Page 9 of Final Exit

Bailey whirled to her left at the sound of the deep, masculine voice.

“Hold it.” A powerful flashlight clicked on from behind the couch, shining directly at her face.

She should have checked behind that couch, first thing. Now who was making the mistakes?

She held her empty hand up, shielding her eyes. “Turn the light away. I can’t see anything.”

“That’s the point,” he said dryly. The light didn’t waver. “While I’d rather not put a hole in you, I will if I have to. Keep that in mind while youcarefullyandslowlytoss that pry bar to the other side of the room.”

She reluctantly pitched her only weapon away. It clattered across the hardwood floor and skittered into the corner.

“Lock your hands behind your neck and move toward the archway,” he ordered.

“Do a girl a favor and put the gun down first, okay?”

“Sorry, fresh out of favors. Move.”

She trudged forward, wondering why he wasn’t slurring his words. And even though she could hear his uneven gait as his shoes echoed on the floor behind her, he wasn’t staggering. That odd gait was most likely because of his wounded leg.

Which meant he’d never been drunk to begin with.

“You tricked me,” she accused, as she half turned, raising her hand to shield her eyes from the light. “You knew I was in the trunk.”

“It seemed a likely possibility.”

Grudging admiration shot through her. He wasn’t the fool she’d thought him to be. Everything had been too easy, which should have been her first warning. But she’d fallen victim to her own prejudices, assuming he was a lush because, seriously, who carried a full-size bottle of whiskey in their car, especially when on a mission?

Since she didn’t smell any alcohol now, he must have poured it out next to the car as part of his plan to fool her. If she was going to make it out of this alive, she couldn’t afford to underestimate him again. She’d have to rely on the only weapon she had left—her wits.

“Well played. What’s next?” She half turned. “I’m Bailey Stark, but you know that already. What should I call you?”

“I don’t particularly care. Turn around. Go into the front room.”

Shereallymissed her gun.

If she could find out his real name, it could be a gold mine if she managed to escape. A name would be that little thread she could pull to unravel the rest of the government’s secrets. She could follow him to his boss, and to the next boss, until she knew everyone pulling the strings against the Enforcers at every level of government. After all, she and the other remaining Enforcers couldn’t effectively fight their enemies without knowing who they were.

“Unless you can outrun my trigger finger, I suggest you get moving,” he said.

“You’re a lousy host,” she grumbled as she started forward again.

“You’re a lousy guest. You destroyed the casing around my antique doors.”

“Antique? They’re a dry-rotted termite smorgasbord. I did you a favor by pointing out a major flaw in your security.”

“Well, in that case, I suppose I should thank you.” The mocking sound of his voice had her nails biting into her palms. A moment later he said, “You can stop now.”

She was in the middle of the front room. A brown leather couch took up the spot under the street-facing windows. Beside it was a generously-sized blue chair, and next to that was a large oak desk, its scarred surface littered with papers.

Again, there wasn’t much else to give it a lived-in appearance, just wall-to-wall bookshelves, covered mostly with stacks of paper. Reports maybe? Information about the teams searching for her and the others? She wouldn’t mind a closer look.

“Turn around.”

As she turned, her hands still locked behind her neck, she surveyed everything. The only exits were the front windows and the opening they’d just come through. That didn’t seem right. The front door should have been nearby. But she didn’t see it. She glanced around the room again, to the left and right of the windows.

“It’s fake,” he offered, drawing her attention. “The front door. Thatiswhat you were looking for, isn’t it? I had it sealed off when I moved in.”

Since the lights were on in this room, he’d set the flashlight down somewhere and she could see him perfectly. Including the gun in his hand. The Walther PPK didn’t waver, but it wasn’t pointed directly at her either. Instead, it was aimed slightly to her left, and his pointer finger was on the frame, not the trigger. It appeared that he wasn’t planning on shooting her, not yet anyway. As long as she didn’t provoke him, she just might figure a way out of this that didn’t include her leaving in a body bag.

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