Final Exit

by LENA DIAZ,

  His glare should have made her hair catch fire.

  “Simmons,” a voice said through the phone.

  “I’m calling on behalf of your boss, Special Agent Kade Quinn.” Bailey noted the surprise on his face. He probably wondered how she knew his name. She doubted he’d be thrilled to discover that an Equalizer had given it to her. “If you’re still in pursuit of Hawke, you need to abort the mission.”

  Silence.

  “Simmons,” she tried again. “Did you hear me? Abort the mission. Do not pursue Hawke any further. Give me an update on his status.”

  Again, silence.

  “Simmons.” She frowned at Kade. “Why isn’t he saying anything?”

  “He thinks my phone’s been compromised, which it has.”

  She held it out toward him. “Since I’ve already broken your precious rule about not calling your lead during a mission, tell him it’s okay to talk to me.”

  He swiped the phone away from her, took it off speaker mode and held it to his left ear where she couldn’t grab it, all in the span of a few seconds. She was left holding her hand up in the air, minus the phone.

  She dropped her hand to her lap. Pathetic. She might as well turn in her Enforcer card and become a librarian.

  “It’s Quinn.” He said something else too low for Bailey to catch.

  “Put it back on speaker,” she told him.

  The infuriating man ignored her. With him driving, there wasn’t much she could do about it right now. Next time, she’d lock him in the trunk while she drove.

  “He did what?” Kade asked.

  The sharpness of his tone had Bailey straining to hear what Simmons was saying, but she could only hear Kade’s side of the conversation.

  He fired off a rapid volley of questions then rattled off an address that meant nothing to her. A few seconds later, he shoved the phone in its holder, looking disgusted as he mumbled something beneath his breath.

  “Kade? What did he say about Hawke?”

  He peered at one of the street signs as they passed it, then the next one, as if he was looking for something.

  Bailey watched with alarm as the speedometer crept steadily to the right. If they got pulled over for speeding, she’d have to hide the gun. And then she’d lose her leverage to get Kade to take her to Hawke.

  “Maybe we should pull over,” she suggested. “You can tell me what Simmons said and we can come up with a strategy to—”

  He punched the gas and yanked the steering wheel hard left. Bailey fell against the door, the pistol bobbling dangerously in her hands. She sucked in a sharp breath, just managing to steady the gun before he made another sharp turn, slamming her against the seat this time.

  She glared at him, yanking on the shoulder harness to loosen it where it had tightened against her neck. She cursed several branches of his family tree, but the effort was wasted. He wasn’t paying her any attention.

  Then she noticed the scenery rushing past her window.

  Rolling hills and thick stands of trees lined the wide road. The houses were few and far between, with lush landscaping and long, winding driveways.

  She knew this road.

  But Kade shouldn’t.

  “Why are we here?” She tried to keep her voice calm, flat, so he wouldn’t sense her concern.

  Several cars passed them going the other way, a truck, a black SUV.

  Just like the one in Kade’s driveway last night.

  She half turned and watched the SUV disappear around a curve.

  “Were those your men?”

  His jaw tightened. “Yes.”

  “Shouldn’t we be following them? To find Hawke?”

  “Nope.”

  He slowed and turned down another road.

  “This isn’t where I told you to go.”

  “You wanted to look for Hawke at his house.”

  “Yes, but . . . this isn’t . . . I gave you directions . . . you’re going the wrong way.”

  “I think what you’re trying to say is that you were giving me directions to his other house, the one most people know about. My team searched that place first. Then they came here.”

  He turned up a long winding driveway.

  “I didn’t think anyone else knew about this place,” she said. “At least, no one but . . . me.”

  He glanced at her, frowning. “Who is Hawke to you anyway? Friend? Lover?”

  “Who’s the blonde in your picture? Girlfriend? Wife?” She didn’t expect an answer.

  He didn’t disappoint.

