Check out this installment of the thrilling chapters series, where we dive right in the middle of the action for a fun excerpt from one of my books.
This sample is from SHOTGUN MINE and it stars Layne Parrish.
It’s about a quick operation on an exotic island that goes horribly wrong for Layne, in more ways than one..
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The Hawaiian man plays a sorrowful version of Creep by Radiohead, crooning over the plinky sound of his ukulele. He stands on the wooden stage between two torches, sending little wisps of fire into the air as they fall victim to the breeze.
It’s not an appropriate song for a wedding rehearsal dinner, but Layne likes it anyway. He’s never heard a more impactful live performance as the heavyset man sways on stage while he keeps his eyes closed. The emotion in the singer’s voice speaks to Layne, for some reason. It cuts through all the surrounding noise.
Layne feels a lot of conflicting feelings right now, which is probably why this backyard rendition of an old song seems so epic. Every time he sees Inessa, his cup threatens to overflow. She’s radiant in a blue apron shirt with a flowing black skirt. Every smile she sends his way calms his beating heart, and he can’t wait until all of this pageantry is over and it can be the two of them. He can’t wait to start a family with her.
But he also has work to do tonight. He has to kill Elijah Brown.
Like a mammoth cloud darkening the sky, Daphne looms large over everything Layne does here. It’s as if she’s rented a small room inside Layne’s brain, and every time he feels any amount of peace, she smacks the roof with a broom handle to steal his attention.
Amid the dozens of guests eating and drinking and enjoying the mild Oahu evening, Layne looks for an easy way out of the situation. He only decided a couple hours ago to take up Daphne on her operation. If they were back in Colorado and weren’t about to get married, Layne would tell Inessa he had to leave for a meeting, and she wouldn’t ask questions. But here, minutes away from the start of their rehearsal dinner, he’s going to need a reason. And while he has a mental folder full of excuses, he doesn’t want to use them. He doesn’t want to lie to his bride-to-be, but he’s run out of time to do this any other way.
He has to sneak over to the hotel down the street and kill a man. And it has to happen now.
Inessa takes a seat at the table, with an empty spot next to her. Opposite that empty spot is the seat reserved for George Parrish, but Layne has given up hope on that desire coming true. George received an invitation and a plane ticket, and didn’t respond to either. Most of Layne doesn’t care; his father is probably ranting and raving to some poor auditory hostages at the Shotgun Tavern right now. And, as far as Layne is concerned, the angry old man can stay there. Let him wither and wallow in his unhappiness. Layne has better things to do.
Inessa flashes her eyes and tilts her head at the empty seat next to her. Layne puts one hand over his stomach and winces as he approaches her.
“I have bad news,” he whispers in her ear.
“What bad news?”
“I need to hit the bathroom real quick. Something at lunch didn’t agree with me.”
She wears a smile for all the guests to see, but he doesn’t miss the surprised anger lurking behind her eyes. “Now? We’re starting soon.”
“Sorry, this isn’t something I can put off for a couple hours, if you know what I mean. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She frowns and lowers her head, without nodding or forbidding him to go. Since they’ve been dating, he’s done this a few times. There’s always a regime to topple, always a despot who needs killing, always a desert truck caravan in need of exploding. She knows some of what he does for a living, but he has to still keep secrets.
Layne doesn’t think she senses the ruse, but she’s unhappy about him leaving. He hates the disappointment brooding in her eyes, and he wants her to stop making that face. Soon, he’s going to retire. He can’t continue segmenting these dual lives for much longer.
Daphne will be furious, the team will feel betrayed, and Layne will feel like a quitter. And even though he knows all this, he’s going to step away from the team, anyway. A few more months. Definitely less than a year.
Layne slips away and starts his route back toward the hotel, until he’s out of eyesight from Inessa and everyone else at the dinner. A couple people toss him looks as he leaves, not many.
The overwhelming majority of guests are hers. Layne has invited a few people, but he can’t invite the team. Everyone here thinks he’s a therapist, so he can’t even share his wedding day with his closest friends. Daphne’s orders.
Past the hotel, he picks up the pace. The neighboring hotel is approximately one city block down the road. Layne jogs, tall grass swaying along the two-lane highway circling the north part of the island. The breeze whips ocean air across his face, and the humidity drenches his shirt within two minutes. Still, he keeps on the move, trying to cut down any chance there might be surveillance on him.
He slows near a set of crossing palm trees on a side road, then he leans against one and stretches. He keeps his eye on a spot two hundred feet to the north. A maze of spidery banyan trees on the side road to a residential area.
Once Layne has watched the spot for a couple minutes, he decides he can’t fake-stretch any longer. Quick and casual, he turns onto the side street and approaches the drop spot. He unearths a box from beneath a pile of seaweed.
Inside the box, Daphne has left him an assortment of materials. A black baseball cap, a garrote, a couple syringes, a hunting knife, and gloves.
He studies the syringes. There’s no label, but he has a good idea what sort of liquid is inside. Something that will make the man’s death look like an accident. Possibly ricin.
Layne takes the garrote and hunting knife as a backup. Because of the urgency, he’s had little time to prepare. On a job like this, normally Layne would have known for days exactly which weapon to use. He would know exactly where to find his target and would have controlled for anything unexpected.
But on this job, it’s all Wild West out here. No rules, no backup, no oversight.
He leaves the cache behind, careful to note any eyes looking in his direction as he rejoins the main road. Rapid feet move him across the giant lawn in front of the resort. He dodges manicured shrubs and golf carts and tourists exploring the resort grounds.
Layne breezes past the front check-in area, into the hotel itself. With his sights set on the elevators, the spy dodges and pivots to keep his face away from the cameras in the corners of the room. He finds a bank of six elevators down a hall, with out-of-order signs in front of two of them.
Layne jabs a button and waits for ten seconds. Ten long seconds of glancing around behind him, keeping his body angled away from the surveillance cameras and the front desk staff. He desperately wishes he had more time to plan his assault, but there’s no drone to lift him to the 18th floor. No gear to scale the side of the building to make a clean entrance and exit. Nope, he has to take the elevator. And he has to do it fast.
But it’s still not coming. Foot tapping, waiting, every second out here another chance for him to be exposed. Thirty seconds pass, and now there are a few more people waiting for elevators.
Layne rounds the corner to a maintenance section, and he’s thrilled to see a cargo elevator. He jabs the button as the numbers above descend from 15. The closed elevator shaft in front of him whirs as the gears and pulleys spring to life.
A few seconds later, the elevator door opens, and Layne rushes inside.
He doesn’t make it all the way in.
One step inside, he realizes he’s standing opposite a bellhop with a dozen suitcases stacked on top of a luggage cart. The bellhop apparently also hasn’t seen the man standing before him. One hand on the cart, looking down.
“Hey,” Layne says as he tries to stop his forward momentum.
The bellhop looks up, but even before he did, he started to push the cart forward. It’s twelve inches away from Layne.
Layne makes a snap judgment and decides to dash inside the elevator and to the side. But it doesn’t work. The bellhop reacts to the impending collision by taking a sudden and unexpected step forward. He mixes his feet with Layne’s in the cramped space.
Now Layne can’t spin away from the cart, and when it shifts forward, it smacks him in the face, bringing heavy suitcases down on top of him.
The last one thumps Layne in the head, knocking him out.
