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Another shot rang out, and then a third. But it sounded different, almost farther away.

Devon glanced over her shoulder. The man chasing her suddenly jerked sideways and collapsed onto the gravel.

She froze.

Then another burst of gunfire erupted near the front of the building.

Men shouted. Someone screamed an order. Two armed men appeared near the loading dock.

One raised his weapon, but before he could fire, he dropped. The second man dove behind the dumpster.

Devon’s heart slammed against her ribs.

Someone’s shooting at them.

Could it be? Was Echo Team here? Had they found her?

Hope surged through her so suddenly, tears began filling her eyes.

Blake.

She hadn’t seen him, of course. But something inside her said he was here.

She forced herself to move.

The gunfire continued behind her as she reached the first trees. Branches scratched her arms. Her face. Dead leaves shifted beneath her bare feet.

Devon pushed deeper into the thick woods.

Every breath she took burned. Her shoulder throbbed, her head pounded, and her bruised ribs protested her frantic movements. But she was outside, and someone was fighting the men who’d taken her, which made her think she might actually survive.

She just had to keep going.

A sharp crack sounded behind her. Devon spun to see a man moving through the trees.

Tall. Silver-streaked hair. Expensive charcoal suit.

Graham Whitaker.

Her stomach dropped.

He’d removed his jacket, and his once-perfect appearance had deteriorated considerably. His shirt was untucked, and his face was twisted with fury.

“Come now, Miss Brighton.”

Really? We’re still sticking with the fake pleasantries?

Whitaker raised his pistol. “Stop right there.”

She froze.

His breathing was labored as he closed in.

“You’ve caused me an extraordinary amount of trouble.”

Devon stared at the weapon. Somewhere beyond the trees, gunfire continued.

Whitaker glanced toward the building. His jaw clenched.