Petrov was no fool. She and Edge had beaten him twice before. This time he was prepared. If anything went wrong with the transaction, Edge would pay the price. So would she.

She stared out the window, trying to see into the darkness beyond the fence. She was wearing a pair of designer jeans she had found in the closet, along with a short-sleeved peach knit sweater and a pair of sneakers. Not a bad fit, she admitted, and easier to move around in than the long white jumpsuit.

No way to hide the gun on her body. She had put it in the drawer of the nightstand.

Footsteps sounded outside her door, and her pulse kicked up. Petrov? She prayed it was the DEA or someone else who would help her. She pulled the gun out of the drawer and hurried across the room.

A light knock sounded. No peephole to see who it was. Taking a deep breath, she held the gun behind her back and opened the door. A sigh of relief whispered out when Conn slipped into the bedroom.

“You ready to get out of here, little sister?”

She smiled. “You have no idea.”

“We’ve got five minutes. Let’s go.”

She stuck the little .380 in her front pocket, the telltale shape obvious but the feel of it comforting, and followed Conn out of the bedroom.

Gun in hand, Trace stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs. “You okay?”

“So far so good.”

He gave her a crooked grin. “Let’s go.”

As they slipped quietly outside, she didn’t ask either of them how they planned to get past Petrov’s guards. They would have timed the patrols, but more men had arrived in the last few minutes, and now there was a swarm of them, all armed, walking along the paths and prowling the grounds around the house.

With Conn in front, Skye in the middle, and Trace behind, they moved silently through the shadows along the outside wall of the house toward the fence at the rear of the property. Trace broke away and veered out of sight off to the right.

“Back gate is unlocked,” Conn said. “We meet up there.” Conn veered off to the left.

Gripping the gun in her hand, Skye continued along the path, skirting the pool, slipping into the shadows of the cabana. As she eased back onto the path, a guard stepped out of the darkness in front of her, tall, muscular, wearing a camouflage tactical vest.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked.

She held the gun behind her back. “It’s a beautiful night. I thought I’d take a walk.” She smiled. “You want to join me?”

His jaw hardened. “Get back in the house. No one out here tonight. Mr. Petrov’s orders.”