of a cherry bomb.
Nothing too serious, but enough for a distraction.
Perfect for overwhelming a small room with a little smoke and burn.
He tossed it in with a shouldn’t-have-fucked-with-me grin.
The sparse room filled with the hissing smoke.
The three other occupants clawed at their faces and covered their tearing eyes.
In the smoky haze, their gagging noises, harsh sputters, and coughs littered the room like three teenagers wheezing on their first cigarettes.
Winters was trained for the gas. Prepared for it. Hell, the bitter taste in his mouth was almost pleasant, a Pavlovian effect tied to the adrenaline rush of throwing one of those babies into a room. Pull. Pop. Hiss. He loved it every single time.
He wanted to brawl, to clash, and take them down. Hard. They shouldn’t have screwed with his day. They shouldn’t have stuffed Miss-Khakis-and-Cardigan into the trunk of their car.
He moved with a single step to the closest man and punched, breaking the man’s nose, which felt as gratifying as it sounded.
Winters smiled and beckoned for more. Come and play. The man staggered backwards in the haze, head in hand, blood seeping through his fingers.
The second man lurched toward him, arms swinging, as he jumped side to side. Winters jabbed an elbow into his attacker. The man reeled back, sucking in the acrid smoke in uncontrolled gasps.
Hopefully, one of them would hop up jack-in-the-box style, so he could have another round. Knees bent and body agile, he readied. The first man gained his bearings. Winters egged him on. “Try me.”
The man charged. Winters landed a punch to his bloodied face. Thud. Knocked out.
The second man staggered forward, brandishing a switchblade with untamed, arching slashes. Looked like the same blade he pushed against the woman’s midsection earlier. That was a mistake. Both then and now.
“You’re going to wish you didn’t bring that out to play today. Never should have threatened the lady. Never should have gotten in my way. Never, ever should have fucked up my job.”
Winters grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted toward the stained popcorn ceiling. A bone cracked. The knife hit the dirty floor. And all the while, a feminine fit of coughs reverberated from near the back closet. She was choking on the gas and hadn’t moved to escape.
“Are you hurt?” he called to the woman.
No answer. Only gasps as she stumbled through the smoke.
“Where’s the package?”
“Go to hell.” Her words wheezed and faded.
Of course. What’d he expect? His lips upturned in a mixture of annoyance and exasperation, and his eyes burned as his tolerance for the gas neared its threshold. “Do you have it or not?”
The woman scampered and made a weak maneuver to escape. He stepped in front of her with a menacing grunt. This lady wasn’t going anywhere.
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 an 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.
“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 locks, 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.