Her Assassin For Hire. Danica Winters

safe.

      Using Google Maps, he pulled up a street image of the area around him as he tried, and failed, to weave around the ruts and potholes that littered the dirt road. As he drove, a thin dusting of white snow skittered down from the sky, forcing him to slow down. It was almost as if there were some higher power that wanted to stand in his way, making what he hoped wasn’t a life and death situation that much more perilous.

      The maps showed a private ranch less than a mile up on his left. Beyond was US Forest Service—public lands.

       Crap.

      If someone had kidnapped her, or taken her hostage, they very well may have taken her up into the mountains that hugged the valley. If they were up there, and it was starting to snow, it was more than possible he would lose track of them. A matter of a few minutes and a hard snowfall could cover any evidence of her location.

      He tried to talk himself down off the ledge of panic. She always complained that he had a way of blowing things out of proportion and being overly dramatic. He could have almost sworn that her favorite thing to say to him had been, “The sky isn’t always falling, Eli.”

      And oh, the look she always gave him when she said it.

      He had to see that look again. He had to see her again.

      The snowfall quickened, coming down in a blizzard of early season white, nearly blinding him thanks to his headlights. As he ascended a hill, his tire connected with a rut, sending his truck to the right and nearly striking the wooden fence post next to the road. He slowed down even though all he wanted to do was hit the gas and not stop until he saw Zoey. Ahead, not too far, was a streetlamp set in the center of a parking lot. It seemed out of place, like a stoic sentinel bravely holding a beacon for weary travelers.

      Huddled around the parking area was a barn and, tucked in closer to the mountain, a ranch-style house. This must have been the ranch he had seen on the map. The place was buttoned up; the only sign of life was a deserted pickup parked haphazardly at the edge of the drive, a car behind it and a horse that was skittering back and forth at the fence line.

      Zoey had always loved horses. But it seemed like a far stretch that the woman he had known would be settled down enough to buy a horse, live on a ranch and still have time to work with a military-grade weapons manufacturer with worldwide ties to create a line of ballistics gear—and to top it all off, combat Turkish terrorists. Damn, if she was living here, she had one hell of a life.

      Unsure whether he should stop or not, he pulled under the light and shut off the engine. Snow landed on his windshield and melted, leaving a smattering of droplets of water as the only reminders of the unique beauty that had fallen from the heavens. It struck him how, in a single instant, something so special could simply be struck from existence.

      He tried not to see it as a sign of anything that had to do with Zoey. She was fine. She was going to be all right. He was making something out of nothing.

      She was probably inside the ranch house, having a cup of coffee and making plans for her next mission. That was it. He tried to control his thoughts as he stepped outside. The cold bit at his skin and burned his lungs as he drew in a long breath.

      There was a rattle of metal on metal and a thud coming from inside the barn. He moved toward the noise. The barn’s door was open, but the lamp overhead made the darkness inside the barn even more abyssal.

      As he grew near, there was the unmistakable sound of a round being jacked into a gun’s chamber.

      He rushed toward the sound, pulling his Glock and flicking on his weapon’s light, being careful to keep out of sight. He took a moment, scanning the grounds in an attempt to secure the outer perimeter. His only witness was the horse.

      Fear threatened to creep in on him as he moved behind the door. He channeled it, forcing it to submit into aggression. Whoever was inside this barn, whatever they were doing, it was going to come down to him or them. Kill or be killed.

      His finger moved on the trigger guard, ready. The cool steel against his finger calmed him, centering his focus back to his objective.

      He moved around the side of the barn, clicking off his light to stay undetected as he carefully slipped under the pasture fence. Most barns had a Dutch-style door in the back for horses and livestock to come and go. From that vantage, he could enter the scene undetected. As he hustled, the door came into view. Though it was cold, the top of the back door was open. The closed bottom wouldn’t provide a great deal of protection in the event of a firefight, but if he played his cards right, things wouldn’t go that far. If he was called upon to use deadly force, he felt confident that it would be one and done.

      From inside, he heard a woman’s muffled groan. “Why?”

      He slid open the lock on the bottom of the back door and wound his way inside. The sliding front door let in just enough of the streetlight so that he could see the edge of a silhouette ahead, but remain unseen in the back. He did a quick scan of the stalls as he moved silently to get out of the fatal tunnel created by the barn. The stall just behind the silhouetted man was open, creating the perfect place to hide. He rushed forward, hoping to remain in control and undetected.

      As he stepped into the stall, the man in front of him kicked, his foot striking a body that lay on the floor. The woman moaned, the sound wet and gurgling, but muffled by the ground.

      He prayed the woman wasn’t Zoey—that somehow, he had just come upon a random attack.

      “Who sent you?” she asked.

      This time, he recognized that voice, her voice.

      He pointed his gun at the objective’s center mass. A light clicked on in the objective’s hands. A cell phone. He clicked away, typing something. His face was lit up by the blue light. From where Eli stood, he could make out the dark complexion of the man. He had a tribal-style tattoo that wrapped around his neck and disappeared beneath the dark shirt he wore.

      “Where’s Chad?” a robotic voice sounded from the man’s phone.

      It was all the confirmation that Eli needed.

      As he pulled the trigger, the bullet ripped from his barrel.

      The man didn’t even know what hit him.