Cole sighed. “I don’t think that matters either. Whether you encourage it or not, you know how John is once he’s got something stuck in his head.”
“I do.” She turned to reach for the coffee pot but paused before she gripped the handle and turned back to him. “What do you think? Is there a chance the police are wrong and it wasn’t an accident?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I suppose there’s a chance, but there were no footprints or tire prints or anything else to make it seem like anyone but Lily was on the trail that day. And I don’t know anyone who would have had a reason to hurt her.” He lifted his shoulders. “And I guess I don’t see that it matters that much. Whether it was an accident or not, Lily’s gone and nothing can change that. Not even stringing up every killer in Texas.”
His mother frowned. “But if she was killed, the person who did it should be held responsible, Cole. They should be punished.”
“I’m sure John will make sure they are. Whether the police are involved or not.”
The moment the words were out of his mouth, he realized what a fool he’d been.
He backed away from his mother, pulse picking up as he pulled his cell from his pocket. “I’ve got to go.”
Laura Mae’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Where?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, grabbing his keys from the table by the door. “I’ve just got a bad feeling. If I’m wrong, I’ll be back in an hour or so. But if I’m not back, don’t hold dinner.”
“What’s going on Cole?” his mother called after him. “You’re scaring me.”
Cole slammed through the door and jogged down the front steps without answering. He hated that his mother was scared, but there wasn’t time to explain, even if he could.
There was no rational explanation for why he was suddenly certain that Layla had gone to kill her husband. He just felt it in his gut. He knew it, the way he knew what made her laugh and the face she made when she was trying not to cry. He knew it and he knew that if he didn’t stop her, she was going to regret what she was about to do for the rest of her life.
Which might not be long if Wayne sees her coming.
The thought sent Cole running the last ten feet to his truck. He called Layla’s cell on his way down the mountain toward the gate, but his call went straight to voicemail.
“Call me as soon as you get this message,” he said. “Drop whatever you’re doing and call me. Please. I need to talk to you. It’s important.” He almost said more, but at the last second hung up instead. If his gut was right and he didn’t get to Layla in time, he didn’t want to leave any evidence that could be used against her.
He kept that at the front of his mind as he called Layla’s brother. “Hey, Grayson,” he said when the other man picked up. “It’s Cole. Is Layla around? I can’t reach her on her cell.”
“No, she’s not. I thought she was with you. She packed her bags before we left for the funeral service this morning.” He paused before adding in a softer voice, “I’m so sorry about your sister-in-law. Reece and I were at the church, but we figured the graveside service was for family.”
“Thanks,” Cole said, his throat tight. “It still doesn’t seem real. I keep expecting her to walk out of her front door and wave.” His eyes slid to John’s house as he drove by, pain flashing through his chest.
“I know how that is,” Grayson said. “I hope you’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do for you or your family. Anything at all.”
“Right now I just need to find Layla,” he said, scrambling for a decent excuse that wouldn’t raise alarm bells. “My nephews have gotten pretty attached to her and wanted her to come watch a movie with them before supper. Any idea where I might find her?”
“If she’s not with you, I’d try the diner,” he said. “She might have gotten called in for a last minute shift. That would explain why she’s not answering her cell.”
“All right.” Cole was about to say his goodbyes when Grayson said—
“Have her call me when you get in touch. I want to be sure she’s okay. Until Wayne calms down again, we should keep a close eye on her.”
“Will do.” Cole ended the call and tossed his phone into the seat beside him as he pulled out onto the road and headed toward the diner by the highway.
Maybe she would be there. Or if not, maybe one of her coworkers would have an idea where she’d gone.
But even as the hopeful thoughts drifted through his mind, Cole knew he was going to come up empty. If Layla didn’t want to be found, she wasn’t going to be.
Fifteen minutes later, his fears were confirmed. She wasn’t at work and her friend Yasmin had no idea where she might have gone. Neither did Cole. Even so, he drove through Lonesome Point, down Main Street and up Old Town Highway, praying he’d see Layla’s car parked in front of one of the shops or restaurants. But there was no sign of her and by the time he pulled past the police station, his worry was swiftly becoming panic.
Where the hell had she gone? He didn’t think she’d be crazy enough to confront Wayne on Wheeler land, but he was considering a drive out past the butte when the nagging feeling gnawing in his subconscious finally coughed up something useful.
He wanted me to help rob his parents’ business in Houston and run away with him.
He heard Layla’s voice repeating the words in his mind and something inside him clicked. A moment later, he’d turned his truck around and started back toward the highway.
If he was wrong, he was going to spend nine hours on the road to Houston and be no closer to finding Layla.
But if he was right…
He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Even if she’d left straight from the funeral, she only had an hour head start. If he pushed the speed limit and didn’t stop for anything except gas, he might be able to get there around the same time she did.
Hopefully, he’d be in time to keep her from making a mistake that would haunt them both forever.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Layla
In all the years she’d worked for Wheeler Meat Solutions, Layla had only been to the plant a handful of times.
