Free When You Dare by Lori Foster Page A

himself behind the unsuspecting driver, and then he stepped out and straightened. Luckily they were far enough away from the front of the store that most of the bustling shoppers wouldn’t notice them.
    His heart beat slow and steady. His breath remained even; not too fast, not too shallow. He was in his element now, and he would damn well get answers.
    Clearing his throat to draw the man’s attention, Dare watched as the driver shifted his balance in surprise. Before he could turn, Dare kicked out his supporting knee, but he didn’t let him fall. He grabbed his arm in a chicken-wing hold.
    The driver cried out in mingled rage, fear and panic.
    “Who are you?” Deliberately, Dare torqued the arm a little more. “Answer quick before I snap it.”
    In Spanish, he muttered, “No one. I was hired, that is all.”
    “Hired to do what?” And when the guy started to speak, Dare said, “In English, asshole.”
    “Call when you left the store, so the girl could be retrieved.”
    Ah. He’d told him to speak in English, and now that the man did, Dare didn’t hear an accent. “Who wants her dead?”
    “Dead?” He shook his head. “All I know is she escaped when she shouldn’t have.”
    And so someone wanted her back? But why? Dare released the man’s arm and jerked him around to face him. “Take off the sunglasses.”
    “Fuck you.”
    Moving so fast that the guy couldn’t brace for it, Dare hit him hard in the gut. The blow stole his wind, collapsing him forward as he wheezed. Dare knocked the sunglasses off his face and, with a hand knotted in his shirtfront, lifted him to his toes.
    American, not Mexican. Dare’s jaw clenched. When he’d carried Molly out of the trailer, he hadn’t left behind any witnesses to recognize him. Someone must have checked in after that, and realized she was gone. Tracking down an American woman rescued from Tijuana would be tough—unless someone had the same level of contacts as Dare. “Who are you supposed to call?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Bullshit.” The man briefly tried to struggle, but maintaining his hold on the guy’s shirt, Dare drew the knife and pressed it just beneath the bastard’s ribs. “You’re really blowing my patience, amigo.”
    Very still now, his eyes wide at how hard that knife pressed into him, the guy spilled his guts. “Whoever had her wants her back. That’s all I know, I swear.”
    Shoving him back against the vehicle, Dare said, “Dial it.” Whoever the man was, Dare would talk to him himself. At the very least, he’d let him know the futility of continuing this pursuit.
    The shaken driver punched in the numbers and started to hand the phone to Dare.
    A ringing sounded over the parking lot.
    Stunned, Dare’s gaze shot up and locked onto a pay phone near the front entrance to the store…right where he’d left Molly.
    Fuck. He leveled the driver with an elbow to the jaw and was already running flat out when he saw someone grab Molly from behind, wrapping an arm around her throat and clamping his other hand over her mouth.
    Dare’s vision went red.
    Charging without making a sound, he closed the distance to Molly. The man holding her tried to drag her toward an idling Charger, but she thrashed and fought, and her captor had a hell of a time keeping control.
    People around them watched in horror but offered no assistance.
    Dare didn’t need any.
    Before the fuckers could stuff her in that car, he’d get them. It didn’t matter that there were two of them. It wouldn’t have mattered if there were four. He would not let them take her again.
    At a shout from the driver of the car, her assailant looked up and saw Dare gunning for him. Eyes widening with comprehension of Dare’s rage, the man released Molly with a shove and jumped into the already moving black Charger. The car screeched out of the parking lot.
    Stumbling into the brick facing of the store, her purchases scattered around her, Molly coughed and gasped for air. Tears rolled