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, twelve-year-old Joey Franks shivered so hard his handcuffs clinked against an old milking machine. She reached him, grateful for his silence. Screams would alert 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 dark hair brushed the side of her face as he nodded. She felt for the keyhole 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 boy's 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 had dropped, so had the temperature. Clouds of steam blew from Joey's trembling lips. Why they held the son of a senator in a dismal, falling down barn in upstate Wisconsin was anyone's guess. She frowned at the boy's sweatshirt. Where was his coat?

Joey shivered harder, the whites of his rounded, watchful eyes barely discernable. 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, the tempo of his chattering teeth slowing.

"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.

Making it back to the Jeep would take cooperation and she prayed he wouldn't panic. 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. As she led him out the side door, she turned and snapped the padlock back in place.

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 be well on their way to Houston.

She stepped on packed snow-well trampled from the kidnappers moving between the barn and the gaily-decorated house. Strands of Christmas lights ran along the eaves, around the window frames, and between candy canes lining the long drive.

Lamps flickered to life, shining through the windows on the side of the farmhouse. They wouldn't pass on that side, yet knowing the kidnappers about was not comforting. She debated pulling one of the twin Rugers hanging in her shoulder holsters. Drake, her partner and fiancé, hated her taking chances, moving forward empty-handed, felt very chancy. To pull the weapons now, however, would undoubtedly frighten Joey.

Sara backtracked along the path she'd chosen to minimize telltale footprints in the unmarked snow. Drake was furious when he found out she had left to fetch the kid herself. She couldn't send strangers to fulfill a personal favor. General Kray saved their butts last year in Mexico, and when he directly referred Senator Franks to them, she couldn't refuse. She owed him.

Biting wind gusted, made her muscles tense, and froze the air in her lungs. Wisconsin was just too damned cold. She gestured the boy forward and cast a glance to the back of the farmhouse. They crossed the first exposed leg of the trip without incident. She exhaled with relief. The deal between her and Drake was on the line. One near-death experience and she would have to hang up her holsters for good.

Not gonna happen.

Bent behind a snow-free dark sedan with chained tires, she checked Joey for signs of panic. Unnatural color infused the boys cheeks and blue tinged his lips. Poor kid. This was no place for him. Grey eyes wide, he look half-starved, but thankfully, calm. Once he caught his breath, they moved on.

High-stepping through the snow, she wound between abandoned tractors and farm equipment. Joey surprised her by staying on her heels, despite four days of hell.

The unmistakable zing of a screen door spring stretching wide whispered across the snow to her. 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 unsnapped the holsters, moving slowly, hoping the noise didn't carry. Joey jumped as the screen door slapped back with a thwack.

Two men spoke, 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 sank to her belly.

"They smoke first." Joey stared anxiously from his burrow. "One of them doesn't allow smoking inside."

Sara rolled and elbowed her way to a rusted plow and a clear line of vision. 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. They wore suits and expensive overcoats. These men looked like pros.

"How many?" she asked.

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

Sara waited. The minutes stretched, ice forming on her wet clothes, stinging her numbing 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 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 through the door she and Joey had just left and stepped deep into the waiting darkness. She signaled Joey forward. They ran together with noisy, clumsy footfalls. Any second now, the men would exit the barn, guns firing.

Joey accepted her hand and she pulled him behind a line of 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. She cranked the engine and Jingle Bell Rock hummed softly from the radio. She stomped on the gas. 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. Your mom and dad's gonna be real happy to see you."

"Was my dad worried?" Joey huddled deep inside her coat, his chin hidden below the collar, large eyes ringed with a haunted look that stirred old wounds deep inside her.

Sara smiled, hoping to reassure him. She knew what it meant to be at the mercy of the heartless. "He was, but everything's all right now."

Joey turned in his seat to stare out the back window.

Sara glanced in the rearview mirror. "We're not being followed, you can relax. We'll be long gone before they figure out how we got away."

He settled back against the seat. Sara blew a frustrated sigh as they neared the freeway on-ramp. A long line of rush hour cars waited their turn to join the faster traffic streaming toward the larger town of Wausau. She slowed, tapped the breaks in deference to the weather-slick roads, and looked again in the rearview mirror. A car, far back, edged off a road opposite the farm and headed her way. Unlikely it was the kidnappers.

Still.

"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.

Still.

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 them. 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 hammered the gas.

The Jeep glanced off the back bumper of a VW Bug in front of her and the horn sounded, from either the owner's 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 Lincoln's undercarriage screeched over concrete as it followed her newly made route.

Slipping onto the shoulder, passing the stream of cars with a fwip-fwip-fwip that matched her heartbeat, she kept her foot on the accelerator, hoping that some impatient dimwit would think they wanted to cut in line and block 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 hadn't been parked anywhere in sight.

How the hell did they know?

The feeder narrowed to one lane. Too many cars and not enough shoulder for her to get past. They were effectively cut off. Joey whimpered.

A chain-link fence embraced an industrial park on her right and she swung the Jeep onto a sand-covered road. The rearview mirror reflected the sedan's headlights, bright and stinging in the darkening night. The men took the turn easier on their chained tires. She hated rentals.

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

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

Elvis began to croon about Santa's big black Cadillac as 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 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, 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 fear joined her confused outrage.

No. Not on my watch.

The passage ended at a long outbuilding opposite a fleet of bobtailed 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 exit. It raced forward and 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. Hands steady on the wheel, she focused on keeping them in one piece. The teeth-jarring jolt of the sedan ramming the front bumper caught her by surprise and the wheel yanked in her hand. The back end of the Jeep glanced off a trailer with a loud boom and crunch that echoed in her head.

Joey squealed, his voice high-pitched and quaking. The sound infuriated her and she pressed the gas, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

A diesel engine Mack 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 handgun pointed at her from the passenger window. She ducked below the dash.

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

She shook her head, swallowed hard past the heartbreak in her throat, and removed a Ruger. She flicked the safety off. His eyes widened at the sight of the weapon. A car door slammed close enough it had to come from the sedan. She switched off the radio to hear better. Joey lost the last of the bravery that had held his tears in check. They rolled down his cheeks-bright diamonds on white flesh.

Sara wanted to soothe him, but there wasn't time. She pointed instead, gesturing for him to stay where he was. She peeked 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 Christmas shows, while Joey tried to disappear into the floorboards. He would not be taken.

Footsteps approached in front of the jeep, closing in. With a deep breath, she opened the door. Curled low, her shoulders barely clearing the space between seat and the front panel, she slid out sideways. With her upper body protected by the door, she glanced back at the Mack. No sign of the driver.

In the slim space between side mirror and doorframe, she aimed the Ruger at the suited man standing near the passenger side of the Lincoln. She fired twice. The double beat of gunfire exploded in the night. He thudded against blackened snow before her ears stopped ringing.

His partner, surprisingly, didn't fire. She let herself fall from the jeep, sliding on her back, kicking the door closed. Again she checked the Mack, still no sign of the driver. A glance beneath the muffler revealed a black-socked ankle backlit by headlights. She aimed 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 in front of 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 their third, the Mack driver? 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 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, sudden 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 with fear.

The third. He's got Joey.

The answer, though pointless now, came ripping through her head and she winced. It 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, somehow familiar, lupine features. "Two birds with one stone, Miss Stark ... two birds with one stone."