The voice wasn’t going to help her now.
She could do this. She had to. For Lily, for herself, and for all the people who would end up in Wayne’s path of destruction if he were allowed to live.
Sipping in a silent breath, she reached back, pulling the gun from the back of her jeans. Then she sank quietly to her hands and knees and began to crawl across the floor, under a row of pipes that pumped water to the bleeding room and around the massive gears that powered the conveyor belt that carried thousands of pounds of cattle to their deaths every day.
She kept moving, seeking cover that would give her an unobstructed view of the cutting room, and a clear shot at her target.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
After circling the plant twice, Cole finally spotted Layla’s Civic behind a line of watering troughs. He parked behind her, closed his door as softly as he could, and started toward the cattle intake entrance to Wheeler Meat Solutions.
He’d just passed the holding pens, where the smell of cow dung hung heavy in the humid night air, when he heard the gunshot. The sound was muffled, but there was no mistaking what it was, or that it had come from inside the plant.
Layla was already inside, and if shots were being fired, there was little doubt Wayne was with her. Cole broke into a run, cursing himself for not stopping to grab his shotgun from the house. But if he’d stopped for his weapon, he might not have made it here in time.
If he was here in time…
Once again, timing was going to determine his fate and all he could do was cross his fingers, roll the dice, and pray he got lucky.
Please let her be okay. Please, God, let her be okay.
Somewhere between Lonesome Point and Houston, fear that Layla was going to commit a murder she’d regret had transformed into fear that Wayne would overpower her, get the gun, and finish what he’d started. It happened all the time. People trying to defend themselves ended up dying from a bullet shot from their own gun. If Layla hesitated, if she didn’t take Wayne down with the first shot, if she lost her nerve for even a second, that was all it would take for her to lose the upper hand.
He had to get to her, he had to make sure she was okay and then they’d deal with the fallout of what she’d done.
Cole reached the end of the ramp and pulled hard on the door, cursing again when it refused to budge. A quick glance revealed the lock was a beast that would have his credit card for breakfast if he tried to jimmy it and the security system control panel on the wall looked sophisticated.
“Fuck,” Cole growled through gritted teeth as he spun in a circle, his thoughts racing.
He had to get into the building. But how? He could circle around to the front and hope the door there would be glass instead of metal, but he’d be wasting precious time.
And even if the door were made of glass, if he broke in, he’d set off the alarm and they’d have police crawling—
He froze, his thoughts cutting off abruptly as his eyes fell on the dark tunnel leading up to a metal gate at the top of the curved ramp. It was the cattle entrance, but the slats in the gate looked wide enough for a fit man to slide through.
Trusting his gut, Cole vaulted over the railing separating the human entrance from the animals’ entrance, landing with a soft grunt in the passageway. The concrete beneath his feet was damp and had clearly been hosed down recently, but the narrow channel still smelled of manure, sweat, and a sharper, metallic scent that got stronger as he hurried through the corridor toward the gate.
By the time he reached the entrance, the smell was so strong his mouth was flooding with saliva, as if his body had decided that was the only way to wash the taste of death from his tongue. The smell drifting from inside the darkened building was one part butcher shop and one part dentist office with a sour, astringent lemon-cleaner smell lingering beneath. But the cleaning products were no match for the smell of blood and dead flesh.
As Cole slid a leg between the slats of the gate, holding his breath as he squeezed his ass and then his chest through to the other side, he fought the panic the odor inspired.
Layla wasn’t dead; Layla wasn’t bleeding.
He was going to find her and she was going to be alive.
He silently repeated the words to himself, over and over, as he eased out onto the conveyor belt and into the shadows of the darkened plant.
Wayne’s footsteps were soft on the concrete floor of the cutting room, but Layla could hear them.
He was moving closer. In a minute or two, if he kept going, he was going to walk right in front of the electrical box where she’d taken refuge. When he did, she’d have a clear shot and she had to be ready.
Praying her body would muffle the sound, Layla tucked the gun between her stomach and her bent knees and armed the weapon. The clicking sound was barely audible, but she still winced and bit her lip, panic making her heart lurch as her ears strained to tune back into the soft shuffle of Wayne’s footsteps.
“I’m going to find you, Layla,” Wayne said, his voice more controlled than when he’d first burst into the room. “You know I will. I’m like a bloodhound when it comes to you, baby. So why don’t you come out? I’ll go easy on you if you put your gun on the ground and come out right now.”
Layla sank lower behind the electrical box though she knew he couldn’t see her. She was hidden and even a bloodhound would have trouble smelling her shampoo over the smell of raw meat that filled the room.
“Come on, baby. We’ve got to get going. We need to be in Mexico by morning.” He laughed. “My mom is going to have a shit fit when she finds out the safe is empty.”
His footsteps paused and the quality of his voice changed, making Layla think he was turning in a circle, looking for some sign of her. “She’s been nagging Daddy to put his mad money in stocks for years. Her head is going to explode when she learns they’re out three hundred grand. That should make you happy, huh? I know you hate Mama, no matter how hard you tried to pretend y’all were best buddies.”
