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remembered to jump.
    “Here’s the deal.” He fished the knife—the pathetically small and way-less-than-lethal knife—out of his pocket. Ironically, now that he had cut off the blood flow to most of his leg it hurt worse than ever. Enough to where not thinking about it required real effort; fortunately, he had distractions. “I’m going to go after whoever opens the trunk as soon as it happens. They think I’m still tied up, so they won’t be expecting that. You takeadvantage of their distraction, and jump out of the trunk. You’ll probably only have a few seconds, so run like hell the minute you hit the ground.”
    “Shh.” She breathed the warning.
    That was when he heard it at last: the slight crunch of footsteps on gravel.
    They were coming.
    Danny tensed. He took a deep breath, centered himself, and felt his pulse rate slow way down: battle mode. At least now, unbound, he had a chance, however slim it might be. He braced the foot of his uninjured leg against a protuberance at the side of the trunk, the better to help him spring out, and got a good grip on the knife. His hand-to-hand combat skills were top-notch, but the sad truth was that, virtually weaponless, it was hard to defend against one gun, let alone two. Uninjured, he might have stood a fighting chance, but as it was . . .
    The footsteps stopped. Danny’s every sense went on red alert. From the sounds, he knew that there were still only two of them, even knew where they were. Both stood behind the car, one in the center, one to the left.
    Torres and Thug Two, he presumed. If Veith was there, or anyone else, they’d arrived earlier. He would have heard another vehicle crunching over the gravel.
    “Heads up,” he whispered.
    Just as Danny realized that he couldn’t hear her breathing any longer, a metallic click sent the hair on the back of his neck into bristle mode. It also gave him a split second’s warning:someone had hit the trunk release button on the BMW’s key ring.
    This is it.
    His gut clenched. His muscles bunched. Adrenaline shot through his veins like a speedball rush.
    The trunk rose at a measured, majestic pace that reflected the luxury brand of the car rather than the urgency of the situation. In the space of about a heartbeat, as fresh air wafted in and a swath of starry night sky was revealed, Danny registered that they were outside rather than in a building, that the balmy summer’s night now smelled of garbage and the river, that Torres and Thug Two were approximately where he had pictured them, and, as the moonlight turned its snub-nosed black barrel to silver, that at least one gun was pointed right at his face.
    Game on.
    Gathering himself, he prepared to spring. The distinctive sound of a weapon being cocked behind him—behind him!—caused his eyes to widen. It was the only warning he got.

CHAPTER THREE
     

     
    A s the Beemer’s trunk lid rose, Sam’s heart jackhammered—until it didn’t. Her pulse accelerated to the point where it was all she could hear—until suddenly it slowed way down.
    By the time she inhaled her first lungful of fresh air, beheld the first sliver of starry sky, heard the sudden, unmuffled onslaught of night sounds, every bit of fear she was experiencing had vanished, swept away in a flood of icy resolve.
    She wasn’t dying tonight. No way, no how.
    If she died, Tyler had no one.
    That was all the motivation Sam needed. Whatever it took, she was going to survive for her boy. When the lid rose high enough to reveal two men silhouetted against the night sky, she had her own gun out and ready, down close to her chest, pointing out. One of the men was aiming a gun into the trunk: with moonlight glinting on its barrel, she saw it as plainly as if it were high noon outside. Lying awkwardly on her side, she angled her weapon more accurately, aiming up through the small spaceshe had managed to create between her body and the muscular back of the man wedged into the trunk with her. The Smith &