Page 104 of Layla

John

After my plane lands at LAX, I go straight to the venue. I’m sure the show is over by now, but according to Sean the band is planning to hang out for a while after with some friends. With any luck, Layla will still be there when I arrive.

I check my phone for the tenth time since climbing into the rental car. I’ve been getting regular updates from the team watching the band, but nothing has come in since my flight arrived. And now my battery is almost dead, the charger buried somewhere in my bag in the trunk. I curse and go to put the phone away, wanting to save the battery for if I need it—but then a text comes through.

SITUATION, it reads in all caps.Going to lock down.

My blood runs cold. Sean is on speed dial and the phone is ringing within seconds. But he doesn’t answer. “God damn it,” I mutter, scrolling through the contacts until I get to Eddie. He does answer, thank God. “What’s going on?” I bark out.

“The suspect got Layla alone,” he says, breathless, and my stomach drops.

“Where is she now?”

There’s silence on the other end of the line and my heart stops. “Eddie?” I bark out. “Where’s Layla?”

Still no answer. I pull the phone from my ear and see a blank screen. It’s dead.

“Fuck!” I shout, pounding my fist into the steering wheel. I press my foot against the gas. I’m already speeding, but it’s not fast enough. I have to get there. I have to get to her.

After the worst twenty minutes of my life, I finally pull into the lot behind the venue. The first thing I see is flashing lights—tons of them. Shit, that’s a lot of cop cars. I barely put the car into park before I’m out and tearing toward the back doors. The area is filled with milling uniformed officers and venue security—one of whom tries to stop me when I get to the door.

“I work for the band,” I snarl, trying to push past him. But the guy holds his ground.

“I need to see ID.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I pull out my wallet, looking for my pass, but it’s not there.

“Listen,” I say, trying to keep from pummeling the guy into the pavement. “I’m John Whitmore. I’m in charge of security for Intrigue. You need to let me back there.”

The guy holds my gaze. “If you are head of security, then you understand the importance of sticking to protocol. Especially during a crisis.”

I’m going to kill him. I’m totally going to kill him. I don’t know what’s more annoying—that he won’t let me pass or that he’s right. Before I can start screaming in his face, Sean appears behind him.

“It’s okay,” he tells the guard. “He’s with us.”

I push past the guy and enter the back hallway. “What the fuck is going on?”

Sean is maddeningly calm as he places a hand on my shoulder. “Take a breath, John. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Where. Is. She?” I manage to ask through gritted teeth.

He meets my eye and suddenly I’m positive that he knows all about me and Layla. Maybe it’s the sympathy I see in his expression. But I can’t worry about him knowing because if thatissympathy than that could mean—

“Is she okay?” I choke out.

“She’s fine. Shaken up, but fine.”

My knees nearly go out. “What happened?”

“Get yourself together and we can walk back there,” he says. “I’ll tell you on the way. But I’m not letting you see her until you’re calmer.”

“Listen,” I bark out, prepared to tell him to go fuck himself and that he’s fired, in that order, but he holds up a hand.

“She’s shaken up,” he repeats. “The last thing she needs is you freaking out on her.”

I take a deep breath. He’s right. If Layla is upset I can’t go in there panicking. Butwhyis she upset? What happened to her? I take a few more breaths before straightening and turning my gaze back to Sean. “Let’s go.”

He studies me for a moment then nods. As he leads me through the confusion of roadies, cops and security guards rushing around, he explains what happened. “She was in the bathroom alone, and he cornered her.”