Judging by his tone, Wayne could have been shooting the shit with an old friend, but Layla wasn’t fooled. He was still livid. She knew him well enough to know that and to realize that if he did find her he was going to make her wish she were dead.
She could imagine what her life would be like if Wayne forced her to go to Mexico with him for happily ever after take two. What she’d done would be all the excuse he needed to do whatever he wanted with her, without even bothering to feel sorry about it afterward. She’d be dead within a year, either by his hand or her own if she couldn’t find any other way to escape him.
“Last chance, baby girl.” He paused and Layla had the chance to count silently to ten before he continued. “All right then. Next time you hear my voice, I’m going to be whispering in your ear with my gun against your pretty head.”
Layla pressed her lips together, fighting the wave of fear his words inspired as the air went quiet. What felt like several minutes passed, but Wayne didn’t speak again and she didn’t hear any more footsteps. Her breath picked up, but she kept quiet.
Finally, the waiting got to be too much. She had no idea if he was close enough for her to take a shot, but she had to take a peek, to see if she could take aim before he moved out of range. Moving carefully, almost silently, Layla shifted her weight, sliding onto her hip and turning until she was on her knees.
She took a breath, willing her muscles to relax so tension wouldn’t throw off her aim and slowly, slowly, straightened her spine.
Her eyes cleared the top of the electrical box just in time to see a silhouette moving toward her hiding place through the darkness.
Cole heard Wayne’s voice before he got a visual.
At first he couldn’t make out what the other man was saying, but by the time he slipped through the door leading from the room with the meat hooks hanging from the ceiling into a much larger room, he understood every word. He couldn’t see Wayne through the jumble of machinery blocking his view of the space beyond, but it sounded
like Layla had gotten away from him and was hiding.
It was also clear that Wayne had brought a gun with him this time. Considering Cole was unarmed, it made sense for him to keep his presence a secret for as long as possible.
Grateful for the well-worn treads of his boots, he slipped silently into the shadow of a pair of giant pistons and around a tangle of pipes, making his way toward where he’d last heard Wayne’s voice.
Layla’s mouth filled with acid and her heart beat so fast it felt like it was going to punch through her ribs and spill out onto the floor.
The broad-shouldered silhouette was coming from the opposite direction from where she thought she’d last heard Wayne, but the room was huge. Maybe the echo had confused her. Or maybe Wayne had figured out where she was hiding and changed directions, planning to sneak around and take her by surprise.
It doesn’t matter! Shoot him! Before he shoots you!
Layla lifted the gun, bracing it against the top of the electrical box. Now that the moment had come, her hands were shaking again. She was going to need all the help she could get to make sure she hit Wayne’s heart or his head.
She wasn’t trying to wound him; she was going for the kill shot. She was going to kill Wayne and the nightmare would finally be over. Finally, finally, and then the people she loved would be safe.
She might not be worth committing murder for, but they were, and she wasn’t going to let them down again.
As the shadow crept steadily closer, Layla clenched her jaw and took aim.
Cole froze. He’d heard something, a soft gulp coming from the machinery in front of him. He squinted into the darkness, but all he could see were the shadows of more gears and a large solid chunk of black that might be a fuse box.
His lips parted, but he stopped himself before he called out.
Layla might be hiding somewhere nearby, but Wayne was close, too, and he’d gone quiet. Cole had no idea where the other man was and until he did, he didn’t want to give Wayne any idea where Layla might be, or that she was no longer alone.
He stayed still, ears straining for another sign that Layla was nearby, but there was nothing. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was alone in the plant, but he did know better and knew he’d be smart to find something to defend himself with before he ran into Wayne.
He turned, scanning the machinery around him, looking for something that could be used as a weapon.
Now, do it now!
Wayne turned, looking over his shoulder and Layla almost whimpered in relief. A second ago, she’d been certain he’d heard her, and was about to rush her hiding spot, but he hadn’t. She’d been given another chance.
She had to do it. Now! Time was running out.
She couldn’t afford to indulge the weak side of her that insisted that she’d be no better than Wayne if she pulled the trigger. That side screamed that this wasn’t self-defense. There was a chance she would be able to sneak out the way she’d come without getting caught. And then she could go to the police and confess and maybe they would find a way to put Wayne behind bars along with her.
Or not, and then Wayne might go after Cole, decide to take his revenge on your lover if he can’t get to you.
The thought of Wayne hunting Cole down while she was locked away was all it took to steady her hand. Teeth digging into her bottom lip, her finger tightened on the trigger.
Now. She was going to do it now.
Three…
Two…
One…
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Wayne
It was too perfect.
There she was, crouched with her gun propped up on the box in front of her, taking aim at the man making his way through the darkness toward her hiding spot—the man she assumed was her husband, whom she’d promised to love forever.
The man Wayne knew was Cole Lawson.
