The radio in the dark blue Volvo was dead silent. Vivien didn’t want the noise, nor did she want the tracking hum of a modern satellite-connected dashboard.

Vivien didn't hesitate. She fired two rounds through the broken door frame.

The first shot hit the lead enforcer in the shoulder, knocking him backward into the snow. The second shot forced Marco Rossi to dive behind the motel's ice machine for cover.

"Vivien!" Rossi’s sharp, accented voice rang out across the quiet courtyard. "Don Camillo sends his regards! Give us the black box, and you get a quick bullet! Fight us, and we take our time!"

Vivien ducked behind the heavy oak desk as a hail of bullets shattered the motel window, sending glass raining down onto the carpet.

She checked her revolver. Four rounds left.

"Frank, get out!" she yelled.

Frank scrambled through the tiny bathroom window at the back, disappearing into the dark pine forest behind the motel.

Vivien grabbed her tote bag, secured the black case over her shoulder, and kicked open the thin interior door that led to the adjacent utility closet. She shoved her way through the maintenance corridor, emerging into the blinding snow at the side of the building.

The cold air hit her face like a slap. She ran through the knee-deep snow, heading toward the dark tree line.

"There she is!" a voice shouted from behind.

A gunshot cracked through the night sky. A bullet tore through the fabric of her coat, grazing her upper arm. Pain seared through her arm, sharp and hot, but she didn't slow down. She pushed deeper into the woods, the heavy snow obscuring her tracks.

Behind her, the sound of snowshoes and heavy footsteps crunched rapidly. She was outnumbered, wounded, and stranded in a freezing forest with miles of wilderness between her and safety.

She collapsed against the trunk of a massive pine tree, her breath ragged, blood soaking the sleeve of her coat. She raised her revolver with trembling hands, pointing it back toward the shadowy trail.

She heard the footsteps getting closer. Ten feet. Eight feet.

She tightened her finger on the trigger.

Suddenly, a blinding set of high-beam headlights flared through the trees from a hidden fire road thirty yards away. The roar of a powerful V8 engine shattered the quiet, followed instantly by the deep, rhythmic chitter of heavy automatic gunfire.

Rossi’s men screamed as they were cut down in the snow.

Vivien braced herself against the tree, her gun still raised, her vision blurring from cold and exhaustion.

The driver’s side door of a battered black pickup truck slammed open. A tall, imposing figure strode through the deep snow, ignoring the gunfire, ignoring the sub-zero wind, moving toward her with frantic, unbridled desperation.