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.”
Simmons’s expression was hard to read in the semidarkness. “He’s with the cartel.”
“Of course. He revealed himself to me a couple weeks ago. They’ve planned this for God knows how long. Think of the dedication involved ... the patience and planning that went into finding me and my family, then finding the right guy to mesh with us, setting him up in school, giving him months to make sure Stella is so head-over-heels in love with him she won’t believe he could do anything wrong. I’ve tried talking to her, but it’s no use. She thinks she knows him, and now she’s with him all the time. He can kill her at any moment—something he reminds me of every chance he gets. I can’t imagine how many other deputies they’ve put the screws to, but I’m sure they’ve got their hooks into every deputy you call a friend. They’ve been drawing in their search net for years and it probably didn’t take much digging to put you and Layla Creed together.”
“You should have
“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.”
Simmons’s expression was hard to read in the semidarkness. “He’s with the cartel.”
“Of course. He revealed himself to me a couple weeks ago. They’ve planned this for God knows how long. Think of the dedication involved ... the patience and planning that went into finding me and my family, then finding the right guy to mesh with us, setting him up in school, giving him months to make sure Stella is so head-over-heels in love with him she won’t believe he could do anything wrong. I’ve tried talking to her, but it’s no use. She thinks she knows him, and now she’s with him all the time. He can kill her at any moment—something he reminds me of every chance he gets. I can’t imagine how many other deputies they’ve put the screws to, but I’m sure they’ve got their hooks into every deputy you call a friend. They’ve been drawing in their search net for years and it probably didn’t take much digging to put you and Layla Creed together.”
“You should have
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