Kit glanced in the rearview mirror as the headlights in back came closer. There was a spatter of gunfire before she screeched left onto Swan Ave. Women in the back yelped in pain.

Seconds later, she turned left again onto the tiny dirt road leading to the Hermitage. She was very familiar with the road now.

First came the this-isn’t-the-road-you’re-looking-for corner. Almost, almost…

She slammed on the brakes, skidded, and slowed just enough to curve left around the virtual U-turn.

The SUV behind her couldn’t slow fast enough. Brakes squealed, as the vehicle spun out on the corner and slid into a tree with a horrendous bang.

Maybe it’d block the others.

Speeding up, Kit peeled down the gravel road. Past the forest, past Hawk’s landing strip.

“Tell Kit to pull into Mako’s garage.” That was Gabe’s voice on Audrey’s phone, loud enough for Kit to hear. He sounded impossibly calm.

“Got it,” Kit yelled back, heading for the last house.

Don’t drive into a ditch; keep it on the road.

Ugh. Wasn’t that fun? In the office bathroom, Frankie ran water to wash her face and then rinsed out her mouth. Double-ugh.

No wonder Kit never drank much. In fact, Frankie might never be able to drink gin and tonic again.

So, was it the Asian food that’d made her sick, or did she have a stomach flu?

Out in the office she shared with Bull, she grabbed a breath mint off her desk to eradicate the lingering taste of sickness. With luck, the group hadn’t noticed her disappearance, although face it, woman, she’d been gone longer than a song or two.

Oh well. Humiliation was good for the soul, right?

Odd noises trickled into the office, and she frowned. Was there someone shouting in the bar? And swearing? A bunch of drunks must have come in late.

Cazzo, the night had been so fun too.

The office door was flung open, and a bearded man stood in the doorway. “Found one,” he yelled.

“What—” As she stared at him, he pulled a pistol—and her breathing simply stopped.

When another bearded man pushed past him and headed for her, Frankie retreated a step. Hands closing into fists, she dropped into a defensive stance. “I’ll kick you into next week.”

The clicking of a trigger being pulled back was loud in the room. “Try it, bitch,” came from the man holding the pistol. The muzzle of the weapon pointed directly at her.

She froze, unable to take her eyes off the gun.

The other man grabbed her arm, yanked her around, and bound her wrists behind her with a long strand of rope.

What is going on? She pulled in a breath. “Can you tell me—”

He slapped her. “Shut up.”

Pain seared her cheek. Her eyes watered and turned the room into a blur.