  He pulled the car to a stop in front of the glass-and-concrete structure that Hawke loved so much, that he’d worked so hard to ensure that no one in EXIT knew about.

  Apparently, he hadn’t worked hard enough.

  Bailey had thought this house was safe, that no one could figure out that it belonged to Hawke. When she’d texted him last night from the trunk of the Caddy, she’d assumed that the agents had cornered him at one of his other homes. Like her, he had many properties, most of them hidden under layers of aliases and shell companies, and tended to go to whichever one was closer when he needed to lie low. But if he’d known that Kade’s men were actively targeting him here in Colorado Springs last night, he would have gone to ground in the one place where he felt they’d never look.

  The house right in front of her.

  But he hadn’t been here, had he? If he had, he wouldn’t have been worried about anyone finding him. Which meant he had to be somewhere else.

  “We’re wasting time,” she said. “Hawke isn’t here.”

  “Bailey, this is where my men found him.”

  She blinked. “Then . . . he’s . . .” She couldn’t finish her question. She was too afraid of the answer.

  “As far as I know he’s still alive.”

  “As far . . . as far as you know? What happened? I don’t understand.”

  “My men cornered him inside. The team gave chase and Simmons said Hawke got away.”

  Hope surged in her chest. Hawke had gotten away. He must not have been badly hurt as she’d feared. So where was he hiding now?

  “I don’t think he escaped, though,” Kade continued. “He was injured during a struggle, then disappeared. But they didn’t find a trail leading outside. They were still searching the house when you called Simmons.”

  Her brief surge of hope died a quick death. “What kind of struggle?”

  “Simmons wasn’t clear on the details. Someone drew a knife. I’m not sure if it was one of my men, or Hawke. The knife slipped, Hawke was cut.”

  She drew a sharp breath.

  “He did manage to disappear, so chances are he’s not hurt that badly. And you and I both know how you Enforcers love your secret wall panels. I’m betting that your friend is holed up inside somewhere waiting until he’s certain that no one is looking for him. All we have to do is find him.”

  She stilled. “You know about the panels?”

  “I didn’t until you got away the last time. I directed Reese, one of my men, to search the cottage to figure out how you escaped. He gave me an update this morning. Bathroom closet, hidden staircase. Clever.”

  “Not clever enough.”

  He reached over the seat back as if to grab his go bag.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” She brought up her gun.

  He cocked a brow. “Make me.”

  “You don’t think I’ll shoot?”

  “I’m beginning to think you’re all nag, no follow-through.”

  She gasped at the insult, jerked the gun just a tad to the right. And pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  He swore and yanked the gun out of her hand. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

  She unclipped her seat belt and dove for the Bersa .380 strapped to her ankle. The sound of metal sliding against metal, followed by a click, made her freeze. She slowly looked over her shoulder. Kade narrowed his eyes, holding a Glock 17 just inches from her face.

  “You probably should have ch
ecked the side pocket of my go bag earlier,” he said. “And made sure I couldn’t reach it from the driver’s seat. Give me your backup gun.”

  “What backup?”

  “Everyone wears a backup,” he mocked, throwing her own words back at her.

  She swore a dozen colorful phrases at him. In two languages.

  He arched a brow. “Potty mouth.”

  “Altar boy.”

  He held out his left hand. “Gun. Now.”

  She handed him the Bersa. “What’s next? You call Simmons and tell him to come back and get me?”

  “Get out.”

  He made her stand several yards back from the trunk, with no trees or bushes or even the car to duck behind. Smart man. While keeping the Glock trained on her, he ducked down and grabbed both of their go bags from the backseat.

  She crossed her arms, pretending not to be worried. A quick scan of their surroundings confirmed what she already knew. The only hiding places were too far away for her to reach before he’d be on her. Or shoot her.

  He popped the trunk and tossed the bags inside. She almost whimpered when he tucked her Sig Sauer and Bersa into his bag. At the last minute, he must have decided he preferred his Walther PPK, because he exchanged it for the Glock. He slammed the trunk and motioned for her to precede him up the walkway.

