Face the Music (COBRA Securities Book 9) Page 20

  Luke slid out first and then helped her step down. Logan flanked her other side and the other two agents surrounded them.

  “Layla!”

  She turned at the voice and saw Mrs. Anders rushing forward with open arms. She’d been the housekeeper for years and had always been good to Layla. She was the one to call and tell her that her mother had passed away. She opened her arms and hugged the older woman.

  Mrs. Anders stepped back and grasped her face with both hands. “Look at you.” Tears filled her eyes. “You are alive.” She pulled her back in for another hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “You, too.”

  She grabbed Layla’s hand. “Come, I’ll make you a cup of your favorite tea.”

  “I don’t think—” Luke started.

  “It’s just one cup of tea,” Mrs. Anders chided, tugging her inside.

  Layla almost pulled her hand free and fled. Having to look at the staircase where her mother died was too much. Mrs. Anders noticed her look of distress. “Oh dear, I didn’t think. We’ll go this way.”

  Layla averted her eyes and followed her into the kitchen. Luke trailed but stayed just outside the door, giving them privacy.

  “Sit, sit. I’ll get the tea.”

  Layla placed her purse on the counter and sat at the breakfast bar. She hated this house. The good memories of the time spent with her mother had been tainted by her death.

  Mrs. Anders handed her a cup of Darjeeling. She took a sip of the hot brew, savoring the burn down her throat. The housekeeper took the seat next to her. “Have you been well?”

  “As can be expected.”

  Tears filled Mrs. Anders eyes. “I’m so worried for the children. I haven’t slept well since they disappeared. They were like my own.”

  Layla took a sip, averting her eyes. She hated deceiving the older woman, but the safety of her siblings took precedence.

  Mrs. Anders placed a hand over hers. “Do you know who tried to kill you?”

  She met the woman’s gaze. “Yes.”

  Mrs. Anders’ eyes widened. “Who?”

  “Well, if it isn’t my long-lost stepdaughter.”

  Layla froze at the voice. She wished looks had the power to kill because Mullins would be dead. He’s going down, he’s going down, she chanted in her head.

  “Surprised to see me?” she asked sweetly.

  “Of course not. Now come on, it’s time for the show to begin.”

  She hugged Mrs. Anders and thanked her for the tea. She relaxed when Luke stepped forward to lead her outside, his hand finding hers. She grasped it like a lifeline.

  A stage had been constructed on the front lawn, complete with sound system and flags waving patriotically. Mullins went all out for this. A crowd of curious onlookers had gathered behind the cameras. People cheered when Mullins walked to the microphone, all smiles. He waved and pointed and soaked up the attention. He’s going down, he’s going down.

  “Thank you all for coming. As you know, my dear children, Sean and Tiffany, have been missing for almost a year with no leads. The reward now stands at two hundred thousand dollars. We’re here today to plead for information, clues, anything that will bring them home to us. Ladies and gentlemen,” he placed a hand over his heart, “it was a miracle to discover my beloved stepdaughter was indeed alive and well.”

  “Not this again,” Logan muttered.

  “Layla, darling, come on up here.”

  The roar was deafening when she stepped on stage. Luke escorted her up and then stood off to the side while she went and took her place beside the devil.

  #

  Luke scanned the throng of media, paparazzi and bystanders surrounding the stage. He hated this arrangement. They were completely out in the open with little or no measures taken for security. The crowd hadn’t even been checked for weapons. He wished now he’d talked Layla out of attending.

  Mullins was a blowhard and a braggart and Luke tuned him out. Why anyone would cheer for a politician was totally beyond him.

  Logan stood sentinel on the opposite side of the stage while Alex and Dorian mingled among the spectators, keeping an eye out for suspicious activity.

  “Did they do any kind of security check?” Dorian asked through the comm.

  “Not that I can tell,” Alex replied. “Anyone could walk in here with a weapon. All these big ass camera bags could easily hide an Uzi.”

  Luke was only half-listening. Something was making his neck itch.

