“Rachel accepts the risks. Did you call Jim?”
“I tried last night. Left a message. There was nothing in his recorded greeting that suggested trouble. He would have slipped in something I’d recognize if I needed to watch my back.”
“Okay. So you and Layla will take my truck, and I’ll follow in the Bronco.”
Brian shoved a hand through his shower-damp hair. “For the record, I strongly object to your involvement, Killigrew.”
“You’ll get over it.”
When they pulled over in Flagstaff for breakfast, Brian took a few minutes to leave a message on the AUSA’s office voice mail. Then he switched to a new disposable cell phone and called Doug Preston, a supervisory deputy U.S. marshal in the Southern District of California. Relying on voice mail again, he explained the situation in a low, steady tone. He started with the explosion and ended with his anticipated arrival in San Diego. Aside from the last, he fully expected the information to be a rehash of what was already known, but Brian wanted his version of the events to be recorded in case something prevented him from giving a statement later. The closer they got to San Diego, the more dangerous the situation would become. He had to make sure he protected Layla with the truth as he knew it, even if he couldn’t do so in the flesh.
Jack approached with a newly refilled soda in hand. “You sure you want to do that?”
Realizing the other deputy had eavesdropped, Brian shot him a wry glance as he pulled the battery from the phone. “You wouldn’t if you were in my shoes?”
“I would, but I’m your friend. I have to ask.”
Brian nodded, biting back further words when Layla stepped out of the restroom. He offered her a quick smile and she returned it, but they knew each other too well to hide anything from each other. She knew he was feeling raw. Twisted up over her, over her safety, over how much he loved her. Her eyes said it all in return.
“You ready?” he asked when she took his hand.
“No.”
He tightened his grip on her and shielded her the distance to the trucks.
“Criminal justice, you said. Do you like it?”
Layla looked at Brian as they crossed the border from Arizona into California. He’d started trying to distract her about a half hour prior and she was going along with it as much as she was able, considering she had a knotted stomach and heavy heart. “I do.”
“You sound surprised.”
“It was a bit unexpected,” she confessed. “I knew I wouldn’t hate it, but I didn’t realize I’d love it.”
He glanced aside at her and smiled in the way she loved—halfwicked, half-tender.
She looked out the front window at the desert vista around them. “God, I’ve missed Cali.”
“You’re a native; you’ll always miss it.”
“How about you? Are you on the East Coast now?”
“For now. I’ve been moving around, taking transfers when I can.”
“Do you like it?” she asked, tossing his question back at him. The thought of Brian living a nomadic existence filled her with sadness. “The hopping around?”
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Moving keeps me busy.”
“What did you do with your house?”
“I sold it.”
“You loved that house.” She had loved it, too. She’d been with him when he bought it and had seen the possibilities in the older Anaheim home. But what he’d done with it exceeded her imaginings. He had torn out the carpet and installed dark wood floors. Light rugs and walls paired with mostly black furniture had made the ’50s-era home both modern and masculine. She’d given him a multicolored blown glass vase for a splash of color and he had placed it in a place of prominence, even installing track lighting to spotlight it.
“I loved the idea of the house,” he corrected. “The idea of sharing it with you and watching you change it like you were changing me. Once you joined WITSEC I knew you’d never be coming back to SoCal, so the house lost its charm.”
“Brian.” Layla sucked in a shaky breath. “You’re killing me.”
He reached over and linked his fingers with hers. “No more than your change of major kills me.”
“Have we both been living for a future we have no possibility of having? And making amends for mistakes, even though we couldn’t know what the other was doing?”
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “What else were we going to live for?”
It broke her heart to realize that he was right. Somewhere, in the back of her mind and deep in her heart, she’d been taking each day one at a time, waiting for the impossible moment when she’d see Brian again. She hadn’t been able to picture a world in which they breathed the same air yet would be separated forever.
Her hand tightened on his. “I love you, Brian.”
As often as she said it, she felt like she couldn’t say it enough. The painful fact was that she’d given up on him when she walked out. If he took anything away from the last few days with her, she wanted it to be that he was loved.
“I know,” he murmured, looking grim. “I love you, too, baby.”
They pulled over for the final time at a gas station off I-8 to switch cars. Layla held Brian’s flannel closed over her chest, concealing her body armor, and looked at Jack as he slid behind the wheel beside her. He’d swapped clothes with Brian while they’d been in the store; everything but their shoes.
He sighed as he settled into the seat. When he caught her gaze, he smiled sheepishly. “This seat is way more comfortable than the Bronco’s.”
He and Brian had been driving for nearly eleven hours. San Diego was only minutes away.
She was scared. Brian had left her with Jack and her heart was in her throat at the thought that she might not see him again. As soon as they checked in with the AUSA, he was going to face the consequences for going rogue with her. He could be tied up with interviews/ interrogations for weeks. In the meantime, she’d be absorbed back into the system.
Jack started his truck. Brian was already merging the Bronco into the traffic on the street.
“What’s going on?” she asked, knowing that something was up for them to switch places so thoroughly.
Jack looked over his shoulder for possible obstructions, then backed out of the parking space. “We can’t get ahold of the owner of the Bronco. He’s not answering his home phone and his cell goes straight to voice mail.”
“What does that mean?”
“Could be nothing, but we can’t take any chances. If the Bronco has been compromised, we don’t want you in it.”
Brian was in it. “Why don’t we just leave it at the Park ’n’ Ride?”
Jack looked at her. “If it’s hot, keeping it on the road will deflect attention from this vehicle.”
“Oh my God.” She felt the blood drain from her face. Flashes of memory from the explosions in Maryland had her recoiling into the seat. “He’s bait?”
