Yeah. Really crappy choices.
Bending his head, he whispered directly into Carmen’s ear, “When I say ‘go’ I want you to run toward the front of the bay.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “But Ronnie—”
“I’ll distract him,” he promised.
She shook her head. “No, Griff. We go together.”
“Don’t be fools,” Ronnie called out, easily suspecting they were plotting to try to escape. “You don’t really think you can get out of this warehouse, do you?”
“You can’t stop me,” Griff said, his gaze carefully monitoring Ronnie’s shadow.
“If I don’t, my partner will,” Ronnie warned.
Griff reached to give Carmen’s arm a reassuring squeeze, his gaze scanning the opening while he strained his ears for any sound of approaching footsteps.
“What partner?” he demanded.
Ronnie released a mocking laugh. “You really are stupid. How do you think I found out about this warehouse? Or managed to get past the security?”
“Shit,” Griff breathed. He knew exactly who Ronnie’s partner was. Matthew Jacobs. No wonder the damned sprinkler system hadn’t been triggered. “I knew I couldn’t trust him.”
Carmen sent him a worried gaze. “Trust who?”
“Get ready,” he muttered, reaching toward the cab of the forklift. Blindly he searched for the key switch on the steering wheel column.
“You might as well give up,” Ronnie said, his voice sharp with impatience. “You can’t get out of the warehouse. The doors have been locked down. They won’t open until the security system has been reset.”
Griff ignored the warning. He’d worry about getting out of the warehouse once they were away from Ronnie.
On the point of telling Carmen to run, Griff froze at the unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps. He leaned forward again, peering around the rim of the wheel.
If Matthew moved to stand in the proximity of Ronnie, then his hasty plan might still work. If not . . . they were screwed.
“Enough.” The voice cut through the air as the man walked around the edge of a rack and stepped into view. “I’m done playing games,” he warned.
Shock jolted through Griff. He blinked, wondering if he was seeing things. Then he blinked again.
Once again he’d been wrong.
Ronnie’s partner wasn’t Matthew Jacobs.
It was the younger brother, Baylor.
“Baylor,” Carmen breathed as she pressed next to him, her hand rising to press against her parted lips.
The young man was dressed in a pair of charcoal slacks and a white shirt. Like he was headed to the office instead of helping a psychotic killer murder his own cousin.
With an effort, Griff shook off his sense of disbelief. Right now it didn’t matter if Ronnie’s partner was Santa Claus. They needed to escape.
And the only way that was going to happen was if they could cause a large enough distraction.
“Stay next to me,” he breathed, switching on the engine to the forklift and with his other hand, pressing down on the gas pedal to send the large tractor rumbling forward.
He heard a shout from Ronnie, and the sound of gunfire, but he and Carmen remained bent low as they jogged next to the forklift. He kept the tires straight, forcing the men to back away. Then at the last minute he grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it sharply to the right. The tractor turned with surprising dexterity, the metal fork slamming into the nearby rack.
The industrial shelving was solidly bolted to the floor, but Griff had factored in the haphazard manner in which the wood was stacked. It was top-heavy enough that such a solid hit sent the ten-foot boards flying through the air.
The wooden projectiles pelted anything in their path, forcing Ronnie and Baylor to dive for cover, just as he’d hoped.
“Run,” he barked.
Without hesitation, Carmen was bolting through the opening of the bay and toward a narrow aisle just ahead. Keeping low, she scrambled through the maze of racks with a speed that came from sheer adrenaline. Griff was just a few feet behind her, his gun held ready.
Moving as silently as possible, considering their rasping breaths and the cement floor that amplified every footstep, they reached the middle of the warehouse. Griff grabbed Carmen’s arm to halt her flight. Then, with a jerk of his head, he indicated that they needed to circle back the way they’d just come.
She frowned, but with a trust that warmed his heart, she followed him as he cautiously threaded his way toward the front of the warehouse.
He didn’t dare try to make a mad dash toward an exit. Although it appeared that Matthew was an innocent stooge of his brother, he’d been fooled too many times. He wasn’t going to risk stumbling into another trap.
They were inching forward when the sound of Ronnie’s and Baylor’s raised voices forced him to freeze. The two men were just an aisle over. Which meant there was no way he could get to a doorway until they moved.
Muttering every curse he knew, in more than one language, Griff tugged Carmen behind a cart of plywood. It was possible they could fit beneath one of the racks, which might be a better hiding place. But he didn’t want to get trapped. If worse came to worst, he wanted Carmen to be able to run while he tried to hold off the men.
Another awful plan.
But the only one he had.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ronnie was furious.
This was supposed to be his grand finale.
Everything over the past months had been plotted and planned for this specific moment.
And now it was ruined.
All because of Griffin Archer. The bastard. He was going to take so much pleasure in killing him.
Shoving himself to his feet, Ronnie ignored the forklift that was now tangled with metal shelving, and the clouds of dust that filled the air. The mess was Baylor’s problem. Not his.
He paused long enough to make sure the safety was off his handgun, and then he headed toward the nearest aisle. Carrie was hidden somewhere in the warehouse. He intended to find her and complete his goal of squeezing the life from her.
But first he was going to blow out the brains of Griffin Archer.
Focused on his lust for blood, Ronnie was oblivious to the shadow gliding through the aisle that was parallel to him. It wasn’t until he reached a small clearing that Baylor abruptly stepped around the end of a rack to block his path.
Ronnie frowned. He’d hoped that one of the flying boards had plunked his partner in the head. It would solve the problem of killing him once he was done with Carrie and Griffin.
Then again, he didn’t mind being the one to put a bullet in Baylor. There would be a nice symmetry. He was the one who started the Kill Club. He would be the one to end it.
But only after the others were dead.
Ronnie came to a halt, sending Baylor an impatient glare. “Why are you just standing there?” he demanded. “We need to find Griff and get rid of him before he shoots us or finds some new way to be a pain in the ass.”
Baylor shrugged, his gun held loosely in one hand as he offered a mysterious smile.
“Actually, there’s been a change of plans.”
Ronnie’s brows snapped together. No one changed his plans. No one.
“What are you talking about?”
Baylor’s smile remained as he took a step toward Ronnie. “The problem with the endgame was making sure the authorities believe that all the bad guys are dead.”
Ronnie shrugged. He’d already planned for that. Baylor just didn’t know that his death was going to be the “endgame.”
“The cops are too stupid to figure out anything,” he said. “We already proved that.”
“So we did.” Baylor held out his hand. “But just to be sure, I need to borrow your gun.”
Ronnie took an instinctive step backward. “You have your own gun.”
Baylor’s features tightened, but his smile never faltered. Ronnie had learned over the years that the older man shared many of Ronnie’s own talents. Including the ability to hide his true emotions.
“Yes, but when I put a bullet into my brother’s heart, I prefer to use your weapon.”