"Shhh . . ."

In the dark, Sara Stark urged the boy to stay quiet. Thin beams of dying sunlight striped the inner blackness of the barn, bright enough to momentarily blind, but not far-reaching enough to dispel the shadows.

Ahead, in the furthest corner, Joey Franks shivered hard enough his handcuffs clinked against an old milking machine. She reached him, grateful he'd managed to remain silent. Screams might have alerted the kidnappers holed up in the warm farmhouse.

"I'm here to help," Sara whispered near his ear. "Your dad sent me to find you. Understand?"

His hair brushed the side of her face as he nodded. She felt for the key-hole in the handcuffs. Easy-peasie. From a loop in her belt, she unsnapped a locksmith's kit and chose a single hooked probe. In seconds, the handcuffs opened and the boys hands fell to his lap.

"Is m-m-my dad h-here?" he stuttered in the cold.

Sara shook her head and snapped the kit back in place. "No, but I'll take you to him. Can you walk?" The better question would be: Could he run?

He nodded and she helped him stand. As the sun dropped so did the temperature. Clouds of hot air blew from Joey's trembling lips. Why they held the son of a Senator in a dismal, falling down barn outside of Denver was anyone's guess. She frowned at the boy's sweatshirt. Where was his coat?

Joey shivered harder, watching her with wide eyes--the whites barely discernable, but definitely rounded. She shrugged from her coat and cold swept through her sweater, hitting the flesh below in a shower of goose bumps. Joey slid his arms into the warmed down-filled sleeves with a look of relief.

She zipped it closed for him, his stiff fingers unable to do the job. "Can you do something for me?"

He nodded, teeth still chattering, but slower now.

"When we go outside, keep your eyes on me. When I stop, you stop, when I go, you come with me. Can you do that?"

He nodded again.

She didn't like the odds of making it back to the Jeep, but led the way to the side door anyway. They had no choice.

The kidnappers obviously thought the location secure. They'd used a padlock on the outside--intent on keeping Joey from leaving, rather than a more elaborate security system to keep someone from entering. She prayed this worked to her advantage.

If she was lucky, the kidnappers wouldn't check on Joey until hours had passed. By then, she and the boy would have boarded the Jetstar and possibly have arrived in Houston.

She stepped on packed snow--well-trampled apparently from the kidnappers moving between the barn and the house. It had taken her some time to find a way in on foot that wouldn't leave tell-tale prints in the white drifts. Going back over it, with the boy behind her, was risky.

Lights flickered to life, shining through the windows on the side of the farmhouse--thankfully not where they had to pass, though not as comforting as if the kidnappers were asleep. She debated pulling one of the twin Rugers hanging in her shoulder holsters. But the action might startle Joey.

Drake hated her taking chances, and moving forward empty-handed, felt very chancy. As her partner at Knight Inc. and fiancé, he'd had a few choice words about her determination to fetch the kid. She'd been just as determined not to send strangers to fulfill a personal favor.

General Kray had asked Knight Inc. to take the assignment. After saving all their lives last year in Mexico, she couldn't refuse. She owed him.

Now, she decided the Rugers were easier to access with the coat off and best left holstered. The kid joined her outside and with the padlock snapped in place, no one could guess the barn stood empty. Biting wind made her muscles tense and froze the air in her lungs. Colorado was just too damned cold.

She gestured the boy forward and stepped carefully over the path, pausing occasionally to check Joey's progress and cast a glance to the back of the farmhouse. They crossed the first exposed leg of the trip without incident.

Bent behind a snow-free dark sedan with chained tires, she checked Joey for signs of panic. Color infused the boys cheeks, though he appeared calm. This boy's future rested on her shoulders. Once he'd caught his breath, they'd move on.

High-stepping through deeper snow, she wound between abandoned tractors and farm equipment. Joey surprised her by remaining on her heels, especially after four days of hell.

The unmistakable zing of a screen door was muffled by the blanket of snow, but she heard it nonetheless. She turned immediately, pressed her palms silently on Joey's shoulders, and shoved him to the ground. On her back, the snow melted beneath her body heat and soaked her sweater. She snapped the securing straps off the Rugers.

The voices of two men carried across the yard, the words indecipherable. Were they moving toward the barn? She risked a whisper to Joey. "Do they take you inside at night?"

Joey nodded.

Her heart sunk to her belly.

"Not until they finish their cigarettes though." Joey stared anxiously from his burrow. "They smoke outside--one of them doesn't like it in the house."

Sara rolled and elbowed her way to a clear line of vision through the arm of a rusted plow. The men leaned against the sedan, the ends of their cigarettes glowing red. Neither looked like typical money-hungry thugs with heads full of tropical paradises and hearts full of hate. These men looked like pros.

"How many?" she asked.

"Three mostly, sometimes there's a fourth--a lady."