“Hey,” he said softly. “They’re not going to launch grenades in the heart of San Diego, and at this late date, they need to make sure you’re dead. They’ll want to get up close and personal, which is where Brian is at his best.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Her hand went to her throat, attempting to massage the tightness out of it.
“Brian has to do his job, Layla.”
“By luring killers out after him?” Swallowing hard, she looked out the window. She felt like she was going to be sick. She wondered if Rachel had felt similarly when Jack left their bed that morning.
“For what it’s worth,” Jack murmured, “I believe everything happens for a reason. The chances of you and Brian crossing paths the way you did were pretty damn slim. Things stacked up for you two like a chain of dominoes: the prominence of the Sandoval trial warranted SOG deputies and Brian was in the right place at the right time. He saved your ass and his, and managed to get you across the country without incident. I can’t believe you both would get this far for nothing. Have a little faith in fate or a higher power—whatever your poison is.”
Layla shook her head. “You have no idea what it’s like being the one who’s always left behind. The one wringing their hands, pulling out their hair, and vomiting from the stress and god-awful terror.”
“What do you think Brian went through when you joined WITSEC ? You were the one with her ass on the line, the one in danger while he was stuck with the fear. He tried to keep it together around the rest of us, but sometimes his control slipped. I never called him on it, but I was really worried about him for a while.”
Jesus. And she was about to do it to him again. Maybe that was what was making him so reckless now. Maybe he was throwing himself directly in the line of fire because he was in the same state she was—half out of his mind with grief and worry.
She sat up and straightened her shoulders. She needed to get someplace safe, so Brian could focus on all the shit that was about to blow up his career. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was all she could do. “Get me to the AUSA, Jack. Let’s get this over with.”
“That’s the plan.”
Brian was pulling into a motel on Pacific Coast Highway in San Diego when Jack ’s cell phone rang. He reached for it and answered, his greeting cut off by the impatience of Jack’s regional supervisor on the other end of the line.
“Hey, Killigrew. I’ve got the information you asked for.”
Brian parked and kept his gaze on the rearview mirror. “Who was it, sir?”
“James Reynolds was the deputy who called in that afternoon. He was questioned already and released, but his whereabouts are unknown now. Do you think he’s colluding with Simmons?”
Jim. Fuck. “I’m absolutely certain he’s not.”
There was a moment of silence. “Who is this?”
“Killigrew should, at this very moment, be escorting Miss Creed into the AUSA’s office.” Brian exhaled, mentally kissing his career good-bye. “Thank you for your help, sir.”
He hung up and slid out from behind the wheel. Standing in the apex between the open door and the body of the vehicle, he surveyed his surroundings. The end of the road was in front of him, but he was suddenly reluctant to get there. Jim had been his friend for a long time. Brian had trusted the deputy with his life more than once. Surely Jim was tracking them via the Bronco’s theft recovery system. But he’d allowed them to get this far.
Why? Brian intended to ask the man that question directly.
Thank God he was wearing gloves. If not for them, Jim Reynolds doubted he could keep his grip on the Maglite in his hand. Breathing roughly, he wiped the blood off the end of the flashlight with a Kleenex, then dropped it on the corpse lying prone on the floor behind the front desk. He disabled the outdated and poorly placed security camera overlooking the closet-sized lobby area, then wiped the recording of the feed going back a solid twenty-four hours. It only took a moment to find a master keycard. Before Jim left, he placed the WILL RETURN SHORTLY sign on the counter.
“You’re a lucky bastard, Reynolds,” Jim muttered to himself, stepping out of the dimly-lit front office into the moonlit night beyond. He glanced down the road to where his Bronco was parked at a twenty-four-hour diner. He’d known Simmons long enough to be familiar with his routine. Out of the dozens of motels lining the street, he’d found the deputy and his witness girlfriend at the first one he tried. A quick flash of his badge and a picture of Simmons were all the desk clerk had needed to confirm his guess.
But then things had been going his way since Simmons first called him three days ago. It would have been simpler if the cartel had killed the girl in Maryland, but as far as fuckups went, the unexpected appearance of Simmons had worked in Jim’s favor. The former SEAL was the only deputy who had a personal stake in Layla Creed. Anyone else would have seen her absorbed back into the system and Jim would have been scrambling to find her. Simmons was also the only one who would risk a last night in a motel instead of taking her directly in for witness prep, because his dick was driving the bus. That gave Jim this opportunity to take out the girl and Simmons in a staged murder-suicide that would wrap everything up in a nice, neat bow.
He pulled a roll of Rolaids out of his pocket and bit off three to fight the burning ache of ulcers in his stomach. He didn’t recognize himself anymore. He’d become a man he hated. But as much as he regretted what he was about to do, it would be a relief to end it.
Pausing outside Simmons’s room, Jim noted the darkness within and the silence. He gripped the master key in one hand and reached for his Taser with the other. He’d have to be quick. Once the door opened, Simmons would be a blur of movement if Jim missed his target.
He slid the keycard through the lock and threw the door wide, aiming the Taser at the lumpy, disheveled bed and firing. An instant of brightness lit the room as the electrical current sizzled. Then, he heard the racking of a gun slide behind him.
He froze.
“Why, Jim?”
His eyes closed at the sound of Simmons’s quiet voice behind him. He’d lost his edge long ago and getting caught like this only proved it. “When did you make me?”
“A couple hours ago, and I still can’t believe it.”
Jim turned around. A quick scope of the area revealed deputies scurrying across the second floor breezeway and more encroaching from the far left and right sides of the parking lot.
“Why?” Simmons asked again.
“Stella.”
“What does your daughter have to do with this?”
“The cartel is far more determined than we give them credit for.” Jim’s arms dropped listlessly to his sides. “Stella met a boy last year—her first year in college. He’s a handsome and cultured young man. She brought him home for Christmas and I liked him. He spoils her and makes her happy.”