She spotted movement behind the guard, a man rising up. Trace locked an arm around the guard’s muscled neck, using a choke hold to cut off his air supply. In seconds, the man was unconscious. Trace eased him down to the ground.

“Go,” Trace said as he dragged the guard out of sight.

Skye hurried along the path. From her bedroom, she had seen the wrought-iron fence along the back of the house. A lawn tractor had been brought in through the rear gate that afternoon.

Skye picked up her pace. No sign of Conn, but the gate was in sight ahead of her. Careful to stay in the shadows of a row of tall cypress, she hurried toward the gate. Behind her, gunfire erupted. Skye started running, nearly colliding with the looming figure that stepped in front of her.

“You are leaving so soon?” In the faint glow of a distant light, Petrov’s hard features looked demonic. “I don’t think so.” He reached out to grab her, but Skye jerked up her pistol and shoved the barrel into his face.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you.”

Fury darkened the Russian’s features as he stared down at the pistol. “You think you can stop me with that little toy?” Reaching behind him, he pulled out a big semiautomatic and aimed it at the center of her chest.

With no time for options, Skye leaped forward, knocking the barrel to the side. Petrov fired and so did Skye. She felt the sting of the bullet clipping her upper arm, saw Petrov go down, and started running. Bullets pinged off the stucco walls of the cabana. Gunfire echoed around her. She thought she heard Petrov firing but didn’t slow to find out.

She made the gate just seconds after Trace arrived. He swung the gate open, and both of them bolted through and kept on running. More shots echoed behind them. Conn. He was giving them time to reach their destination—wherever that was.

The top of her arm was burning, blood trailing down to her elbow. She glanced around, trying to spot Conn, but saw only dirt fields and rolling hills.

She slowed. “Where are we going?”

“Helicopter,” Trace said. “Should be here any minute. I’m going back to help your brother.” Trace turned and started running. Skye raced up beside him.

“Dammit, Skye! Get over the first hill, and wait for the helo!”

“In your dreams,” she said, and then both of them were firing as Conn raced toward them.

Skye glanced over her shoulder. Where the hell was the chopper?

“Keep going!” Conn shouted. “Get over that ridge out of sight!”