  “This feels off,” Logan muttered.

  “I have the same feeling.”

  A shot rang out. Before Luke could dive on Layla, Mullins already had her covered.

  His coworkers converged on the stage, along with Mullins security personnel. Logan, Dorian and Alex formed a protective shield as Luke shoved Mullins aside and gathered Layla in his arms, rushing her off the stage. Once she was secured in the vehicle, he checked her over, looking for blood or any signs of injury.

  “I’m fine,” she assured him. “Though I have the burning need to bathe in a gallon of hydrogen peroxide after having Mullins lie on top of me.” She shuddered. “Ick.”

  “You know what’s interesting?” Logan mused. “I’m pretty sure Mullins dove on top of Layla before the shot rang out.”

  “I thought so, too,” Luke confirmed. “This was a set-up.”

  #

  Hunter watched as the cops questioned the reporters and bystanders and then cleared the area, sending spectators on their way. He looked around for Morris, but the man was nowhere to be found. He’d been absent all morning, even knowing they had a major event to cover. Mullins arranges a high-profile press conference and one of his top security men goes MIA? Something wasn’t right.

  He turned around and spotted Morris jogging towards the house. He blocked his path.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Chill out, asshole. It’s none of your business.”

  Hunter grabbed him by the shirtfront. “It’s my business when our boss’s life is in danger. It’s our job to keep him safe.”

  Morris laughed like Hunter had said the funniest thing. He narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?”

  Morris jerked free and straightened his shirt. “None of your damn business.” His smile was smug. “Apparently, you aren’t as important as you think you are. It was sanctioned.”

  “By whom? Who would…” A light clicked on. “Mullins.” The bastard had Morris take a shot so he could cover Layla and pretend to save her life. It’d take the suspicion off him and he’d look like a freaking hero. Unbelievable.

  #

  Senator Mullins hand-picked a few reporters from the top networks and sent the rest home. Against the advice of the cops and his security personnel, he conducted an impromptu press conference without a stage or microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, you shot footage of that, right?” he asked. “You witnessed it with your own eyes. Someone is still trying to kill my stepdaughter.”

  “Senator, you just saved Layla Brooks’ life.”

  “You’re a hero, Senator Mullins.”

  “You risked your own life to save hers. We got it all on tape.”

  He waved his hands to deflect the praise. “I love my stepdaughter. Of course, I’d take a bullet for her.” He held out his arm. “Come here, sweetheart.”

  Layla ignored him and walked forward to face the reporters. He glared at her before remembering the cameras. An indulgent smile slid into place.

  “Ms. Brooks, are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine. But I would like to ask the esteemed Senator why he thinks I was the target? He was on the stage beside me.”

  All attention swung to him and he faltered. “Uh, well, um, you-you went into hiding because someone tried to kill you.” He held his palms up. “No threats have been made on my life, so I just assumed it was aimed for you.”

  Her smile was condescending and he itched to smack it off her face. He struggled to keep the hatred from showing.

&nb
sp; “You know what happens when you assume.” She turned back to the reporters. “The Senator was correct. It probably was meant for me since someone tried to kill me twice yesterday.”

  Gasps sounded. “What happened, Layla?”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “Do you know who it was?”

  “My security team and I were run off the road, shot at, and then someone took shots again when we left the hospital.” She turned to pin him with a glare. “Does that sound about right, Senator?”

  He goggled like a fish, his eyes wide and panicked. “What? I-I have no idea. Who would want to hurt you?” He stuck a finger in the collar of his shirt and tugged. “You should stay here where you’ll be safe. I-I’ll hire security.”

  She laughed humorously. “That’s rich. I already have the best security available or I’d be dead.” She faced the reporters again. “One more thing. I would suggest you have a closer look at the footage. It seems the Senator is a bit of a psychic. He tackled me to the ground before the shot rang out.”

