Page 49 of Final Exit

“Don’t get your hopes up. I could never like a Fed. It’s just lust, pure and simple. If you didn’t have a hole in your side, I’d be all over you.”

He grinned. “Now you’re just being cruel.”

The teasing look on her face disappeared as she leaned forward. For a moment, he thought she might kiss him. But then her hand pressed on top of his, which was once again massaging his thigh. He hadn’t even realized he was doing it.

“Will you tell me what happened?” she asked, her voice a gentle whisper in the quiet room.

He didn’t have to ask what she meant. She wanted to know what had happened to his leg. His first instinct was to tell her no. It sure as hell wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. But this was Bailey. The two of them had been through crisis after crisis together, cramming a lifetime of death-defying experiences into a few short days. He probably knew her better than he knew anyone, and yet, he didn’t feel that he knew her at all. Still, she’d shared part of her past with him, shared her painful memories about the tragic loss of her parents. How could he refuse to do the same?

His words fell haltingly at first, as he tried to describe that horrible night.

The dark, twisting road. Tires squealing around a curve, headlights flashing in his side mirror. The other driver’s soulless eyes—taunting, mocking Kade’s desperate attempt to outdrive him, to escape.

Gunshots, a hail of broken glass, the poker-hot burn of a bullet ripping through the driver’s door, shattering Kade’s hip, burying itself in the muscles of his thigh.

Abby’s screams of terror from the passenger seat, turning into shouts of warning. The century-old oak tree rushing to meet them. Kade, desperately turning the wheel. Too late. Too late. Metal crunching, popping, crushing.

Dear God. How could she even still be alive?

Laughter from the other man as he drove away, leaving Kade trapped and unable to help his new bride as she died a horrible, brutal death.

“Oh, Kade.” Bailey clasped his hand in both of hers. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I shouldn’t have asked you to share something so painful, so personal.”

He entwined his fingers with hers. “That’s just it. It’s painful, yes, but personal?” He scrubbed the stubble on his jaw with his free hand. “It should be. Abby... she was mywife. And it tears me apart that she died such a horrible death, that I couldn’t protect her. And yet, it almost feels like it happened to someone else. It’s as if I’m watching a movie in my head, and the script has all these holes in it. I have so many questions and so many gaps in my memory that none of it feels real.”

He squeezed her hand. “This, this feels real. More real than any of my memories of Abby. How is that possible? What kind of man marries someone and watches her die right in front of him and can barely remember what she looked like? And how the hell can I wantyouso damn much when it hasn’t even been a year since Abby died? I’m a sick bastard, that’s all there is to it.”

He tugged his hand but she held on, refusing to let go.

“Stop it. Stop blaming yourself for what you feel, or what you can or can’t remember. As badly as you were hurt, you probably suffered a concussion at the least, maybe something far worse. You can’t be expected to have a clear memory after something like that.”

He didn’t bother telling her that he’d been in a coma, or that he’d had a severe concussion that had him seeing double for weeks. Or that it had taken months of therapy just so he could walk again. And that he didn’t know, even now, if he’d ever be able to walk without pain. He told her none of those things, because he didn’t want her sympathy. He wantedher. And as she continued to berate him for feeling guilty about his late wife, his desire for her deepened even more.

This beautiful, courageous woman with her flashing green eyes and fiery temper was everything he wanted, but exactly what he couldn’t have. She was an assassin, a murderer. He’d spent his entire adult life fighting to put people like her in prison. What he felt for her was wrong on so many levels. It made absolutely no sense.

And he didn’t have a clue what he was going to do about it.

She gave him a sad smile, as if she understood the battle he was waging in his mind.

Maybe she did.

He checked his watch, before remembering he wasn’t wearing it. “How long have we been here? Four hours? Five? We should probably get going, before someone figures out where we are.”

Her eyes widened. “Try closer to forty-eight, give or take a couple of hours. It’s about one in the afternoon. On Monday.”

He stared at her in shock, then swore and flipped back the sheet. He’d put boxers on after his shower, so at least he wasn’t completely naked this time.

“What are you doing?” She jumped off the bed and ran to the other side just as he’d gained his feet. “You should save your strength, try to sleep.”

“We have to leave.” He turned, saw their go bags on a dresser and started toward them. His leg wobbled and he had to catch himself against the foot of the bed.

She grabbed his arm, steadying him. “See. Told you. You shouldn’t be walking.”

“Where’s my brace?”

“In the bag, but—”

She let out a muffled curse when he rushed to the bag and yanked out the brace.

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