Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Laila barged through the town hall’s large wooden doors, her gaze darting over the sea of faces holding expressions in various states of alarm. She proceeded to push through the crowd in search of her daughter, slow to succeed at that task, which forced her to pause and steady herself.
Drowning in the onslaught of worried murmurs around her and blinking away tears, she lashed her head from side to side. Still searching. Now sensing Ramos behind her, while she refused to look back at him.
Just keep looking forward. Find her. I have to find her.
Whitney’s familiar swarthy features peeked through a gap in the crowd. A relieved sob broke from Laila, and she rushed forward, fighting against her overwrought emotions. She didn’t want to scare her child more than she likely already was. But fighting any reaction became impossible as she pulled Whitney from her grandmother’s arms and crushed the child’s spindly body to her chest.
Suddenly, the soft tickle of those dark curls to Laila’s cheek meant everything. It sparked a compulsion to ignore all warnings and turn and run from this awful dystopian scene.
“Thank you.” She sniffed and addressed her mom from over Whitney’s shoulder. Bless that woman. Bless her for so many things and in ways Laila could never hope to repay. “Thank you for keeping Whit safe.”
Her mother’s lips pressed into a tight line, as though she fought back her own overwhelmed reaction, the wrinkles over her cheekbones deep and denoting a wariness Laila had never seen on her before.
“Where are all the others?” Laila asked the question because she wanted to know, but also to give her mother something new to focus on.
“Ally and Chip got out since the fire was closer to their side of town. But Dean and Sarah, Blaine and Emilia are all around here somewhere.” Her mother peered about her, the action seeming rooted in the need for distraction more than anything else.
Laila mirrored her mother’s movements. The new focus on everyone gathered lit a disconcerting idea. If the syndicate hoped to herd the people of this town to a select few spots, these fires succeeded. A glance over her shoulder to the sheriff seemed to validate the doubt taking up space in her stomach.
While Whitney remained in her arms, she turned and ventured toward the sheriff standing at the exit, brushing past Ramos and continuing to block him out. As much as she wanted to go, she had to pause as Emilia and Blaine approached.
“You got through the roadblock?” Emilia’s eyes held a sad sort of joy, like, despite the miserable circumstance, she was genuinely glad to see Laila okay. “Did you happen to drive past our house? The fires were so close by the time we left, I was hoping, maybe—”
She didn’t finish speaking before Blaine raised a hand and went to rubbing her back, the gesture seeming somewhat consoling, as though he’d come to terms with a sobering reality that she still held hope over.
Laila’s heart strained, but she’d spent years learning to do difficult jobs, and so she didn’t seek to draw out Emilia’s pain with denial. She gave a slow shake of her head and whispered a weak, “I’m sorry.”
Emilia’s lips wobbled and water gathered in her eyes, but she offered a grateful nod all the same. This woman had already lost one home to flames and the syndicate, and here she stood, life still in danger and her home gone. Laila wanted to stay and comfort Emilia, but she had other priorities right now, while Blaine stood by ready to help his new wife.
So, she dropped her gaze and avoided any more talk, pushing past and proceeding onto the sheriff, the man still half a hall away. Squeezing through a throng of people wasn’t easy. A number of those gathered lifted their heads, lips parting as though they sought to stop and talk to her. But she simply shook her head at them and continued to move on.
The sheriff spotted her approach just before she stopped before him, her voice wavering as she spoke. “Can I leave?”
She already sensed what the answer would be.
The sheriff eyed her, but his focus soon stopped on Whitney, a momentary look of remorse cracking his stony expression, as he shook his head. “The roads are backed up as it is, and I wouldn’t advise it. You could get trapped. If you can hold on for a little longer, we’ll have new routes cleared and two lanes of traffic open on a designated safe route out. We’ll also have a crew to guide the way.”
