Page 32 of Final Exit

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 checked 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.”