  When they reached the front door, she muttered, “If I survive this, I’m tossing the Sig in a Dumpster. I’ve never had a gun misfire like that.”

  He stepped beside her, shaking his head. “I did tell you that you snore. Remember? Think about it.”

  She blinked, then groaned. That’s what her sleepy brain couldn’t piece together earlier. As soon as Kade had commented on her snoring, she should have checked the gun to see if he’d unloaded it. Even if he hadn’t said anything, she should have known by the feel of the gun, by its lighter weight, that something was off. Probably the only reason he hadn’t taken her Bersa while she was sleeping was because he couldn’t reach it. But that hadn’t mattered. He’d still gotten the draw on her and now she had no guns.

  “I assume you made sure your PPK’s loaded?” she griped.

  “It’s what professionals do.”

  She gasped.

  His mouth quirked, as if he was trying not to smile.

  Still smarting over his “professionals” comment, she snapped, “I need a gun, too.”

  “You want ammo with that?”

  “Yes. Please,” she gritted out between clenched teeth.

  “Why? My men are gone. Hawke’s your friend. Or something.”

  She ignored that little dig. “What if your men lied and one of them is still here?”

  “They’ve got no reason to lie to me. And I’m not giving you a gun. You already shot me once.”

  “Doesn’t count. It wasn’t loaded.”

  “You didn’t know it wasn’t loaded. It counts. Don’t expect me to forgive you any time soon.”

  “I didn’t ask. And for your information, I turned the gun a little to the right before I pulled the trigger. The bullet wouldn’t have hit you.”

  This time, he did smile. “I know.” He threw open the front door and gestured her forward. “Ladies first.”

  She scowled and marched inside.

  In spite of his “ladies first” quip, they entered the house together, walking side by side through the marble-tiled foyer. And even though he had the upper hand now that he was the one with a gun, he kept it down by his side, treating her as if she was his partner instead of his prisoner.

  Was she his prisoner?

  It was hard to tell. He stayed close, but seemed more of a protector than an agent assigned to capture her.

  “Where’s the kitchen?” he asked. “That’s where Simmons said the fight happened.”

  “This way.” She led him down a short hall to their left, then through the dining room. When she stepped into the kitchen, she froze. “Oh no.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders in a surprisingly gentle hold, as if he was trying to comfort her. And, heaven help her, she almost leaned back and let him.

  There was so much blood.

  “It may not be as bad as it looks,” he said.

  She nodded, but they both knew he was lying.

  The travertine floor by the kitchen island was so smeared with blood that it was difficult to tell what color the tiles were supposed to be. Some of the blood was already drying, turning a dark, rusty color. The air reeked of the coppery scent.

  And something else.

  “Gunfire,” they both said at the same time.

  “There.” She pointed to the wall on their left. Three small bullet holes were torn into the Sheetrock.

  Kade holstered his pistol and ran his fingers across the holes. His mouth compressed into a hard line.

  “Simmons has a lot of explaining to do.” His voice shook with anger, and Bailey was again reminded of the text messages he’d sent to his team leads about not hurting any Enforcers.

  Everything she thought she knew about the Ghost was being turned upside down. The man crouching on the floor now, studying the bloody footprints, wasn’t some mustache-twirling villain out to kill Enforcers. If anything, he was the complete opposite. He cared, maybe too much. So what was happening to all the Enforcers?

  Could Kade be right that they really were going to some retraining facility? Had she been wrong about Sebastian and Amber? Or was she wrong about the identity of the Ghost? Maybe Kade really was a good guy, and someone else was killing Enforcers.

  “There’s too much cross-contamination in here,” Kade said. “I can’t see a pattern. But if all of this is Hawke’s blood, I don’t think he could have made it that far. He has to be close by.”

  “Wouldn’t the agent he fought know where Hawke went?”