Laila bit down an instinctive need to protest and glanced behind her at the mass of people, with their faces pale in clear distress. Much of this lot would have witnessed the flames outside too. They’d be just as desperate to leave. But the sheriff was right. There could be safety or pandemonium in numbers. With her and Adrian’s wild ride in, at least the new lanes would have emergency crew to keep the peace.
And still, looking around, this place felt less like a community hall and more like the inside of a sinking passenger ship—everyone simply waiting for the moment to collectively drown.
That thought turned her tummy rock hard, but she nodded in a solemn promise to the sheriff that she would stay put. At least for now.
Just then, the doors to the sheriff’s left burst open and Ted Boseman, a local farmer, crashed through. He shoved at an unfamiliar man, pushing the guy, while holding his hands together behind his back, and yelling out for everyone to hear.
“Caught this one crossing my field on foot and a gasoline can in hand.” He gave the man one final hard nudge toward the sheriff, the sheriff extending his hands to catch him. Dean Holloway stepped up to help, the sheriff already inundated with a constant stream of updates crackling over his radio.
Dean ushered the apprehended man to an empty chair by the entry wall, accepting a pair of the sheriff’s handcuffs in the process.
The sheriff finished responding to the comms on his radio, then clapped Ted on the back. “Great job there, Ted. Sorry to say, he’s not the first one we’ve caught this morning. This was clearly an organized attack, and as much as I’m sure Dean could shake the truth out of that one, I doubt he’d tell us anything we haven’t already guessed for ourselves.”
“It’s the damn syndicate, isn’t it?” Ted held a gruff tone, his dirt-stained hands curled into fists at his sides as if he truly wished to hit someone.
The sheriff nodded. “Ramos helped apprehend Mark Farro just this morning. Seems the arrest came hours too late.”
Laila’s jaw dropped open, and she spun around to find Ramos still behind her, his cheeks sunken like he understood exactly what thoughts ran through her head. He hadn’t told her. Hadn’t even given a clue of what he would be doing last night. He hadn’t even mentioned Mark Farro’s name. Much less that he’d planned his arrest.
The sheriff knows more about this man than I do.
To make matters worse, Gerry Gibbons squeezed in on the conversation, his wife and three kids only yards away. And of course, Lenny Brooks stood even closer.
“So, what you’re saying is that this won’t all end with Mark Farro?” Gerry held a scrunched expression, as though he’d already forgotten all about Laila kicking his ass and that Ramos hadn’t been far off joining her. “Is that right?”
“There are no guarantees.” The sheriff shrugged, a new level of wariness shadowing his face. “But we have another key syndicate member off the street, and that’s something.”
“Still not enough.” Gerry scoffed and turned his scowl to Laila. Maybe the ass-kicking wasn’t so forgotten. “Someone’ll replace him, just like how he took over from Luciano Conti. Rudolph Manzinni is still out there too. No one knows what he looks like or where he is.”
His words dripped in hate and venom, and he directed it all on Laila, as if she embodied everything wrong with this day and all the events that led up to it. His cold delivery had her clinging tighter to Whitney, seeking comfort, while offering protection.
“You lot shoulda moved on when we said.” Lenny drew in closer now, his tight movements holding just as much malice. “Now there’s no more Harlow for you or us.”
Though she couldn’t understand why they took this all out on her, it seemed her close physical proximity made for reason enough. Lenny took another step toward her, and she inched back. Surely he wouldn’t hurt a woman with a small child in her arms.
“Mommy, I want to go.” Whitney’s tinny tone mirrored Laila’s fear, and she sought to fulfill her daughter’s wishes, only for Ramos to step out in front of her.
“Why don’t you address those sentiments to me or Mr. Holloway?” He used his body to block any attacks, as well as Laila’s view. “Instead of trying to scare a woman and her child?”
“What do you care?” This time Gerry piped up, and she saw past Ramos enough to catch Gerry lifting his chin in defiance. “You’ll be kickin’ off soon enough, won’t you? While we’ll be the ones dealing with a burnt-out town. You got no place interfering.”
