ONE

      Ten bullets. Nine in the clip, one in the chamber. Checked twice.

      That was what fugitive recovery officer Colby Waterson carried at all times to protect himself. Extra clips didn’t matter because it was rare to have time to reload. Especially when working alone.

      However, today was not about hunting fugitives from the law. Today was about helping save his sister Sam’s life. Today was the day Colby Waterson was going to meet Dr. Regan Lockhart. The one woman...the only human being alive...who could save his sister from a brain tumor that had thus far refused to die at the hands of conventional medical therapy.

      Colby thrummed the steering wheel of his crimson-red Ford F-250. Needles of anxiety wormed through his chest and his breakfast sat heavy in his gut. He glanced at his watch. If traffic kept this pace, he’d be on time.

      As long as nothing happened. As if hearing his thoughts, the rains let loose, torrential and determined, momentarily obliterating his view of the road until he engaged his windshield wipers, which only moderately improved visibility.

      I should have left earlier. Why did they schedule this meeting so early in the morning? It’s a crime to be up before sunrise.

      The roar of an engine drew Colby’s attention out his driver’s-side window as a black GMC Yukon flew past him and then squeezed in like a sardine between Colby and the blue Toyota Sequoia he’d been trailing.

      What’s the rush, big man? Want to make sure everyone sees your nice, shiny, new toy? Was the maneuver worth getting a whole car length ahead?

      Colby eased back a few paces to increase the distance between him and the black SUV. As a bounty hunter, he was constantly on the lookout for trouble, no matter what his agenda for the day was. After all, good days often turned into the worst kind. Like hearing your wife has cancer on the same day she tells you she’s pregnant. And then losing both his wife and unborn child within five months. The event that marked his life was over a decade ago yet still always felt like yesterday.

      The black Yukon sped up and began riding the bumper of the navy blue Sequoia. Heat spread in Colby’s chest and he glared at the back of the driver’s head between windshield wiper passes. There was no doubt—the guy was driving recklessly and the fresh onslaught of rain only provided a slippery surface for added danger. Hydroplaning was quickly becoming a risk. Trepidation caused Colby’s flesh to prickle.

      Seriously, what is your problem?

      The driver of the Sequoia sensed the invasion and began to pick up speed. As the car pulled ahead, the driver was a black silhouette, but it appeared to be a woman. Now there were two cars increasing their speed on a rainy highway.

      The Sequoia switched lanes to the right, into the slow lane.

      And the Yukon immediately followed her instead of passing, nearly kissing her rear bumper to get in front of the car occupying the same space on the road.

      Colby gripped the wheel in his hand, his heartbeat in his throat.

      Something isn’t right here. Whoever is driving that car is clearly after that woman.

      Deciding the best action was to observe from a safer distance, Colby dropped back several car lengths and grabbed his phone. Getting the boys in blue seemed like the best option before someone got hurt.

      Just as his thumb hit the nine for 9-1-1, the Yukon pressed ahead and slammed into the left rear bumper of the Sequoia, shoving the SUV a dizzying one-hundred-and-eighty degrees across three lanes of traffic. Colby’s heart stalled as the Sequoia arced in front of him, the woman’s hair flung to the side as her vehicle roared across the rainy road. Cars slammed on their brakes to avoid getting hit.

      Colby instinctively knew exactly where the Sequoia was going to end up—on the shoulder of the fast lane, facing traffic. Colby braked hard and yanked his steering wheel left. The Sequoia struck the cement barrier and the woman disappeared from view. Colby punched his brakes, his heart hammering at the base of his throat, his bumper inches from the other SUV.

      Without thinking, he released his seat belt and opened his door. It crashed into the divider after opening just a few inches. He scrambled to open the passenger door and that was when he saw two men shielded in black ski masks exit the Yukon with guns raised. Colby opened his glove box and grabbed his Glock, pushed open the door and half jumped, half fell out onto the road.

      The loud pops of the two thugs firing their weapons sent Colby’s mind reeling back to Iraq. He hunched down, squared his stance and fired two shots from his Glock above their heads, causing the two to retreat to their vehicle.

      Eight defensive chances remained.

      He raced to the Sequoia and opened the door. The woman was just righting herself, bringing her hand up to stem the flow of blood from a cut on her forehead. She’d hit her head on something. At the moment, Colby didn’t care what it was. He simply wanted her out of the car and down on the ground.

      Reaching over her lap, he disconnected her seat belt. She was disoriented, looking at him with a far-off, disconnected gaze.

      “What...happened?”

      “Ma’am, I need you out of this car. There are two men—”

      Shots rang out and bullets punched holes into the navy blue paint. Colby turned and fired off three more shots to drive the black-clad men back to ground.

      Eight. Seven. Six.

      He then reached around the thin woman and muscled her out