Storm Force. Meredith Fletcher

spun out of control across the road.”

      The prisoner held out a hand. “Gimme the keys.”

      Before the man or Kate could move, the blond man stepped forward and grabbed Kate. He stood behind her and wrapped a hand around her upper body, holding her trapped for a moment, and fished the Jeep’s keys from Kate’s vest.

      He held the keys up, dangling them from his thumb. “Got ’em, Jolly.”

      The prisoner with the gun smiled. “Good job, Shane.”

      Moving quickly, Kate stamped her heel against Shane’s shin, scraping skin with her hiking boot. He yelped in pain, but that was quickly muffled when she slammed the back of her head against his nose. She made a desperate grab for the Jeep’s keys, but Shane closed his fist over them.

      Jolly aimed the pistol at Kate.

      Moving quickly, Kate threw herself around the end of the bus out of Jolly’s line of fire. Guards didn’t make it. The cold, flat declaration ricocheted through her mind. She was out here alone with escaped prisoners.

      On the other side of the bus, Kate ran. Guide work was physically demanding. She exercised and ran every day even though finding the time was almost impossible, keeping herself in peak condition. Her life and the lives of the people who hired her depended on her ability to take care not only of herself but of them as well.

      Footsteps slapped the pavement behind her. Curses rang out.

      Kate ducked and slid down the muddy hill on the other side of the road from where the Jeep had gone off. A gunshot cracked behind her and leaves fluttered down from the cypress trees in front of her. She didn’t quit running, leaping and dodging through the cypress forest with the sure-footed grace of a deer.

      Fifty yards into the swampy tangle, hidden deeply in the brush, Kate stopped behind a tree and glanced back at the bus. Shane and Jolly hadn’t pursued her.

      As she watched through the residual smoke coming from the bus’s engine compartment, Shane, Jolly and four other prisoners in orange jumpsuits disappeared over the other side of the road.

      Knowing they were going for her Jeep, Kate edged through the cypress forest, working her way forward. Jolly had a pistol, but there might be more weapons on the bus. Once they found out the Jeep was mired in the swamp, they might come for her. After all, she knew the area. If she had a chance to get to the bus and get a weapon—a pistol or a shotgun—she was going to. But if she had to flee farther back into the swamp, she was prepared to do that too.

      She halted at the edge of the treeline and listened to the Jeep’s engine catch. The transmission whined, then she heard the wheels grab hold. Evidently with six bodies aboard, the Jeep had found enough traction to extricate itself.

      A moment later, the Jeep roared back on to the road with Shane at the wheel. The tires slung mud off, found traction again, then dug in.

      Kate watched in disbelief as her Jeep accelerated and disappeared down the road. The adrenaline hit her then, strong and savage, and took away nearly all her strength. She leaned against a tree and shuddered, hoping that someone had seen the smoke and was coming to investigate.

      She couldn’t stay here. She had a client with buck fever and she had to pick up Steven and Hannah from Miami International Airport in a few hours. Taking a breath, she steadied herself and started for the overturned bus.

      Chapter 2

      Kate paused beside the bus, breathing hard. Slow down, she told herself. The men inside this bus have been convicted of armed robbery, drugs, murder and rape. You can’t just charge in there. But what about the guards? She sighed. She couldn’t let anyone burn to death.

      During her guide experience—with her dad and on her own—she’d had several close calls. Snake bites and other injuries to clients as well as herself topped the list. And she’d ended up being the medic for her dad and her siblings when they’d gotten hurt. Taking care of people was just second nature to her.

      She studied the bus, wondering how best to handle the situation. No matter what she did, there was some risk. At least it didn’t look as if it was going to catch on fire and burn again.

      “Is the bus gonna explode?” someone yelled from inside.

      “Man, why didn’t those guys cut us loose while they were at it?” someone else griped.

      “Can anyone reach the driver? He’s got a set of keys on him.”

      “Dude,” someone else said, “I think that guy Jolly or one of his cabrons took the key ring.”

      Kate jumped up and caught hold of the edge of the bus, then hauled herself up. The men inside the bus saw her through the windows and started screaming for help, wanting to know if the bus was on fire. They beat on the windows with their free hands, the other hands manacled to the D-rings in the floor. Several of the prisoners yelled at her, urging her to get inside and set them free. Some of the comments bordered on suggestive. Kate ignored it all, hoping she wasn’t going to find the guards dead.

      The driver’s window was open. Kate looked inside and saw the uniformed guard lying spread-eagled across the bus doors that were now flat to the street and unable to be opened. The guy was in his fifties, heavy-set and balding. She couldn’t help thinking he was somebody’s husband, somebody’s father, maybe even somebody’s grandfather. But she had no idea how she was going to get him out of the bus if it caught on fire again.

      Holding on to the edges of the window, Kate let herself down into the bus. She knelt beside the fallen guard. Blood covered his face, still leaking from a deep laceration on his forehead. Bleeding’s good, she told herself. Bleeding means the heart’s beating. He’s alive. But he had to stop bleeding to stay that way.

      The wound wasn’t going to stop bleeding on its own. It was too wide, too deep. Judging from the look on his head, he’d have a concussion at least, but something short of a skull fracture, she hoped.

      “Hey!” one of the orange-jumpsuited prisoners called out. “Hey, chica! Get his keys! Get us out of here before we burn up!”

      Several other prisoners echoed the demand/plea. A few of them were crying or praying.

      “You’re not going to burn up,” Kate stated. She reached under the dash and freed the large first-aid kit secured there. Sorting through the supplies, she found a gauze pad and a roll of adhesive tape. She pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and cradled the guard’s head in her lap. Working quickly and from experience, she wrapped the wound, fashioning a turban that would compress the laceration and help aid the clotting to stop the bleeding.

      “Damn you, woman!” someone swore. “You can’t just leave us in here to die!”

      Kate didn’t take the verbal abuse personally. Being a single woman in what was essentially a man’s profession drew a lot of ire and harsh speculation as to why she did what she did. A lot of men felt threatened. None of them seemed to understand or accept that she just loved being part of the world her father had introduced her to. There was a real freedom in being a guide, in staying out in the wilderness where she wasn’t under someone’s constant scrutiny.

      “You’re not going to die,” Kate said, not looking at them. They were captives, chained to the D-rings mounted in the floor. Most of them had to stand now, or sit on the opposite seats because they were at the end of their chains.

      “This frickin’ bus is on fire, lady,” someone snarled. “Look at all the smoke.”

      “Was on fire,” Kate said calmly. “I put it out before your buddies stole my vehicle.”

      “Jolly ain’t no buddy of mine,” someone said. “That bastard had this whole thing wired, this escape an’ all. Blew up the bus. An’ he didn’t invite nobody else in on it.”

      Kate let that pass without comment. The prison pecking order wasn’t her concern. Finished with the wounded guard, satisfied that she’d done all she could