Page 33 of Final Exit

She blinked, then groaned.That’swhat 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. Orsomething.”

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.

Wasshe 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.

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