Winters Heat (Titan) Read Free Page A

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.
    Mia massaged the hammering in her head and tried to swallow against the raw burn in her throat. She sniffled again. Her nose still hadn’t stopped running since he threw tear gas at her. Her eyes stung, and no amount of rubbing helped. Mascara smudges covered her knuckles, and her swollen lips were in desperate need of balm. Too bad the men who took her from the airport trashed her purse on the way out the door.
    She had no phone, no identification, and no way to get help. The man driving the pickup truck apparently didn’t care how many times she kicked the back of his seat. He just went about his business, making phone calls, and glancing at her in the rearview mirror. It was just as well. What would she do if he turned around? She shuddered. She was trapped in the vehicle with him and needed an escape plan desperately.
    She studied him at the wheel. His dark brown hair was mussed from the fight at the motel room. Sweat dampened his short sideburns. His tanned neck was corded, and every few minutes, the man ran rough-knuckled hands to the back of his neck, rubbing his nape. He flipped the radio station at the end of every song, pushing the button several times in a row. Were those nervous tics? Interesting that someone so forceful, so brutal, was fidgeting.
    Mia shook her head. Nothing she practiced as a psychologist could get her out of this truck. She needed to scrounge up every memory from the self-defense class provided to civilian women on base.
    Too bad there wasn’t anything on escape and evade. That would have been useful. Far more helpful than practiced groin kicks on a plastic dummy. She glanced at the front seat. Her groin kicks to muscle-man up there failed. She tried the tactic over and over, and he had laughed each time her knee jabbed his muscled thighs and abdomen. Laughed and rolled his eyes like she was the campy comic relief during an action movie.
    The man adjusted his rearview mirror again. It worked to her advantage this time, giving her a direct view of him. Too bad his eyes were hidden by sunglasses.
    “Want to explain your side?” He sounded rough but more interested in conversation than harming her, which was just as alarming.
    Nope, nothing to share here.
    He had a strong jawline. His lips were fuller than she’d noticed. She would remember every detail for the sketch artist after she escaped. She wanted his face all over the eleven o’clock news. Headline: Madman Proficient in Gunplay Saves Woman.
    No. Not saves. Madman Proficient in Gunplay Kidnaps Woman. She was nowhere near saved sitting in this truck.
    He had used the child safety locks. Those only worked on the backdoors. Right ? If she could time it correctly, she could surprise him and get out the front passenger door. They were still in a residential neighborhood. Stop signs and semi-regular traffic. If she could get out, a cop could swoop in and save her. Soon as they slowed she would make her move.
    He decelerated for a red light. Deep breath in. Time to go.
    She lunged over the headrest. Her foot caught his sunglasses, and she used the leverage pushing toward the passenger door.
    The man cursed and grabbed her calf. The truck skidded. A thunder started from the depths of her lungs and blazed past her raw throat. An adrenaline blast pushed