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He opened the property records.

The ownership trail passed through two limited liability companies before connecting to Whitaker Holdings.

His pulse quickened. “Emmett.”

The team leader approached.

“What’ve you got?”

Blake turned the screen. “Take a look.”

Emmett studied the property. “What’s this?”

“A building tied to Crestview. According to the records, it’s been privately occupied for the past several months.”

“By who?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. But look.” Blake opened another document. “They’ve installed a slew of recent security upgrades, entered a new maintenance contract, and signed on with a private utility service.”

Emmett frowned. “Could be a new start-up.”

“Could be.” Blake clicked through another set of records.

Then he stopped.

A recent payment had been made to a property management company for after-hours maintenance at the same address. The amount wasn’t significant, but the timing was. The payment had been authorized three days before.

Blake looked up. “Tell me that doesn’t sound like they were preparing the property so it would be ready for their prisoner.”

For Devon.

It was the first time since waking in that hospital bed that he felt something other than helpless rage. He felt hope. Small and fragile, but it was real.

He looked at the address again.

I’m coming for you, sweetheart.

And once he knew for sure she was safe, Graham Whitaker would be stopped for good.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The last time Devon saw Blake, he’d been bleeding out on the floor. Now, as she struggled toward consciousness, the image came rushing back with enough force to steal her breath.

His blood. The way his eyes were closed. The horrible stillness of his body as she’d begged him to wake up.

“Blake.”

His name escaped on a broken whisper. She tried to reach for him, but something pulled at her wrists.

Devon opened her eyes. For several seconds, she couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing.

A pale gray wall stood opposite the narrow bed where she lay. Harsh overhead lighting illuminated a concrete floor, and a faint mechanical hum came from somewhere beyond the room.

This wasn’t the farmhouse.

Her heart began pounding.

She pushed herself upright, immediately regretting the movement when pain shot through her right shoulder. Her head throbbed, and a wave of dizziness forced her to brace herself against the mattress.