Page 27 of Final Exit

Thatwas worse than anything else. At a time like this, his life should be flashing before his eyes. He should be devastated by grief over the loss of his wife.

But he wasn’t.

Instead, his last moments on earth were spent desiring a stranger. He craved the feel of her sweat-slicked skin against his like a drunk craved his next drink. He fantasized about ripping off her clothes and sliding his tongue across every inch of her just to see the passion cloud over in her moss-green eyes. He wanted, needed, to hear his name on her tongue as he drove into her and made her come apart all around him. How could he feel all those things forthiswoman, when he should be repulsed by her on principle alone? In what world did that make sense? In what universe didanyof this make sense?

He started to laugh.

Bailey’s eyes widened, which only made him laugh more. He laughed so hard that tears rolled down his cheeks. He laughed until he got a stitch in his side and was gasping for breath. And all that time, Bailey stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

Maybe he had.

He wiped the tears away, chuckled, drew several deep breaths. He waved at the gun. “Go ahead. Strike three and all of that. Get it over with.”

“You’re insane.”

“Now on that we agree.” He swiped the keys from her seat.

“Hey, hey,” she called out.

“Hey yourself. It’s a damn oven in here.” He shoved the keys in the ignition and started the engine. The air conditioner emitted a blast of hot air, then turned blissfully, icy cold. He aimed one of the vents directly at his face and practically melted against the door. “Thank God.”

He closed his eyes. The A/C continued to pump out cold air. A minute ticked by, maybe two.

“Just tell me one thing,” Bailey said.

“What?” He didn’t open his eyes.

“If your boss admitted that his men were killing people instead of ‘debriefing’ them at that training facility, what would you do?”

He slowly opened his eyes, the urge to laugh evaporating like the sweat on his skin.

“If someone was purposely killed, as opposed to an accident, I’d do everything in my power to halt the program, to stop whoever was behind the killing, and bring them to justice.”

She slowly lowered the gun, but kept her finger on the trigger.

“And Hawke?” she asked quietly. “I was on the phone with him last night. A team was after him. I haven’t been able to reach him since.”

“Their last check-in was this morning. They haven’t caught him yet but expect to soon. Until then, they’ll maintain radio silence.”

“Call them. Tell them to abort the mission.”

“No. I won’t disturb them in the middle of an assignment. It’s too dangerous.”

“You’re in danger. They might as well be, too.”

He considered her request, then shook his head. “No. I won’t put my men in danger. If the phone rang, it could distract them, get them shot if they’re in a standoff. Since I’m the only one who has the team lead’s number, he keeps the ringer on, knowing I would only call in an emergency. But it’s set up not to make a sound or even vibrate for a text message. I could send him a text. As soon as it’s safe, he’ll check his messages, and get back to me. Fair enough?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Fair enough. As long as I get to approve your text before you send it.”

He punched in the message, telling Simmons that if Hawke had gotten away and they were still pursuing him, that he should abort the mission. Then he held the phone up for Bailey to read. When she nodded again, he pressed send, then put the phone away.

She looked tired, weary. Had she slept last night? Probably not if she was watching his house all morning. Regardless of how tired she might be, the determined set of her jaw told him she was going to see this through to the end, whatever that end might be. And somewhere in that befuddled space between his ears, along with the rest of his traitorous body, he was silently cheering her on.

Yep. He’d lost his mind. No doubt about it.

Using her free hand, Bailey put on her seat belt and clicked it into place.

“Drive,” she ordered.

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