The Hit (Team Zulu 1)

He carried me up the steep hill as if my weight was no burden. A gentle breeze sent scarlet and amber leaves twirling to the ground. Apart from the sound of his footsteps and birds twittering, there was complete silence. No traffic noise, no aircraft.

That wasn’t comforting.

“Where are we?” I asked.

His eyes remained forward. A perpetual frown creased his brow. “Can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” My temper flared with each of his evasive answers.

“Because I don’t like being found, that’s why.”

Did that mean the cabin was his home? Not some temporary hideout? I wasn’t sure if that was good or not.

Probably bad.

Everything was fucking bad.

Harsh eyes came to mine. “And the next time you think about leaving on foot, you might want to know you’ll be walking for days to get anywhere. And that’s if you don’t get lost in the woods and die of hypothermia or dehydration.”

Was he telling the truth, or hoping to scare me off another escape attempt? Either way, I wasn’t walking or running anywhere on my messed-up ankle. At least not today. I hoped I’d stay alive long enough to try.

The cabin came into view as we emerged from the trees. His black pickup was parked out the front, the passenger door wide open and bing-bing-binging in protest. My captor used his foot to slam it shut on our way past.

He carried me up the creaking stairs and through the front door. Once the dog followed us in, he kicked the solid door shut, the hinges rattling with the force.

He lowered me onto a brown leather sofa. “Stay put.” His footsteps on the timber floor echoed as he moved through the cabin.

Relieved to be away from his touch, I worked on slowing my breathing.

The hound jumped on the sofa next to me and I startled. He was some kind of hunting dog, a pointer perhaps. I sat still while he sniffed me from head to knee before flopping down and resting his chin on my lap. His stumpy tail wagged while big golden-brown eyes blinked up at me. He looked friendly enough, so I gave his floppy ears a rub even though it was awkward with my bound wrists.

The dog seemed okay with having a strange lady in his home. For all I knew, this was a regular thing and the previous visitors were buried under the house.

The big guy returned, tossing a blanket on the arm of the sofa and snorting when he noticed his pointer snuggled against my side.

“Ranger, get down.”

The dog didn’t budge, so his owner coaxed him to the floor by his worn leather collar. I wished he hadn’t. Having the hound next to me had eased my anxiety, if only a little.

The man pulled a pair of cutters from his back pocket. I held my breath as he took my wrists in one hand and snipped the zip tie. Some idiotic part of my brain wanted to say thank you, but I’d be damned if I was going to show him any appreciation.

I draped the blanket around my shoulders and took a moment to pay attention to my kidnapper’s features. Maybe I’d get the chance to describe him to a sketch artist if I ever made it out of here.

He had straight, light brown hair overdue for a trim based on what hung out the back of his ball cap. Frown lines were etched into his strong forehead. No surprise there. I doubted he ever smiled. His brows were slightly arched above hazel eyes, which were more olive green than brown. He had a well-proportioned nose, although it was a little bent out of shape. And the few days' growth on his jaw was a lighter shade than the hair on his head.

Fine, he wasn’t hideous. I’m sure there were girls out there who were into the hulking, badass sort. He’d be much better looking if he hadn’t drugged me and taken me against my will.

He caught me analyzing his face, so I shot him my filthiest stink eye.

Matching my menacing stare, he tossed his cap on the coffee table before moving to light the fireplace.

I took in my surroundings. This place was more than a hunting cabin. It was a home. Not grand like the impressive mountain abodes I’d seen on TV, but quaint and well cared for all the same. The open-plan living area was tidy and dust free. A neat, well-stocked bookshelf stood against the side wall, and deer antler hunting trophies and wooden snow shoes were hung for decoration. It smelled of the last fire that warmed the house and the timber that lined the walls. The studded brown leather sofa I sat on was soft with age, and the curtains looked like something my gran would’ve loved. The decor didn’t screamI’m a psychotic kidnapper, but I hadn’t checked for a basement yet.

The most eye-catching thing about the otherwise modest cabin was the view through the large front windows. Mountains and valleys spanned all the way to the horizon, both magnificent and terrifying.

Perhaps he was right. Escaping on foot might be a foolish thing to attempt, but he had a truck parked out front, and if I could get his keys I stood a chance of getting out of here. And the sooner the better.

With his back to me, he watched the flames flicker and grow while grasping the stone mantle. Powerful forearms bunched with the strength of his grip. He could probably strangle a bear with those huge hands. His chest expanded with each slow, deep breath he took.