Ramos didn’t so much as move, though Laila figured she was best to get out from behind him should a real fight break out. She stepped to the side and increased her distance from the men, where she also had a better view of what went on.
“I have every reason to care what happens here today.” Though his words hinted at his feelings for Laila, the disconcerting iciness from that first run-in with Gerry was back on his face. “Back up, now. Go join your family.”
Gerry’s face went red, and he did the opposite of what he was asked, puffing his chest out and taking up more space. “You telling me what to do again?”
“Sure.” Despite the sarcasm, Adrian gave nothing away. “It worked out so well for you last time. Now, run along.”
Gerry’s face turned all red and angry, a hint of shame perhaps adding to his color. He was a high school bully not used to being bullied. Conditions such as these held the potential to erupt in unpredictable ways. “You lot have ruined everything. We’re all gonna die. You think I give a shit about doing what you say?”
He made a hocking sound and then spat at Adrian’s feet. All chatter in the hall died instantly. Again, Adrian didn’t react, which only added to the weighty anticipation in the air. And then, Gerry, in all his impulsive stupidity, lunged forward and shoved Ramos hard in the chest.
Ramos held his ground but put a hand out to create more distance. Gerry flinched, seeming to misinterpret the move as an attempted strike, and swung a fist out at Ramos.
His blow connected with Adrian’s right cheek. Laila gasped and shielded Whitney’s eyes from whatever happened next. Meanwhile, to her right, Gerry’s wife screamed. His kids were quick to start sobbing. Lenny, on the other hand, looked pale and inched back into the crowd. All bluster and no action. And Laila’s attention caught on an uncharacteristically gray-faced Rochelle nearby.
“That’s enough, Gibbons!” Sheriff Marlin bellowed out and came up to Gerry, wrenching his arms behind him and hauling him away from Ramos. “If not for the fire, I’d have you locked in a cell.”
“We have nothing left.” Even as the sheriff dragged Gerry toward the door, he struggled and shouted, the red anger in his eyes now verging on tears.
The crowd’s stunned silence continued, and Gerry’s hostility hung like a prickling heat in the air. That heat turnedher thoughts to her visions of the town on fire. To Emilia’s face upon learning her house was gone. To the multitude of familiar faces around her holding unfamiliar looks of despair.
Maybe Gerry was right. Maybe anyone remotely linked to the syndicate should have left. Maybe she was in part to blame.
“Don’t you worry, Gerry.” Lenny Brooks seemed to find his words again, as he pushed back out through the crowd, his face beet red while he stabbed a finger toward his friend. “We’ll get ‘em all back some way.”
Her stomach dropped, his threat feeling like yet another bomb ready to explode. As if this town didn’t have enough threats and real-world tragedy to worry about…
“Stop it. Just stop it!”
The usually even-keeled Rochelle jolted forward, her tone a frazzled shout as though she’d lost her very last bit of patience. “I thought this was a sweet little town full of equally charming people…”
She shook her head, making it clear she didn’t think that way anymore.
“When will you all just stop attacking each other?” She ran her gaze over the feuding men, and across to Gerry’s sobbing children, the pull of muscles over her face releasing to a slack sort of resignation. “If you want to hate anyone, then hate me. Just stop fighting, okay?”
Gordon stepped out and draped his arm around her shoulder, rubbing her upper arm as he dropped a soft kiss to her head. “No one here could ever hate you.”
“Yes, they could.” She gave a small, but shaky nod directed at the ground, and tears welled in her eyes. “And they should hate me.”
Though the violent tension faded from the air, a heavy silence remained, the whole town listening to see what this woman would say next.
Rochelle’s tears broke free and splashed down her perfectly made-up cheeks, and she lifted her gaze, seeming to address all the people staring at her. “You all should hate me because I’m Rudolph Manzinni.”