Page 24 of Final Exit

And everywhere else.

He shrugged and snapped his jeans closed while he still could. “It was worth a try.”

“A for effort.” Her smile faded, once again replaced by the somber, serious expression he was used to. She gestured with her Sig Sauer. “Car keys.”

“You’re taking my car?” He glanced around the parking lot. No sign of the beat-up Camaro she’d driven yesterday. “How did you get here? How did you follow me without me knowing?”

She batted her long lashes. “Flirtyandchatty. It’s my lucky day. Keys. Now.”

He leaned through the open window and took the keys out of the ignition. His duffel bag, with a Glock 17 in the outside pocket, was in the backseat. But it was too far away for him to reach. And he sure as hell didn’t want to risk her shooting him in the backside if he dove for the thing. He straightened and held the keys out to her, ready to grab her the second she got too close.

“Toss them on the ground.”

Damn.

He pitched the keys about three feet away. But she didn’t fall for that trick either. She made him back well out of lunging zone before she picked them up, all without looking away from him or lowering her gun.

“Get back in the car. Driver’s seat.”

He frowned. “What’s the endgame here? What do you want?”

“I want you to do exactly what I say. Get in the car.”

He slid into the driver’s seat.

She kicked the door shut and then slowly walked backward, keeping her pistol trained on him. She backed around the front of the car to the passenger side. After pitching her bag into the back with his, she hopped in.

“One move toward me,” she warned, “and I pull the trigger.”

“It’s hot in here. Give me the keys and I’ll turn on the air.”

She dropped the keys onto the seat next to her thigh. “Not yet. Where’s Hawke?”

Ah, hell.

If she was looking for her fellow Enforcer, she wasn’t going to be happy with anything he told her.

“Hawke?” He frowned as if trying to place the name.

“Strike one. When I get to three, I pull the trigger. Where is he?”

Was she bluffing? He studied her, the way her hand remained steady as it held the gun. He watched her breathe slowly in and out, her generous breasts rising and falling with each respiration. A bead of sweat slid down the side of his face. He was definitely getting overheated. And Bailey Stark was as cool as a summer salad.

She wasn’t bluffing.

“You mean Hawke Jacobs, another Enforcer?” He pretended to have just made the connection. Because, yeah, there were so many men named Hawke running around. It was easy to confuse them.

“Give the man a prize. Where is he?”

“If my team has completed their mission, he’s resting comfortably at the retraining facility I mentioned to you last night.”

An intake of breath was the only sign that she’d heard him, but it was enough. Whoever Hawke was to her, he mattered. She was risking everything to find him.

“Take me there,” she ordered.

“I can’t. I don’t know where it is.”

The pistol wobbled.