The FBI agents returned fire instantly.

The deafening roar of automatic weapons filled the small study.

The man holding me panicked.

He dragged me backward toward the shattered window, using me as a shield.

“Celeste!” he screamed into his radio. “We need extraction now!”

But there is no answer.

Through the blinding rain, I saw the lights of a dark SUV speeding away down the driveway.

Celeste had abandoned them.

The realization hit the gunman. His grip wavers for a fraction of a second.

I elbowed him hard in the ribs.

He grunted, his knife slipping from my throat.

Ryker lunged forward.

He tackled the man, sending both of them crashing through the shattered window onto the wet stone terrace.

I fell to the floor, coughing and gasping for air.

The FBI agents flooded the room, their heavy boots stepping over the broken glass.

“Securing the room!” one of them yelled.

I looked toward the terrace.

Ryker and the gunman were struggling in the dark, rain-soaked garden.

A flash of lightning illuminated the struggle.

I saw the glint of a knife.