  Chapter Thirty

  This must be what a heart attack feels like, Mullins thought, clutching at the pain piercing his chest. That stupid bitch had just publicly accused him of staging the shooting. Oh, sure, he had, but she didn’t know that. He’d told Morris to take one shot and to make sure it didn’t hit anything. They had a prearranged signal. When he said “prayers were answered,” Morris would pull the trigger. Maybe he’d been a bit premature taking her down, but he wanted it to look good. Plus, he wanted to get to her before her mountain of a bodyguard could steal his glory.

  Dammit, he thought his reaction had been close enough to the shot. Then Layla had to go and accuse him of prior knowledge of the hit. Now stations all over the country were replaying the incident. The bitch had screwed him royally. He’d lost his cool when she accused him, something he’d never done in front of the press before. They’d captured that, too.

  He clicked the button on the DVR and replayed a clip of the shooting, showing him tackling Layla to the ground before the sound clip of the shot. One intrepid reporter had rushed to the stage and shoved a camera in their faces. It focused in on her telling him to get the hell off her. The look of hatred was unmistakable. Now they were speculating that he was the one who tried to kill her. His plan had backfired.

  He stabbed the off button and threw the remote across the room. It crashed against the wall and shattered.

  His campaign manager and press secretary were beside themselves. They were both out of the country on vacation, so they couldn’t help him. He’d have to have another press conference to do damage control. He could spin this to his advantage. The people loved him. He could paint Layla as unstable, claim she did drugs. All musicians got high, didn’t they? They’d buy that. He'd get Morris to sneak into her place, wherever the hell she was staying, and plant some coke. Better yet, heroin. Then an anonymous call to his contact on the police force… He smiled. It was a good plan. Flawless.

  Unable to sit any longer, he marched outside and called his hit man. “Why the hell is she still alive? She’s destroying me. You were supposed to eliminate her. What exactly am I paying you for?”

  “I’ve got it taken care of.”

  “You said that before, yet she’s still walking the earth, causing me grief. How the hell did you miss two times?”

  “Trust me. She’s dead. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

  “This is your last chance. Fail again and you’re fired.” Or more likely dead. He almost threw his phone but reigned in his impulse. He didn’t have time to get a new one and his secretary was also on vacation.

  He stomped back inside and headed to the bar in his office. Grabbing a bottle of Glenlivet 25, he skipped a glass and drank straight from the bottle. The expensive scotch burned all the way down. Ten minutes later, he realized the alcohol wasn’t working. He needed a woman. He dug around in his desk and found what he was after. Unscrewing the lid on the container, he shook out a pill, chased it with one more hit of scotch, and went in search of Talia. Burying himself in her sleek, sexy body would go a long way to easing his stress. And the Viagra he’d ingested would ensure he’d last for hours.

  Rubbing his hands together, he practically ran up the steps to her room and knocked on her door.

  “Talia, darling, it’s me. Open up.”

  #

  Luke was exhausted but he couldn’t sleep. It’d been a long day after the events at Mullins’ house. They’d watched the replay repeatedly and Mullins most definitely took Layla down too early. Television stations around the country were having a field day with the footage. The reporter who captured Layla ordering Mullins to get off her was the first to suggest that the senator was behind the attempts on her life. The story had snowballed. Mullins’ pristine reputation was being thoroughly dragged through the mud.

  Talia confirmed that Mullins ordered one of his staff members take the shot so he could eliminate any suspicion on himself and to make him look like a hero. The plan backfired. Spectacularly.

  Reporters were hounding Layla for another interview but she politely declined. She’d already speculated that Mullins was responsible and that was enough for now. Thankfully, there hadn’t been another attempt on her life the rest of the day. He and his team were hypervigilant, taking every precaution possible.

  Once they’d arrived back at the house and finished dinner, he’d led her upstairs and made love to her. He knew he wasn’t fooling his coworkers. They knew exactly what was going on. At this point, he didn’t care. If anything happened to her, he didn’t know how he’d survive it. She’d come to mean so much to him. It would kill him when she walked away once Mullins was behind bars. When it was over, he’d have to let Layla go.

