Page 44 of Final Exit

“You could have called Simmons, made him abort the mission earlier, when I first asked. If you had...” She curled her nails into her palms.

“If I had, maybe he’d still be alive?”

She nodded.

“It’s possible. It’s also possible that the call would have distracted Simmons while he was after your friend, and then your friend could have killed him. There’s no way to know for sure, and no do-overs in life. We have to make the best decisions we can, based on the facts we have at the time.”

“The facts? You sound so... clinical. What if one of the people involved was someone you loved? Hawke was the closest thing to a brother that I’ve ever known. I loved him. If he was someoneyouloved, would you have chosen to save his life, over Simmons’s? Would you have at leasttriedto save his life?”

“Bailey, I don’t think we should—”

“Have you ever loved someone?”

Something dark passed in his eyes, but he nodded.

“Pretend Hawke was your loved one. Now would you have called Simmons?”

He slowly shook his head. “It wouldn’t be right. I couldn’t trade one life for another like that, no matter how much I wanted to.”

“Then you, Kade Quinn, have never really loved someone.” She started to turn away, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Who was he?” he asked. “Who did you love and lose? And don’t tell me it was Hawke. There’s something else going on here, someone else you’re remembering that has you so angry with me.”

“Not he. They.”

“They?”

“My mom and dad. We’d been on vacation and just flew back home to Bozeman—”

“Montana?”

She nodded. “We were in the airport parking garage, walking to our car with our luggage. I was thirsty, asked Daddy if I could get a drink from the water fountain back by the elevator. He said I could, but to hurry. So I ran to the fountain, just thirty feet away. I remember the water wasn’t even cold, had a metallic, rusty taste. I spit it out and turned around to complain just as a man wearing a ski mask stepped out from between two cars and pointed a gun at my parents.”

Her nails were biting into her skin now, but she barely felt the pain. She could see the parking garage as clearly as if she was standing there today. It was her curse, that time blurred the happy memories of her parents but did nothing to fade the horror of that night.

“Bailey—”

“My dad glanced at me, over the gunman’s shoulder. I started toward him, and he shook his head, just a tiny little shake. I stopped. I didn’t do anything, nothing at all, to help them. And then they were on the ground, the shooter running away with my father’s wallet and my mother’s purse. I didn’t. Do. Anything. And they died. I should have done something.”

He stepped closer but she moved back, out of his reach. “I don’t want your sympathy, Kade. I want your understanding. I loved my mom and dad desperately. And if I could go back in time, I would do anything, anything, to save them. The law be damned. Even if it meant killing their killerbeforehe murdered them. That’s the difference between you and me, Enforcer and FBI agent. You wait until the crime occurs and then clean up the mess. I prevent the crime from happening in the first place by taking out the bad guys. And, for the record, I think your way sucks.”

She stalked into the house, stopping in the kitchen and bracing her hands on the countertop. But her anger didn’t last long. Maybe because she was too tired to be mad anymore. Or maybe because she was so hungry that being in a kitchen had her practically drooling at the thought of food. Heck, she’d eat a paper towel right now if that would stop the empty ache in her belly.

All she was sure of was that she couldn’t stomach how self-righteous Kade had been acting, talking about rules and laws. It was as if he was judging her, and the choices she’d made. Had she done things she wasn’t proud of? Of course. Hadn’t everyone? But overall she lived her life the best that she knew how, making the best decisions she could.

Her shoulders slumped.

Wasn’t that what Kade had just said? That he made the best decisions he could? How could she be mad at him for judging her when that’s exactly what she’d been doing—judging him? Maybe they weren’t so different after all. And maybe, just maybe, she owed him an apology.

He chose that moment to walk in from the garage. His movements were bordering on sluggish. Had he been up all night, too, without a chance to catch up on his sleep? She hadn’t thought to ask earlier.

“How old were you, Bailey?” he asked, his voice quiet, his expression somber. “When you lost your parents?”

She stiffened, already regretting telling him anything about her past. That was private, her burden to bear, not something to drag out like a couple of drunks comparing scars at a party. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes. It does. How old?”

She gritted her teeth. “Ten.”

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