  “You would think so. But Simmons said the guy got knocked to the floor. By the time he regained his footing and turned around, your guy was gone. However, since Simmons didn’t mention that someone fired a gun in here, I’m not inclined to put much stock in anything that he told me.”

  He walked the perimeter of the room, feeling along the walls, pressing against them. He was looking for hidden panels.

  Bailey mimicked his search on the opposite side of the room. But a few minutes later, neither of them had found anything that didn’t belong in a typical kitchen.

  “I suppose he could have made it into another room.” He didn’t sound convinced. He turned in a slow circle, then stopped. “The cabinets.”

  “None of them are big enough for Hawke to hide inside. He’s not as big as you, but he’s still a large man.”

  “Not in the cabinets. Behind them. Look at the top left corner on the end.”

  She did, and her pulse started pounding with excitement. “There’s a tiny gap. This whole section must swing out like a door.”

  It took a good five minutes of feeling around and running their hands along the wood, but Bailey found the tiny switch—on the back of the stove. She pressed it and heard a loud click.

  A whole section of cabinets popped out about an inch. Together they swung them open all the way, revealing a small, previously hidden room.

  And Hawke lying in a puddle of blood.

  Chapter Ten

  Saturday, 5:03 p.m.

  Bailey clutched the edges of her hard plastic chair, her knees bouncing up and down with nervous energy as she scanned the emergency room waiting area. There was the usual assortment of maladies typical in most ERs. Toddlers sniffling against their mothers’ shoulders. An elderly man coughing into his handkerchief while his wife stroked his back and clucked her tongue in sympathy. A baseball coach looking equally worried and harassed as he tried, without success, to corral a handful of preteen boys while waiting to find out whether his star hitter’s season was over, courtesy of a possible broken arm.

  Kade leaned in close from his seat beside her. “Squeeze any harder and that chair is going to crack.”

  “I can’t help it. Why haven’t we heard anyth
ing about Hawke yet?”

  “It’s only been half an hour.”

  “Since we got here, yeah. But the ambulance arrived before us. And they must have done some kind of assessment and treatment along the way. The doctors should know something.”

  She expected him to give her platitudes, to tell her everything was going to be okay, the way most people would. But he didn’t.

  “He’s going to die, isn’t he,” she whispered. “He lost so much blood. And we couldn’t wake him up.”

  “We stopped the bleeding and called 911 right away. We gave him a fighting chance. It’s in the doctors’ hands now. And God’s.”

  She looked up at him. “You believe in God?”

  “I do. Is that a problem?”

  She shook her head. “No. Just . . . unexpected.”

  “Because the big bad FBI guy is the epitome of evil?”

  A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Something like that.”

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “My parents were devout Catholics.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question. What about you? Do you believe?”

  She looked away, thinking about his question. Did she believe? She had, once upon a time. When it was just the three of them. When everything was puppies and roses and weekend trips to any theme park with a roller coaster—because roller coasters made Bailey happy, and her adoring father loved nothing more than to make his little girl smile.

  She’d believed in fairy tales, too, where mommies and daddies cuddled and laughed and read their daughter bedtime stories every night. She’d also believed in a world where bad guys didn’t sneak up on you from the shadows, a world where mommies and daddies never died.

  Until they did.

  “Bailey?”

  “Why did you call 911 for Hawke?” When he didn’t answer, she looked up again. The expression on his face was a mixture of confusion and a dash of something else. Hurt? Censure?

  “Why wouldn’t I call 911?” he finally asked. “Hawke was hurt. He needed medical attention.”

  “But you risked exposure, risked the police asking all kinds of questions that I’m sure you don’t want to answer. If an Enforcer tells someone about EXIT, the penalty can be extreme, maybe even death depending on the circumstances. But you’re as deep into this as I am. I imagine you could, what, be fired? Lose your career? Worse? Why would you risk everything to help someone you’ve never met?”