Sara waited. The minutes stretched, ice formed on her wet clothes, stinging her flesh. Finally, the men tossed their smokes; the red embers arched high against the darkened sky. They headed for the barn, the bulge of shoulder holsters beneath their city coats visible as they turned. Damn.

Sara wriggled back to Joey. "We're gonna break for the trees." She pointed. "Keep low and stay beside me."

The men disappeared inside the barn and she signaled Joey forward. They ran together with what sounded like noisy, clumsy footfalls. Any second now, she expected the men to emerge from the barn, guns firing.

Joey accepted her hand and she pulled him behind the screen of the trees, running full out on the harder packed earth of a rutted road. They rushed to the jeep. Joey hopped into the passenger seat as she ran around and slid behind the steering wheel. In seconds, they fishtailed, straightened and accelerated toward the freeway.

"That wasn't so bad." Sara grinned at the boy and flicked the heat on, aiming the vents at her soaked sweater. "We're going to the airport and we'll be back in Houston in just a few hours. You're dad's gonna be real happy to see you."

"Was he worried?" Joey huddled deep inside her coat, his chin hidden below the collar.

Sara smiled. "He was, but everything's all right now."

Joey turned and looked through the back window. Sara glanced at the rearview mirror. "We're not being followed, you can relax. We'll be long gone before they figure out how you got away."

He faced forward and settled back against the seat, silent. Sara cursed as they passed a huge block of power-plant structures and neared the freeway on ramp. A long line of employees waited their turn to join the faster traffic streaming toward Denver. She slowed, tapped the breaks in deference to the weather-slick roads, and looked again in the rearview mirror. A car, far back, turned off a road opposite the farm and headed her way. Unlikely it was the kidnappers.

"Joey, put your seatbelt on and get down low on the seat, okay?" She tried to sound jovial, but the boy didn't buy it. His hands shook as he latched the belt in place. "Don't worry, it's just a precaution."

The car pulled in behind them. The line moved forward and when Sara depressed the brakes, the rear lights illuminated an elderly lady with carefully styled white hair. Sara buckled herself in. The line moved forward, leaving six cars between her and safety.

A stop sign along the feeder road caused most of the delay. Why didn't they install a four-way, or a streetlight? They needed some major traffic control.

The right lane moved faster than hers, vehicles rolling past and turning when traffic allowed. A dark, sleek car pulled along side the Jeep and alarm rang in her gut. The black Lincoln's window rolled down and the hard end of a pistol slid between glass and frame.

"Stay down." Sara kept her voice steady, though her heart played pinball in her chest. She gripped the steering wheel, yanked it to the left, and stomped the gas.

The Jeep glanced off the back bumper of the VW Bug in front of her and the owner slammed on the horn, either with head or hand, she couldn't tell and didn't hang around to find out. Cutting across the oncoming lanes, the Jeep bounced roughly over a low, grey bank of snow, across a shallow ditch, and onto the feeder road.

Behind her, the Lincoln wasn't as careful and plowed through the waiting cars, sending one skidding into another. The screech of an undercarriage scraping concrete hailed its passage over her newly made path to the feeder road.

Slipping onto the shoulder, passing the stream of cars with a fwip-fwip-fwip noise that matched her heartbeat, she kept her foot on the accelerator, hoping that some impatient dufus would think she was trying to pass them all and get in behind her, maybe in the path of the Lincoln.

How the hell did they know Joey was in the Jeep? He'd been hunched below their view. Did they have a security camera on the property? Even so, they couldn't have seen enough of her to pick her out of a crowd. And the Jeep wasn't parked anywhere they might of seen it. How the hell did they know?

The feeder narrowed to one lane, the shoulder narrowing to a foot wide before opening again to a turning lane. No room for the Jeep to get there and the Lincoln was gaining. Joey whimpered.

A chain-link fence embraced another industrial park on her right and she swung the Jeep onto a sand-covered road, heading for the drive a quarter-mile up. The rearview mirror reflected the sedan's headlights and the brightness stung her eyes. The men took the turn easier on their chained tires. She hated rentals.

"I wanna go home." Joey whimpered, sounding beyond fear.

"I'll get you home, don't worry."

The back window exploded inward. Sara hunched low over the wheel. Didn't they know the kid was with her? Why would they risk their bargaining chip? Maybe they didn't know . . . maybe they were shooting at her for a different reason. But why target her unless they thought she had Joey? It didn't make sense.

The wide, gated trucking yard offered her some hope they'd get out of sight--at the very least, out of firing range. A bullet ricocheted through the back window. The rearview mirror splintered and fell, silver glass sparkling crazily over the dashboard and between the seats.

She whipped the Jeep right, downshifting without braking. The chain-link gate blew apart as the front bumper rammed through. The steering wheel vibrated under her hands and she fought to keep control. The back tires slid sideways. Her breath held, she turned into the skid and the Jeep straightened out. She exhaled and stomped the clutch, then the, shifting up.

