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Upstairs.

That narrowed things down a little.

Sort of.

Devon glanced toward the camera, then deliberately lowered her gaze. She needed to be careful. Whoever was watching might not notice her studying the room, but they would certainly notice if she started doing anything obviously suspicious.

An idea began to form as she picked up the water bottle again.

It wasn’t a particularly good one, and it definitely wasn’t without risk. But she couldn’t stay here waiting for Whitaker to decide she was no longer worth keeping alive.

She looked toward the door and then the tray. She could make a mess. Pretend to be sick and convince the young guard to take her somewhere else.

There was no guarantee she’d find an opportunity for escape, but there was zero chance of surviving this thing if she remained locked in here. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all she had.

Devon closed her eyes and pictured Blake’s handsome face.

I love you.

His voice filled her head as if he were standing beside her now. If Blake was alive, he’d be out there somewhere with his team, looking for her.

But if he wasn’t⁠—

No!

She refused to finish the thought. Instead, she opened her eyes and looked toward the door. The possibility that she would die in this windowless room was real.

But that didn’t mean she had to lie down and wait to die. She also didn’t have to make it easy on Whitaker and his goons.

Something inside her shifted. The fear was still there, but it no longer had the final say.

I won’t give up, Blake. I’m going to find a way out of here, and then, I’m coming back to you.

As long as there was breath in her lungs, Devon would continue to fight. For herself. Blake. Carol Jenkins and Scott Mitchell.

And for the future she and Blake deserved.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Blake had never been so close to losing control.

Not ever.

For the past several hours, he’d managed to keep his emotions in check by focusing on the investigation. There’d been phone calls, photographs, witness statements, and countless pieces of information to sort through.

He stood beside the conference room table, staring at the photographs Jethro and Draven had taken of the property outside Alexandria. The two-story building looked ordinary enough. Brick exterior, darkened windows, and a fenced parking lot surrounded by trees.

Nothing about it suggested a woman was being held against her will inside. Then again, that was probably the point.

“Blake.”

He looked up.

Emmett stood across from him, his expression grim. “You need to sit down.”

“I’m fine.”

“Like hell,” his team leader argued. “You’re pale, sweaty, and you’ve been favoring your left side for the past twenty minutes.”