Page 22 of Final Exit

She shook her head. “No need. I’ll be fine. Atwell? I mean, Jace?”

He smiled approvingly at her use of his first name. “Bailey?”

“Thank you. I mean it. You saved my bacon. I owe you one.”

He gave her a jaunty salute.

She stepped back and waited until the minivan turned the corner out of sight. Then she jogged two aisles over to her real storage unit and entered the combination into the lock hanging on the door.

After a quick look around, she pulled the door open and hurried inside. It was a five-by-five unit with a single lightbulb illuminating it from overhead. If anyone else had seen inside, they’d probably be puzzled to see a lone wooden chair sitting in the middle and nothing else.

She picked up the chair and carried it to the back of the unit. After climbing on top of the chair, she stood and ran her fingers along one of the metal beams that supported the corrugated ceiling. The set of keys she kept duct-taped to the beam was still there. The tape made a ripping sound as she yanked the keys free.

A few minutes later she was at another storage facility a few blocks down from the first one. But this one was for boats, RVs, and a few cars—like her rather plain-looking sky-blue Buick that no self-respecting car thief would look at twice. Which was exactly why she’d bought it.

The engine, transmission, and pretty much everything else mechanical had been replaced, while the exterior had suffered more than its share of dings and scrapes—courtesy of a ballpeen hammer she’d taken to it.

A pocketknife and bleach had worked wonders on the car’s interior, giving it a sad, worn appearance. But the Buick’s true beauty was the storage area she’d custom-built herself.

After sliding behind the steering wheel and locking the doors, she pressed a hidden lever on the front of the passenger seat and flipped open the bottom cushion. A go bag, complete with cash, clothing, toiletries, a phone charger, and—hallelujah—decent guns and ammo.

She unloaded Jace’s Cobra Derringer and dropped it into her bag, then shoved her own back-up weapon of choice into her ankle holster, a Bersa .380. Her favored primary gun, a Sig Sauer 9mm pistol, stayed in the bag for now. Once she stopped somewhere to freshen up and change into jeans, she’d be able to hide the Sig in her front pocket and wear a blouse hanging slightly over it to conceal it.

With the engine idling, and the air conditioner pumping out blessedly cool air, she plugged the charger in and connected it to her phone. As soon as the screen lit up, she called Hawke. One ring. Two. Three. Her fingers curled around the phone.

Come on, Hawke. Answer the phone.

He didn’t. The call went to voice mail. She didn’t bother to leave a message.

She let her hand fall to her lap. The three musketeers—that’s what she’d called Hawke, Sebastian, and Amber. Where most Enforcers, including herself, tended to keep to themselves, those three were together every chance they got. And when Bailey had been assigned a mission with Hawke as a partner, he’d introduced her to them. In spite of her preference to remain a loner, they’d managed to wiggle under her defenses and draw her into their circle. And now they were gone. Just like everyone else in her life.

No, Hawke wasn’t dead. She couldn’t accept that. She and some Enforcers that she communicated with online had shared bits and pieces they’d each heard about the FBI’s—or whoever’s—hunt for Enforcers. And the picture those pieces painted was that most of the captured Enforcers weren’t executed right away. They were held prisoner, perhaps interrogated, moved from place to place before disappearing altogether. So there was a chance, however small, that Hawke—if he’d indeed been captured and wasn’t still on the run—had been locked up somewhere. Which meant, she still had a chance to save him. But where was he?

To find out, she’d have to follow the clues, starting with where he’d been holed up when the team had come for him—Colorado Springs. Hopefully he’d left her some bread crumbs to follow.

After putting the car in drive, she hesitated. Following bread crumbs could take a lot of time. Hawke might not have that much left. There had to be a better way, a faster way to find him. She straightened. All she had to do was go to the source, the man who’d ordered Hawke taken in the first place. He had to know where Hawke was.

She shoved the accelerator to the floor and rocketed down the road—the road that would lead her back to the Ghost.

Chapter Eight

Saturday, 11:53 a.m.

Kade had a new plan, one that didn’t involve sitting around waiting for reports from his teams. Or taking orders from Faegan. Or even waiting for Gannon’s feedback about Dominic and Jack.

He was going to find Bailey Stark, on his own.

And this time, he wasn’t turning her over to someone else, not at first anyway. He was going to sit her down and have a real conversation. Maybe together they could figure out what, if anything, was going on. And if he determined that everything was on the up-and-up, then he’d lead his team straight to her.

He tossed his go bag into the nearly nonexistent backseat of the Mustang GT that the bureau had dropped off a little while ago, at his request, in exchange for the mistreated Caddy. Sacrificing comfort for maneuverability and horsepower would ensure he could make a fast getaway if he got into a tight spot.

Plus, it would be really cool to drive a muscle car once again. It had been a long time.

Straightening, he scanned the street in front of his house. The only two cars parked nearby belonged to his neighbors and had been there since yesterday. As far as he could tell, he was alone. No one was watching him. Unless they were parked a good distance away and were using binoculars.

He glanced up at the sky. It was almost noon, the sun high and bright against a deep blue canvas, not a rain cloud in sight. Already he could feel a trickle of sweat between his shoulder blades. It was going to be a hot one. Maybe he should have headed out earlier, before the summer heat began to take hold. But the sleep had done him good. He’d also spent some time planning his next steps, and trying to figure out where Bailey would go to ground, what she’d do next.

Everything was packed. The computer’s hard drive had been scuttled, even though some techs would come by later today to ensure that no one could pull any data from it. They’d remove all of the electronics before releasing the house to the landlord. Standard protocol. The location had been compromised. He had to establish a new base of operations and let his teams know. He wouldn’t want them showing up later in the week wondering where he was. But that could wait.

---