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Black gloves cover the intruder’s hands, with dark clothing hiding the rest of his body. Not a single patch of skin shows. A black scarf encases his lower jaw, covering everything from his neck up to his eyes before wrapping around his head, concealing that too.

A subtle movement behind him reminds me I'm not alone. Trey is here, and nothing and no one will harm me while he's on watch.

“What do you want?” I ask, forcing every ounce of strength I can muster into my voice to keep it from shaking.

The man hesitates, tilting his head like he's considering me. “You.”

“Why?” My voice trembles. A million thoughts pepper through, but one snags. His response was one word, but even with that simple word, one thing is clear—American.

“You know why.”

Hope bubbles as the silence stretches. If he'll talk, maybe I can gain some information before Trey attacks. Fuck knows we need any help we can get, even if it's off this fucker. Who sent him, for starters. The list is growing on who I could guess, with Shawn Whit at the very top.

The hand holding the gun twitches. Slowly it rises in the air, the barrel aimed at my forehead. All hope drains, leaving devastating emptiness.

The shadow in the corner moves. A silent scream lodges in my throat. Forgetting about my white-knuckled grip on the sheet and why I’m holding on to it, I slap both hands over my gaping mouth as Trey lunges form the shadows, hands outstretched for the gun. The explosion of the gun rattles in my eardrums. Terror taking over, I curl into a small ball, the vest poking me in the ribs as I try to make myself as small as possible.

The corners of my vision darken with the lack of oxygen even though my chest heaves in desperate attempts to fill my lungs.

Eyes wide, I peer through the strands of hair strewn across my face as Trey struggles with the intruder, attempting to overpower him. The men fight over the gun, holding it high over their heads as both grapple for control. The floor rattles under them as they fight, punching and snarling as they stomp around the room.

Trey hooks a leg around the other man's, sending them both tumbling to the floor. I watch unmoving as the gun clatters to the floor and slides across the stone tile before pausing just a few feet in front of me. With the weapon forgotten, the two men wrestle along the ground, their bodies flipping and rolling trying to gain the upper hand.

The suction of my hands against my ears pops as I move them down to my cheeks. Dampness coats my palms as I place one to the floor and then the other, heaving myself up to all fours. Bare ass in the air, I shift forward an inch on trembling arms. Almost there, my right elbow gives out, sending me face-first to the unforgiving ground. Pain radiates from the cheekbone that takes the brunt of the fall.

Where the hell are the agents stationed outside my door?

As soon as the thought slides through my mind, dread and fear grip me all over again. Those thumps earlier, the noise I couldn’t identify…. Bile rises up my throat, burning as I swallow to keep from gagging.

A sharp agony-filled cry rips through the room.

My head snaps toward the center, searching for the fight. The sight of Trey’s arm wrapped around the man's neck should ease some of my worry, but it doesn’t in the slightest.

My eyes widen at the man’s face. The white, American-looking face now uncovered from the struggle. Shock settles in, making me almost numb. He was here to kill me. To killme.

“Why?” I whisper. “Why?” The second time the word is more of a shriek. “Why would you do this?”

The man seals his lips tightly together, his features masked, cutting off all emotion.

“Randi.”

My gaze locks with the man's cold eyes. A determination lingers there, even as his face reddens from Trey's arm cutting off his much-needed oxygen.

“Randi.”

Slowly I trail my gaze to the sound of that voice. A million different emotions seem to swirl behind Trey's eyes. A wince tightens his features as the man he's restraining bucks beneath his hold.

“Get in the bathroom.” Trey's light eyes flick down, no doubt noticing I'm mostly naked. “Pants first.”

I know he said words. Important words. Commanding words. Yet I can't get my muscles to respond. I shift my gaze back to my attacker. The long black gun lying innocently on the floor. I've seen enough movies to know it's some kind of handgun with a silencer on the end.

Movement on the other side of the room catches my eye. I tilt to the left to see around Trey and nearly fall to the floor, catching myself at the last second at the new shadow creeping in, this time from the direction of the hall door. With Trey’s back to the new intruder, he’s completely unaware of the threat.

Another shadow shifts along the balcony doors.

Shit. Two more?

My dry lips part to scream a warning, but no words come out, only a short high-pitched squeak. The gun lying on the floor is my only hope.