Excerpt of West of Sin by Wesley S. Lewis

Jennifer Williams’s tears had turned to anger about twenty miles back. She had no plan and no destination, just a basic need to keep putting miles between herself and that hotel room thick with the stench of sweat and betrayal.

The past hour was a blur. She vaguely recalled running for the elevator and stumbling through the lobby. Her wits had returned to find her speeding through the Nevada desert in a stolen Chevy Traverse.

Jennifer had forgotten to give Bryan the valet ticket after using his rental car to pick up the extra marketing flyers he’d insisted on ordering, but she’d remembered it when making her escape. For the first thirty miles or so, she simply drove, not considering where she was going, just trying her best to keep the shimmering lights of the Las Vegas Strip in her rearview mirror. When the city disappeared behind a mountain, she dried her eyes and started seeing red.

One year had passed since their conversation in the lounge atop the Stratosphere Tower, one year since he’d confided in her that he thought his marriage was ending, twelve long months since she’d privately decided to wait for him.

Jennifer wasn’t so naïve as to think Bryan had left his wife for her, but she had presumed his marriage was the only thing keeping them apart. In the four months since his separation, they had walked a fine line between friendship and something more, enjoying the occasional movie or dinner together but keeping things platonic so as to avert office gossip and avoid complicating his already sticky divorce.

Now that the divorce was final, Jennifer had expected this trip to end—or preferably begin—with something a bit more intimate than the prolonged embraces they sometimes shared after a night out. What she’d gotten instead was the crushing realization that her hopes for the coming months—being in a real relationship by fall, introducing him to her family over the holidays, going someplace tropical for her fortieth birthday—were never going to come true.

From some dark corner of her mind came the terrible thought that maybe he’d never wanted more, that he’d used her as an emotional placeholder.

She pushed the thought away. This was not the time to question things she knew—or, at the very least, things she’d known an hour ago—to be true. She was buzzed from four rounds of drinks and punchy from ten hours spent pitching retail properties to bored tenant reps who cared more about the real estate beneath her skirt than about anything in New Wave’s portfolio. She was tired, she was lost, and to top it all off, the lace pattern on her expensive French panties—the kind made to be seen, not worn—had imprinted itself painfully on her backside. Comfort had not been her top priority when selecting her attire for the evening, and nothing she’d chosen was well suited to a long drive.

For the first time since leaving the hotel, she took note of her surroundings, looking for any clue as to where she might be.

Her rearview mirror reflected nothing but a black sea of desert. To the left and right, she saw more of the same. A couple of miles ahead, a single cluster of lights beckoned from the left side of the road.

♦ ♦ ♦

The conspicuous click-clack of her high heels on the tile floor made Jennifer wish she’d left the overpriced stilettos in the car and walked barefoot. Wearing a slinky black dress into a remote truck stop was uncomfortable enough without her shoes announcing her entrance.

A quick glance at her surroundings eased her mind. The truck stop had only one customer, and he seemed oblivious to anything beyond the contents of the beverage case. She approached the front counter.

The leather-skinned woman behind the register gave an uneasy smile, revealing two missing front teeth.

Jennifer forced a smile of her own. “Excuse me, I seem to be a bit lost. Where are we in relation to Las Vegas?”

The clerk sighed and, in a voice that suggested a pack-a-day habit, said, “You’re about an hour west of Vegas. Head east on 160 till you hit the interstate.” When Jennifer didn’t immediately respond, the woman added, “Just turn right out of the parking lot.”

“Thanks.” Jennifer glanced around the store. “Where is your restroom?”

“Restroom’s for customers only.”

Jennifer took a deep breath and forced another smile. “I’m going to buy a cup of coffee.”

“We’re out of coffee.”

“Okay, I’ll buy something else.”

“It’s out of order.”

“What?”

“We only got the one restroom,” said the clerk, “and it’s all plugged up.”

Jennifer exhaled slowly. “Is there another gas station around here somewhere?”

“Lots of ’em up the road in Pahrump.”

“How far is that?”

“About ten miles west. Just turn—”

“Left out of the parking lot, I got it.” She turned away from the cashier. “Thanks.”

Jennifer didn’t need to pee so badly as to drive another ten miles in the wrong direction, but there was no way she could make it back to Las Vegas without caffeine. She worked her way to the back of the store, where the lone customer—a well-built man in a pair of khaki shorts and a blue polo shirt—was still studying the beverage case.

She spotted a row of iced coffees and reached for the cooler door.

The man in the blue shirt pivoted toward her. “Can I help you?”

She hesitated. “Uh, no. Just getting a drink.”

“What do you want?” He opened the case. “I’ll grab it for you.”

Jennifer was tiring of these socially awkward desert dwellers. “Thanks,” she said, reaching into the case, “but I can manage.”

As her hand came to rest on the glass bottle, she froze. Either the day’s stress was getting to her or something on the other side of the case had just moved. She peered between the shelves, trying to see into the unlit stockroom.

Behind the row of beverages, a pair of eyes stared out of the darkness. She released the bottle and took a quick step back.

She struggled to make sense of the eyes, which seemed to float in the darkness. Then she saw the gun barrel wedged between two rows of sodas, and the missing piece fell into place.

In the dark stockroom behind the drinks, someone in a black ski mask was pointing a shotgun at her.