  The first time had been fast and furious, the second slow and tender. She’d worn him out but still, sleep eluded him. This was coming to a head. Mullins was on the verge of snapping. His reputation was taking a beating. He was like a cornered animal, desperate and unpredictable.

  Layla was curled against him, one arm and leg draped over him, deeply asleep. He’d do anything to protect her. He should’ve taken steps to protect his heart.

  He’d just drifted off to sleep when the sound of shattered glass penetrated the haze. He was awake instantly. The scent of smoke hit him just as the fire alarm sounded.

  “Layla, wake up. The house is on fire.”

  He jumped from bed and grabbed his jeans from the floor, jerking them over his legs. He stabbed his arms through a shirt and jerked his laptop from the desk, leaving the cords. Layla was throwing on clothes, her shirt on inside out. “My purse,” she cried. He snatched it from the dresser and tossed it to her. They’d just slid into their shoes when the door opened and Logan stuck his head inside. “Whole back of the house is engulfed. We need to get out now.”

  Luke grabbed Layla’s hand. Smoke rapidly filled the hallway, making it impossible to see. Alex appeared at the top of the steps. “It’s a set-up. They were waiting for us to leave the house. Dorian’s been hit.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Hunter loved running at night, when most of the world was asleep. The peacefulness of the deserted streets calmed his nerves. He could feel stress slipping away as his feet pounded the pavement. Somewhere down the road, a dog barked and a car door slammed.

  Running late had its drawbacks, too. Thieves thrived in the heart of darkness, their nefarious activities hidden by the absence of light. He made sure to never leave home without his Glock.

  He checked his fitness tracker. Six miles down. He slowed to a walk, intending to use the remaining distance to Mullins’ house to cool down. He turned the corner and saw flames shooting high into the sky. He pulled his cell to call for help when he saw the door of the house open. A shot rang out and the person went down on the porch.

  He grabbed his weapon and raced forward. The barrel of a rifle poked out the window of a dark sedan parked across from the house. He squeezed off a bullet, shattering the back window. Bef
ore he could fire again, tires squealed as the driver took off, the back-end fishtailing. The driver over corrected and lost control before crashing into a telephone pole.

  He approached the twisted wreckage with his weapon. “Federal agent. Don’t move.” He glanced inside the car. He didn’t have to worry about the man moving…he was dead.

  Shoving the gun in the back of his shorts, he raced for the house. It was fully-engulfed now. There was a spot of blood on the porch. He banged on the door. “It’s clear to come out.” The door whipped open to reveal four guns pointed at him. He held up his hands and then recognized Talia’s coworkers. “It’s safe. I shot at the guy and he took off, crashed his car. He’s dead.”

  The men poured out, coughing and sucking in air with Layla Brooks tucked protectively between them.

  “Who was hit.”

  “Me,” one of the men responded. “It just took a chunk of skin.”

  “Come-on, we need to get a look at this guy before the local yokels arrive and take over.”

  #

  “Alex, Dorian, stay here with Layla while we check this out,” Luke said. He spared a glance at the house. Greedy flames licked up the cedar shake shingles, painting the night red. First responders would be here any minute. He and Logan followed Hunter Malone to the crashed car. Smoke poured from the hood and the engine hissed and popped. The entire driver’s side was wrapped around the pole. Luke glanced inside. The man was most definitely dead, his head twisted at an unnatural angle as he sprawled in the seat. He wasn’t wearing a seat belt. It looked like he hit the windshield.

  “Same car as the one the shooter used earlier today,” Luke noticed. “No plate. Probably stolen.”

  “No ID,” Hunter informed them. He’d bravely eased inside the passenger door to check the man’s pockets.

  “This guy was hard core,” Logan said, leaning over to lift a hand with a pen. “Fingerprints have been burned off. Looks like he went the John Dillinger route and used acid.”

  Luke snapped a picture of his bloody face and sent it to Peter. He’d have to do some cleanup, but hopefully Tyler Redmond’s facial recognition program would get a hit.