* * *
Skye paced the luxurious bedroom, her nerves strung taut. What was happening to Edge? She prayed he was all right.
She walked over to the window and looked down on the magnificent grounds surrounding the mansion, her mind going backward over the hours she had spent waiting for nightfall.
Her day had started with a command performance on the terrace overlooking the pool, a gourmet breakfast that included everything from truffled eggs with hollandaise, baked sole, and filet mignon, to homemade granola, yogurt, and fresh fruit.
She managed to get down some yogurt and coffee, which wasn’t that easy with Petrov’s gaze filled with the same lust she had seen in his black eyes last night.
When Skye didn’t respond to his silent invitation, Ivan excused himself for a day of meetings. Skye had inwardly rejoiced. The eighty-degree weather had encouraged Sasha to spend the day sipping umbrella drinks next to the pool. Skye had declined to join her.
After pleading a headache, she spent the day in her room until night had finally descended. With no way to communicate with Edge, she had no idea what could be happening to him or what might happen to her.
She returned to the window. The blue lights in the swimming pool reflected the cypress trees lining the concrete deck. The windows of the cabana were dark, but an hour ago, Skye had heard men’s voices downstairs, and the guard patrolling the fence surrounding the estate had been joined by several other men.
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.”
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.