Her work for the company was done almost entirely online and that’s the way she liked it. If she’d had to go into the building every day—even to the offices on the third floor, where the stench of death didn’t permeate the air so completely—she wouldn’t have lasted a year, let alone nearly seven.
The plant was an industry leader in cleanliness, humane harvesting, and efficiency, but it was also one of the most disturbing buildings Layla had ever set foot in. No matter how humane or efficient, there was no escaping that it was a place where living creatures came to die. Where they entered on their own four legs at one end, were shot between the eyes with a four-inch nail, bled, skinned, hacked apart, and emerged as cuts of beef on the other.
Now, as she parked near the receiving pens and stepped out into the muggy night, the smell of blood and feces lingering in the air was almost enough to make her sick.
She leaned against the car, swallowing the bile pushing up her throat. She didn’t have time to be sick. Thanks to construction on the freeway, she was only thirty minutes early.
Wayne could be here any minute. She had to move.
She fetched her duffel bag from the trunk and started toward the entrance to the serpentine. On her first visit to the plant, she’d stood at the railing between Wayne and his father, gazing down at the labyrinth of darkened tunnels below, watching the cows wind their way toward the entrance to the processing center while Mr. Wheeler had explained the function of the serpentine.
“See there, what do you hear?” Mr. Wheeler asked, pausing to let Layla listen.
“Nothing?” she answered, shooting Wayne a curious look, hoping she’d said the right thing. She wanted to impress her soon-to-be father-in-law, or at least not reveal how very little she knew about meat processing, despite being raised on a cattle ranch.
“That’s right.” He snapped hi
s fingers.
Behind him, Wayne smiled.
“No moaning, no bellowing,” he continued. “The serpentine keeps them calm. These ladies aren’t upset or anxious. They’re just going for a walk.”
Just going for a walk. Putting one foot in front of the other.
Layla concentrated on walking softly, her tennis shoes barely making a sound on the concrete as she approached the viewing area, but that long-ago conversation kept echoing in her head. As an eighteen-year-old, she’d taken comfort in Pat’s explanation. The animals weren’t making a sound. They weren’t scared or suffering. They were mercifully oblivious to the fate that awaited them once they were shuffled onto the conveyor belt.
Now, she wasn’t so sure.
How many years had she suffered in silence, never saying a word? How many years had she known that her death was sleeping next to her in their bed and still laid her head down on the pillow and turned out the light?
Maybe the cows weren’t fooled or comforted by their walk through the darkness. Maybe they’d simply given up hope for anything better than a swift death.
Layla paused beside the door to the rear entrance to the plant, reaching into her bag and pulling out her gloves. She tugged them on, wiggling her fingers down to the tips of the tight casings, feeling the leather stretch as it molded to her flesh. Next, she removed the gun from where she’d hidden it in her makeup bag, tucked it into the back of her jeans, and pulled her tee shirt down to cover the bulge. Wayne wasn’t here yet, but she wanted to be ready when he arrived.
She wasn’t hopeless anymore. She was a different person than the woman who’d held her tongue and let shame and regret hold her prisoner every bit as much as Wayne ever had. The transformation that had started that day in the kitchen just over a year ago was complete.
She was no longer a victim; she was a predator, and she was going to end Wayne before he could hurt anyone else.
Resolve steadied her hands as she typed the entry code into the security system’s control panel and waited for the blinking red light to turn green. When it did, she reached for the door handle and stepped inside, already mentally mapping the fastest route to the cutting room, where she’d have a clear shot at Wayne as he climbed the stairs to the offices.
She wasn’t distracted, simply focused, but her guard wasn’t up the way it should have been.
She should have anticipated that Wayne might have also planned to arrive early. She should have realized it wouldn’t be easy to get a leg up on him. And she should have known she wasn’t the only one capable of setting a trap.
She supposed a part of her had known. She was more devastated than surprised when the door closed behind her and Wayne’s voice sounded from the wall behind it, where he’d been hiding, waiting for her to let herself in.
“Drop the bag,” he said. “Then put your hands on your head. Nice and slow.”
“Jesus! You scared me.” Her breath rushed out as she turned to face him, but the smile she’d forced faded when she saw the gun in his hand. “What’s that for?” she asked, letting her duffel bag slide from her shoulder to land with a soft thud on the floor.
“For you.” He stepped out of the shadows. The single bulb shining above the door illuminated his features, giving her a clear view of the anger glittering in his eyes. “And for me, to make sure I don’t get my head blown off before we get out of here. Now put your hands on your head so I can get the gun out of the back of your jeans.”
Layla shook her head, but before she could make a sound, Wayne shouted—
“Don’t lie to me! I was watching you on the security monitor, you murdering bitch.” He jabbed his free hand toward a small screen near the door and Layla’s heart shriveled in her chest. “Now get your hands on your head before I decide to shoot you and put myself out of my misery, the way my brothers have been begging me to for years.”
