Page 12 of Final Exit

On the heel of that thought was the sickening fear that Hawke might have risked his own safety to make a desperate plea for hers. Had his call to Buchanan been his last action before being caught by the team that was closing in on him? Or had he managed to escape but for some reason couldn’t contact her to let her know he was safe?

“Bailey,” the voice whispered again. “Trust me, if you want to live, you need to get your ass inside the house. Now.”

He was right about one thing—the odds of her getting out of this on her own, alive, were hovering around the “I wouldn’t bet my life’s savings on it” territory. Buttrusthim? Someone working for Buchanan? A man who’d once been known as “TheEnforcer” because he was in charge ofkillingother Enforcers if he deemed they’d gone rogue? How was she supposed to trust the man in the dark behind her when he worked for another man shedefinitelydidn’t trust?

The argument between the Ghost and the sniper had escalated. Apparently the man had finally stepped out of his hiding place and was now being berated for shooting at an unarmed woman, or something along those lines. Bailey hadn’t paid much attention to what he was saying because she was so focused on the stranger in the shadows behind her.

Every instinct screamed for her not to trust Buchanan’s lackey. Then again, compared to almost certain death, dealing with one of his men was starting to sound appealing. And if he could give her an update on Hawke, dealing with Equalizer-scum could be the best thing to happen to her all day.

Using the Ghost and the darkness for cover, she duckwalked backward to the open doorway. An arm clamped around her waist and yanked her inside.

Once they were away from the doorway, she whirled around, shoving at the man’s arm. But he was already letting go and gesturing for her to follow him to the archway. He was dressed all in black, including a baseball cap pulled down low to conceal his features.

“That’s a dead end,” she whispered, as she wiped the dripping rainwater off her face with her clasped hands. “We should use the side door. It leads to the driveway.”

“My van’s across the street. We’ll use the front.”

“But—”

“It’s not a dead end. I came in that way. The side door is too exposed.”

“Wait.” She could barely make out the frown on his face in the dimly lit room. He was tall, probably as tall as the Ghost. And almost as intimidating.

“What is it?” he whispered impatiently.

“You said you’re an Equalizer?”

He nodded, his gaze flitting to the open French door. “Jace Atwell. I’m a former Navy SEAL and a bodyguard after that. Stick with me and you’ll make it out of here alive.”

“Have you always suffered from this lack of confidence?”

He didn’t even crack a smile. The man had no sense of humor.

“I’m confident about one thing,” he said. “Theonlychance you have to make it out of here alive is with me. But I’m not going to get myself killed waiting for you to make up your mind. If you want to live, follow me. If not—” he shrugged “—I gave you a chance. If you choose not to take it, that’s on you.”

Without waiting for her reply, he hurried into the front room.

The arguments on the back porch had stopped. Silence, in this case, couldn’t be good. She took off for the front room. When she sprinted through the archway, a moment of panic slammed through her. The room was empty.

“Over here.”

A harsh whisper had her turning to the right. Atwell had a backpack slung over his shoulder now and it looked heavy. What was he doing, robbing the place?

He slid a panel open, revealing the front door—a perfectlyworkingfront door. The Ghost had fooled her once again. The panel must have been for extra security, like the one in the back. But it hadn’t done its job tonight.

“Hurry,” Atwell snapped.

And just like that, she rushed to obey, as if he were a general and she his new recruit. The man did have a way of giving orders. Which had her resenting the hell out of him.

As soon as she reached the sliding panel, he killed the lights. He shoved the door open, and hurried outside, gesturing for her to crouch down and follow him. They headed away from the driveway side, running between the brick façade and the mature shrubs.

When he reached the end of the house, he pulled her up short. A single gold band winked in the moonlight on his left hand. Somehow, the knowledge that he was married made him seem more human. But only a little. She raised her brows in question.

He pointed toward a dark-colored minivan parked on the other side of the street. She hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding. Hawke trusted the Equalizers. And she trusted Hawke. She had to keep reminding herself of that.

The barest hint of a smile curved his lips, as if he knew the dilemma she was in and found it amusing.

They both peeked out through the bushes to see if they had company. Sure enough, a shadow moved off to their left, a man dressed in black with yet another flak jacket on. The white letters FBI were clearly stamped across the back.

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