She didn’t waste time responding, simply hustled away. When they broke the glass and started shooting, she tried to push back her panic, zigzagging to avoid their bullets.
Pings whizzed past her. Laila gasped, her heart racing with fear. The big guy cursed. A glance back proved he’d reached through the open window to dislodge the metal pole. She didn’t stay around to see how long it took them to wriggle it free. She had to find Victor.
Thankfully, when she rounded the corner, she heard the purr of the classic car’s engine. Then the vehicle rolled through the double doors, Victor behind the wheel.
He shot her a triumphant glance, stroking the dashboard. “Get in. Montilla is going to miss the hell out of this car. Too bad for that fucking bastard.”
Yes, and in less than five minutes, the drug lord would know his car had been stolen and by whom—exactly as she’d planned. But she couldn’t attract more of Montilla’s attention herself. She had to hope that the kingpin would write her off as a whore who had merely diverted his security for a good time or a buck.
Suddenly, she heard shouting and the pounding of footsteps. The guards—with their guns—were free.
“Go! I will meet you by the rental truck in five minutes.” Since the guards would undoubtedly chase the car, she stood a better chance of disappearing on foot.
Laila darted into the maze of side buildings, skulking in the shadows until she lost them. Then she found the broken fence she’d entered through and slinked away from the racetrack, sprinting toward the nearby side street where they’d left the rented truck.
And if Victor decided he didn’t need her and left her behind? Well, she would hardly mourn his departure. She had already planted the seed of ambition in his mind. He would go after Montilla until one or both of them were dead.
But when she reached the U-Haul, Victor was there, frantically opening the back. “Get the ramp.”
She raced to help him anchor it in place, then he drove the Ferrari into the cargo container. Heart slamming against her ribs, she looked over her shoulders for the guards. Thankfully, no sign of them—yet.
Laila dispensed with the ramp, plucked up a ball cap she’d planted nearby just as Victor cut the engine and hopped to the street and yanked down the door. She charged toward the driver’s side, tucking her hair beneath the cap. Once she slid behind the wheel and Victor settled into the passenger’s seat, she pulled away from the curb with a sigh of relief.
They’d done it. She was still shaking like a leaf, and the coming adrenaline crash would probably have her vomiting soon, but they had succeeded. Victor was now on Montilla’s radar. The kingpin would definitely divert resources to finding his expensive toy. Hopefully, he’d be enraged—and sloppy. That’s when Laila would make her next move.
“Where am I driving?” She glanced over her shoulder as she headed toward the freeway, wishing more than anything that she could turn around and head straight back to Trees.
Victor pocketed the keys. “Mexico. I know where we can hide this thing until I’m ready to make my move.”
* * *
Lafayette
Barely twenty-four hours after he’d last seen Laila, Trees parked in front of a light industrial building on the east side of Lafayette that had seen better decades. At twenty minutes before dawn, he choked back the last of his black coffee and exited his Hummer, slamming the door behind him.
Strung out on caffeine and restless energy, he approached the seemingly deserted place and shouldered his way through the door. Inside, he scanned the busy domain. It could best be described as a war room, complete with wall-to-wall warriors. Unlike the exterior, this space looked up-do-date, tricked out, and high-tech. On any other day, he’d be eager to dig in and check everything out. Today, he was too fucking worried about Laila.
“Trees.” Hunter Edgington stood and approached, obviously exhausted and on edge.
He headed in his boss’s direction, passing a handful of familiar faces, along with some he’d never seen. “Hey, I got your text. What’s going on?”
Hunter didn’t look as if he had the patience for explanations, or maybe the apprehension rolling off him worried his father, because the older man stood. Caleb, the team’s former leader, stopped him in the middle of the room. If possible, he looked even more grim. “Let me get you up to speed. Then we need your help.”
Since the colonel was both OG and the best, Trees nodded. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
“Thank you.” The older man pointed to the head of the table. “That’s Jack Cole, my son-in-law’s business partner.”
“Welcome,” the hard-looking Cajun with the badass reputation said before turning his attention back to his computer screen.
“You remember Deke?” The colonel gestured to a big blond hulk of a man. Everything about him, all the way down to his red-rimmed eyes and sunken cheeks, said he was like the proverbial lion with a thorn in his paw. He might be wounded since his wife was missing, but he’d absolutely kill any motherfucker who got in his way of rescuing Kimber.
Trees understood that sentiment. Laila was out there…somewhere. She was clever and tenacious but no match for ruthless drug lords and their violence-happy thugs. Worst-case scenarios kept dive-bombing his brain, and he didn’t know how the fuck he’d dig for the patience to give his bosses whatever they needed. All he could think about was finding her.
“Yeah. Hey,” Trees said to Kimber’s husband.
The man didn’t acknowledge him, just turned to Caleb. “This is the computer whiz? He looks better suited to the NBA.”
“I’m not into basketball.” He turned to the colonel. “Just tell me how I can help.”
“I’m getting to it.” The older man beat feet to another big blond guy, this one with movie-star looks—except for his nose, which had seemingly been broken more than once. “This is Tyler Murphy, former LAPD homicide detective turned PI.”
“A.k.a. Cockzilla,” quipped a man with long, inky hair on the far side of the room, setting up hot trays of food.
Holy shit. That was famous TV chef Luc Traverson. How did the colonel know these guys?
“Stop busting my balls,” Tyler groused.
“I’m not doing anything to your balls. Unless you want me to roast them.” Luc’s tone was pure teasing…but Trees sensed history here.
“Pass,” Tyler said, then gave Trees his outstretched hand. “Hey, new guy.”