The old Layla would have obeyed him. She would have put her hands on her head and tried not to cry because crying only made him angrier. She would have followed him up the stairs to the office or to that island in the Caribbean or back to their little yellow house full of pain—whatever he wanted, whatever made him happy enough for them both to survive another day.
But she wasn’t old Layla anymore and she kept her arms by her sides. “Why didn’t you kill me? Why an innocent woman instead? Lily had two little boys, Wayne. Two wonderful, sweet little boys whose hearts are broken and—”
“Shut up! You don’t get to ask questions,” he snapped, lifting the gun until the barrel was aimed at her head instead of her heart. “I’m asking the questions.”
“What kind of questions?” Layla edged a step back, toward the door leading out of the conveyor belt intake room and into the heart of the plant. If she could get into one of the rooms that were crowded with assembly lines and machinery, she might have a chance of getting away.
Or a chance to hide until she could get a clear shot.
“Like how long have you been fucking Cole Lawson,” Wayne ground out through his clenched jaw. “When did it start? Before you left me? Was he the reason you decided to kill your husband? So you two could fuck happily ever after?”
Layla’s brow furrowed as she took another step backward. “What are you talking about? I was poisoned, too. You know that. You came to apologize to me at the diner. Don’t you remember?”
“I did. You’re right.” He laughed, an ugly sound that made the hairs on her bare arms stand on end. “I bet you got off on that, didn’t you? I bet you felt pretty proud of yourself.” He added in a mocking, sing-song voice, “Layla’s so smart. So fucking smart, but she still forgot one thing.”
“What’s that?” She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, edging back a few more inches as she moved.
“I’m smarter,” he spat out. “I started thinking after I left the diner, wondering why I’d only started getting better after you left.”
His lips stretched into a grimace. “And then I thought about how you made me coffee every morning and that sugar bowl you loved so much, the camel with the sugar in the hump. So I started looking for it. I looked everywhere, but guess what, Layla?”
“What?” she whispered, barely able to hear her own voice over the blood rushing in her ears. Just a few more steps and she could run for the door. Wayne was an excellent shot, but he wouldn’t be expecting her to run and she didn’t think he really wanted her dead.
At least not yet.
“I couldn’t find it anywhere. It had disappeared. Poof.” He waved his free hand through the air. “But while I was looking, I noticed other things. Like that the pantry was spick-and-span and new paper had been laid down on all the shelves.”
He cocked his head in mock confusion and scratched his head. “So I asked myself: Self, why would a woman who was planning to leave her husband bother to spiff up the pantry before she left? Why would she do that, Self? Unless she was trying to make sure to cover her tracks so she didn’t get charged with murder.”
“But you’re not dead, Wayne!” she snapped, fighting the hysterical laugh rising in her throat as she took another step back.
The door was close enough to touch if she held out her arm.
It was almost time.
“You’re still alive, you bastard.” She pulled in a breath and the laugh slipped out, a mad-sounding trill that echoed through the cavernous room. “But you won’t be much longer. Because I’m not going to let you live to hurt anyone else.”
He started toward her then, but she was already gone, diving through the door, hitting the ground on the other side at a sprint. She raced down the wide hallway, arms pumping at her sides as she dashed past the quality control room overlooking the conveyor belt, aiming her body for the heavy white door on the other side.
Seconds later, the door slammed open behind her, bouncing off the wall as Wayne roared, “Get your ass back here, Layla!”
But she didn’t turn around to see how close he was getting or if his gun was aimed at her b
ack. She ran harder, thigh muscles burning as she picked up speed, not slowing until she was about to crash into the wall at the end of the hall.
Pain flashed through her knees as she ground to a stop and reached out, hauling open the door leading into the cutting room. She was nearly through to the other side when the gun went off, the boom echoing through the hallway for what felt like forever, leaving Layla’s ears ringing and setting her pulse to charging madly through her veins.
Electricity flashed across her skin, but there was no pain, no blood. She hadn’t been shot. Not yet, but Wayne was coming and she had to make sure she was out of the line of fire.
She tumbled the rest of the way through the door, adrenaline dumping into her bloodstream as she took a split second to scan the crowded room. Straight ahead, rows of stainless steel cutting tables sat empty, waiting to be fed by the conveyor belts running in from the skinning room. To her right were rows of parked dollies, used for transporting flats of meat to the packaging department. To her left were the guts of the machines that ran the plant, tucked into the space beneath the third-floor offices overlooking the cutting floor.
Trusting her gut, Layla took a hard left, circling around the supervisor’s station and rushing toward the silent gears and pistons. She disappeared into the shadows, tucking her body behind a pipe a little larger around than she was, seconds before Wayne barreled through the door.
“Come back here, you bitch!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the cavernous room, sending terror prickling down the ridge of her spine. “Get your ass back here right now or next time I won’t miss.”
Next time I won’t miss.
She pressed her lips together, fighting to keep what was left of her composure. She ignored the other voice in her head, the one screaming that she couldn’t do this, that she couldn’t kill another person, even Wayne, even a man who had earned a death sentence a hundred times over.
Chaps and Chance Page 14