He’d spotted the wife fucker when he eased through the door into the room. Now all he had to do was sit back and watch Layla take out the competition. She would kill her lover and get exactly what she deserved, the ultimate karmic retribution for everything she’d done to him. It should have made him happy enough to shit rainbows. He should have a grin on his face as he crossed his arms and waited for the gun to fire.
But he didn’t.
Layla thought she was shooting him, not Cole. The woman who was his world and the only person he didn’t want to live without hated him so much she was going to murder him in cold blood.
Wayne wasn’t a fool. He knew he hadn’t been the husband he promised to be. He knew he struggled with mood swings and a temper that would drive most women crazy, but Layla wasn’t most women. She was special. She was the only person who had ever looked into his eyes, seen all the way down to his grubby, struggling soul, and loved him anyway.
He knew it was sick, but one of his best memories of their marriage was not long after he’d started losing his temper with her and striking out with his hands, as well as his words. They’d both been in their early twenties. He’d had a shit day at work with his brothers, had gotten reamed by his dad like he was still a little kid, and then had come home to find Layla pouting about going to dinner at his parents’ place. He’d watched her shoulders slump as they started down the stairs from their bedroom and just…snapped.
Before he knew what he was doing, he’d pushed her. Hard.
He knew the second she started to fall that he’d fucked up and went after her, but he was too late to break her fall. She landed with a cry of pain at the bottom of the stairs, gasping as she turned to watch him run down after her. She’d looked so shocked, like she couldn’t believe what he’d done, even as she scrambled away across the floor, trying to keep out of range in case he decided to hurt her again.
Instead, he’d lain down on the carpet in the hall and kissed her feet, begging for forgiveness until she stopped crying and crawled into his arms.
They’d ended up staying home that night, eating pasta on the back porch with a bottle of wine, watching the sun paint the desert a hundred perfect colors. Afterward, he’d given her one of those hour-long massages she loved so much—the ones that worked out all the kinks from sitting at her desk—and when they’d made love it had been pure magic. It was sweeter, better, hotter than it had ever been before, and as she fell asleep on his chest, he’d sworn that he would never do anything to hurt her again.
And he’d meant it. He had, and he’d been so sure he would never take her for granted or let his temper get the better of him again.
But he had. Again. And again.
Sometimes he found a reason to justify it—Layla was so scatter-brained about everything but work and was it really asking too much for her to make dinner a couple of times a week? Other times, he let himself believe that she’d forgiven him. Maybe not forgotten, but forgiven, and moved forward hoping for the best the way that he did. Hoping this time the good times would last for longer than a month or two and the next episode wouldn’t be as bad as the last.
But here, right in front of him, was undeniable proof that he was as much of a liar as she was. He’d lied to himself for years because he was too pathetic to admit that the woman he loved no longer loved him back.
His favorite person in the world, his Layla, his girl, the only woman he’d ever slept with, the only one he wanted to grow old with, didn’t want him anymore.
She wanted out and she was willing to kill him to be free.
By the time Wayne felt the tears streaming down his face, he was already lifting the gun and taking aim.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Layla
Fire! Now! Do it!
Layla’s finger trembled, but at the last moment she backed off on the trigger and ducked behind the fuse box, biting back the sob rising in her throat.
God damn her, but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t, no matter how much he might deserve it. She was just going to have to make a run for the exit and hope she made it out of the building without getting shot or caught.
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br /> She crouched down, tucking her feet beneath her, getting ready to sprint through the shadows. She turned her head to take a quick glance behind her; a second later a gunshot broke the silence.
The fuse box shuddered as a bullet bit into the metal behind her and Layla cried out, her hands flying to cover her head as she realized how close she’d come to having a bullet in her brain. She wasn’t sure where the shot had come from, but there’s no way the man she’d seen in the shadows could have sent a bullet at her from that angle.
She didn’t know what was happening, but she needed a new place to hide. Now!
On instinct, she bolted, dashing out from behind the fuse box, through the wheels and gears, heading for the cutting room floor. She was nearly out of the maze of machinery when an unexpected voice called out behind her.
“Layla! Get down!”
She dropped to the floor, as much from the shock of hearing Cole’s voice as anything else. “Cole? Where are—”
Her words ended in a scream as the gun fired again and a bullet embedded itself in the pipe above her head, sending a high-pitched whistling sound through the air as whatever gas was inside it began to escape.
“Don’t do it Wayne,” Cole shouted. “If you shoot her, you’re going to jail. I’ve got 911 on the phone right now. The police are already on their way.”
“I don’t care,” Wayne said, his words ending in a sob. “I’ll go to jail, but you’re not taking her away. She’s my wife! Don’t move, Lawson, or I’ll shoot your ass, I swear I will. This is none of your goddamned business. This is between me and Layla.”
Layla scuttled forward on her belly, moving around the punctured pipe before turning to glance back the way she’d come. Now, she could see two silhouettes in the darkness, both the same height with the same broad shoulders. But now she knew that the man in front of her was Wayne, and the man she’d nearly shot between the eyes was Cole.
Chaps and Chance Page 15
