Page 21 of Final Exit

“We have a common enemy,” he said. “There’s no reason we can’t become allies and pool our resources. Devlin told me he tried to recruit you once but you turned him down. I’m giving you a second chance to join the Equalizers, to have an entire team with considerable resources at your back. Together we can plan a way to stop Quinn and whoever’s calling the shots above him.”

“Seems like the world’s just full of second chances tonight.” She tilted her chin defiantly. “Not interested. I already have a whole team at my back. They’re called Enforcers.”

He made a show of looking around. “Really? Because I don’t see them anywhere. And I didn’t see them earlier either. You know, when you almost got shot.”

She hopped out of the car.

“Bailey.”

“What?” she demanded, ready to slam the door shut.

His jaw worked, like he was struggling with some kind of inner demons before he replied. “At least let me drop you off somewhere. I assume you’ve got cars and go bags stashed all around the city, right? That’s what most Enforcers do. Hell, it’s what the Equalizers do, too, even though we’re a team. We’re all self-sufficient, like you. We plan for the worst. But this fight we’re both fighting is easier, and safer, in numbers. I’ll tell you all about the Equalizers and what we’re doing, if you want to listen. But at least let me take you to one of those stashes so you’re not stranded in the middle of the woods.”

She eyed him warily, considering her options. She’d made a point of noting the Ghost’s—Quinn’s—street and house number as Atwell drove them out of the neighborhood. But a street name by itself was useless when she’d never heard of the street before.

Her phone had a map app that should help her find her way back to civilization. But it wasn’t like she’d had a chance to charge it when she’d gone to bed. The thing was probably dead by now, or would be soon. Life was definitely dealing her some sour lemons right now. And she’d never been the type to make lemonade.

But this man could. At the very least, she could use him as her taxi. But it was difficult to trust someone when you weren’t on a level playing field. Her gaze fell to the gun holstered on his hip.

“Would it make you feel more secure if I gave you a gun?” he asked.

Her gaze whipped to his. “You offering?”

In answer, he pulled a Cobra Derringer .38 special from a strap on his ankle. It was a small gun, which made it ideal for hiding. Normally Bailey wouldn’t even consider carrying the Cobra. The trigger pull weight was horrendously heavy for someone her size, which made aiming difficult at best. But she wasn’t about to turn up her nose at his generous offer. A gun of any kind was better than nothing.

When he held the Derringer out to her, she leaned in and snatched it out of his palm, fearing a trick. When he didn’t draw his 9mm or try to grab her, she checked the Derringer. Fully loaded.

“What’s your game?”

He shook his head. “You don’t trust anyone, do you?”

“You make it sound tragic,” she scoffed. “But if you’d lived the life I have, believe me, you’d have learned long ago that trust is precious and should rarely be given.”

He cocked his head. “Care to share? I’m a good listener.”

“I’ve never been good at sharing.”

“Fair enough. I won’t pry. You coming or not?”

She shoved the Derringer into the pocket of her shorts then hopped into the passenger seat.

“Where to?” he asked, as he started the engine.

“That depends.” She pulled the door closed. “Where are we?”

“About twenty minutes southwest of Boulder.”

“Closer to Windermere or Arapahoe?”

“Definitely Windermere.”

“There’s a self-storage facility a couple of side streets over from Windermere.”

“I know the place.”

He did a U-turn, then headed back toward the main road. Half an hour later he pulled to a stop in front of the storage unit she’d directed him to.

“Want me to wait?” he asked as she hopped out of the van.

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