Page 25 of Castaway Whirlwind
“Last warning,” I say at the same time.
Layla hooks her finger in my back belt loop, tugging on it when I try to step around the desk. “It’s ok,” she murmurs softly.
I turn and drop my hand on her shoulder, skimming mythumb along her slender neck. “No, it’s not.” When she tips her head back, arching into my touch, my dick starts to harden at the absolute worst time. “No one gets to talk to you like that, darlin’.”
“This is what I’m talking about!” Trace yells, throwing his arm out toward us. “I bet Steven’s the one who slashed all our tires, and it’s because of you two.”
Layla trips over her words. “Why would he—he wouldn’t. He can’t. He’s still in jail…right?” She’s looking to me for answers, which I love, but her bottom lip is as wobbly as Trace’s, which I hate.
Since I’m counting down the days ‘til he’s released, I’m quickly able to reassure her. “Yes, he is.”
So does Sheriff Gibson when he raps the back of his knuckles on the door and steps in, followed by Deputy Zoey Cooke, who recently transferred to our town. Being older than most of the Granny’s Girls, but younger than me, it’s not often we cross paths, so I merely nod in acknowledgment of her presence while Sheriff takes the lead.
“You boys,” Sheriff says, clicking his tongue as if he isn’t the same age as Elliott and me. “Your women are always getting y’all into trouble.” He’s, of course, referring to Wyatt nearly killing a man for Dolly and Davis straight up murdering a man for Goldie and Lily. It’s why he’s eyeing me now, knowing I’m just as likely to try killing Steven, who, it wouldn’t surprise me, is somehow behind this.
I hang up on my insurance company, since I’m still on hold, and drop my phone on my desk. Trace shoots Layla one last withering glare before he drags one of my metal chairs to the far corner of my office to sit with his arms crossed, bouncing the toe of his boot on the floor anxiously.
“She’s not my woman,” I grumble, watching Deputy Cooke give Gibson a frown, her white-blonde brows wrinkling at his choice of words. I guess she isn’t used to how things work around here yet.
“Yeah,” Layla adds softly.
It’s a punch to the gut because it’s the truth, and I remove my hand, which had drifted to gripping the back of her neck.
Trace snorts. “Then why’s she always here, sucking your dick?”
Layla gasps. “I am not.”
“Give me a fucking break. No one believes you’re actuallycleaninganything except the boss’ knob,” he says crudely. “Steven knew you were sucking Russell off for ‘tips’.”
Layla drops her finger from my belt loop, and Gibson simply steps back with a tired sigh, motioning for Cooke to do the same, which I take as permission to knock Trace out.
Trace squeaks out a stuttered apology and shoots out of his chair when I take just one step toward him.
Gibson claps his hand on my shoulder when I try to follow Trace out of the office. “Later,” he says. “I counted two surveillance cameras facing the lot, so how about you pull up the footage? See what we’re working with.”
“Let’s take this to the breakroom,” I say, tucking my laptop under my arm when several employees line up behind him.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” Layla says quietly, standing and folding the blanket to put it away, then grabbing the bag she’d stuffed under the desk, not so subtly hiding it behind her back.
“No,” I tell her. “I don’t want you going anywhere ‘til we know who did this.”I also want to investigate that book. “Need to check your car in case your tires were slashed, too.”
“I’ve got it,” Cooke says, motioning for Layla to follow hertoward the lobby.
“But what about her apartment?” I cup Layla’s elbow to stop her. “If this has something to do with Steven, then I need to check—”
“I’ve got that covered, too.” She raises a brow at Gibson, asking for confirmation, and he gives her a nod.
Gotdangit.
“Fine,” I say through tight lips. “Call me when you get home,” I tell Layla, finally sliding my hand down her arm, squeezing her hand once, then dropping it.
“No, you have enough to deal with.” She loops her tote bag over her shoulder after digging out her car keys and stuffing the mystery book inside.
I take a deep breath to hold my tongue.
Layla sees me struggling to do so, and she finally gives in. “Ok, I’ll call you.”
I let out the breath with relief. “Thank you.”