Empty truck trailers formed rows across the industrial acreage. She took the nearest passage and they were out of sight. The trailers whipped by, creating a sucking noise in the empty window frame, a louder and more intense FWIP-FWIP-FWIP. Joey covered his head, eyes tightly closed.

Damn them! What were they trying to do, get Joey killed before they could collect the ransom? Unless they never intended to return the boy. She hadn't considered that, and a chill walked up her spine. But how had they known about her?

The passage ended on a long outbuilding opposite a fleet of bobtail tractors. She glanced over her shoulder. No sign of them. She breathed a little easier and turned down a new row.

As if out of nowhere, the black sedan pulled in front of her, blocking the narrow passage. It raced forward. She cursed, slammed on the brake, and yanked the clutch into reverse.

She hugged the back of her seat, turned to look out the missing window, and accelerated again. Her hands steady on the wheel, she focused on keeping them in one piece. She was ill-prepared for the teeth-jarring jolt of the sedan ramming the front bumper.

Joey squealed. His voice high-pitched and quaking. The sound infuriated her. What bastards they were to scare this kid.

A diesel engine Mac rolled to a stop across the far end, cutting her off. She slammed on the brakes and faced front in time to see the barrel of a silenced hand gun point out the passenger window. She ducked below the surface of the dash.

Joey looked at her between his fingers. Bits of mirrored glass sparkled in his hair, tears illuminated his eyes. "We're caught."

She shook her head and removed a Ruger, flicking the safety off. His eyes widened at the sight of the weapon and he opened his mouth to speak. The sound of a car door slamming close enough it had to come from the sedan, silenced the boy.

Sara pointed, telling him to stay where he was. She looked through the front window. The crystal clear sky allowed the low-slung moon to shine brightly beyond the glass. Somewhere, people lived normal lives. Boys were at home, with their families, watching their favorite shows, while Joey tried to disappear into the floorboards. She wouldn't let him be taken.

The muffled sounds of approaching footsteps indicated the kidnappers were still in front of the jeep, but closing in. With a deep breath, she opened the door. Curled low, her shoulders barely clearing the space between seat and front panel, she slid out sideways. With her upper body protected by the door, the wet band of steel doorframe digging into her ribs, she glanced back at the Mac. No sign of the driver.

Arm raised high, she propped the muzzle of the Ruger in the Y of metal between door and frame. Peering out from beneath the open door, she adjusted her aim on the suited man stepping from the passenger side of the Lincoln. She fired twice. The double beat of gunfire echoed explosively in the night. He thudded against blackened snow.

His partner, surprisingly, didn't fire. She dropped out of the jeep, sliding on her back, kicking the door closed. Again she checked the Mac, still no sign of the driver. A glance beneath the Jeep revealed a black-socked ankle backlit by headlights. She took aim, and fired.

The driver screamed, and Joey wailed like a bleating siren, over and over again. On the ground, the driver could see her. He lifted his gun, the muzzle flashed brilliantly.

A sharp pain burned into her side. She grunted, curling herself behind the tire for cover. Reaching around the tire, closing her mouth against the acrid odor of black rubber, she fired again. In the sudden quiet afterward, she heard a fading groan and then nothing. Even Joey fell silent.

Where was the third guy? She tried to focus, tried to think, the answer was right there, but her head was muddy, as if someone had kicked dirt across the misfiring synapses in her brain. The pain in her side wasn't unbearable, in fact, it hardly registered. She must have gone numb.

The undercarriage of the jeep moved with shifting weight. A door snicked open. She opened her mouth to tell Joey to stay put, but nothing came out. Her stomach rolled. She felt for the wound and encountered something sticking up from her sweater. She looked down. Red feathers.

How weird.

She plucked the bundle out, rolling on her back and holding it up between her and the sky. Her arm felt leaden, her eyes felt just as heavy and unfocused. What the hell was this?

A dart.

Shadows fell over her and she peered up from between half-closed lids. Her arm fell across her chest, as if suddenly dead weight. "What?"

Her lips felt dry, her tongue large in her mouth. She frowned, squinting to see. A tall man brought Joey into her line of vision. His hand clenched the boy's shoulder, the other fisted around a pistol pressed to Joey's head. The boy cried, his face twisted and contorted by fear beyond recognition.

The third went in on the passenger side and got Joey.

The answer, though pointless now, came ripping through her head and she winced. It actually hurt to think.

I've been drugged . . .

She struggled to sit, to do something to save the boy, but discovered her limbs wouldn't respond. Filled with a desolate sense of failure, she managed a drowning croak. "Why?"

He leaned forward, a smile on his lupine features. "Two birds with one stone, Miss Stark . . . two birds with one stone."

© Jennifer Turner, 2005