Chapter 2
The diner went still.
Not silent.
The rain still hammered the glass.
The refrigerator still hummed behind the counter.
The sleeping trucker still breathed under his jacket.
But everyone who was awake felt the room change.
The man stopped halfway down the aisle with the girl in front of him.
His hand tightened around her hoodie.
She made no sound.
But her eyes screamed.
I stepped out of the booth.
Slow.
Careful.
A big man moving fast scares people.
A big man moving slow makes them wonder what is coming.
The stranger smiled.
“Problem?”
His voice was smooth.
Too smooth.
I looked at the girl.
Then back at him.
“Forgot your change.”
His eyes narrowed.
He knew I was lying.
So did I.
Brenda glanced up from the counter.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” the man said. “My daughter and I are leaving.”
Daughter.
Again.
The girl’s fingers moved against the side of her leg.
Tiny.
Fast.
HELP.
I shifted my body so the man could not see my hand.
I signed back.
STAY.
Her lips parted.
The man caught the movement.
“What did you just do?”
I shrugged.
“Scratched my thumb.”
He pulled the girl closer.
“I don’t want trouble.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then sit down.”
I smiled without warmth.
“Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”
His smirk disappeared.
Now his face showed something colder.
Not panic.
Calculation.
His right hand moved toward his coat.
I saw it.
So did the girl.
She shook her head violently, eyes wide.
Gun.
I raised both hands a little.
“Easy.”
Brenda whispered, “Oh Lord.”
The man’s voice dropped.
“You don’t know what this is.”
“I know what she told me.”
He froze.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
His eyes flicked down to the girl.
She shrank.
“You little—”
I moved.
Not toward him.
Toward the hot coffee pot sitting on Brenda’s counter.
I grabbed it and threw the coffee across the aisle.
Not at his face.
At his coat arm.
He jerked back, cursing, hand leaving the gun long enough for me to cross the distance.
He shoved the girl sideways.
She hit the edge of a booth and fell.
I drove my shoulder into his chest.
We crashed against the jukebox.
Glass rattled.
Brenda screamed.
The man’s hand went under his coat again.
This time I caught his wrist.
The gun came halfway out.
A compact black pistol.
I twisted his arm hard enough that his knees buckled.
He grunted, swung with his free hand, and caught me in the jaw.
Pain flashed white.
I held on.
The trucker woke up.
“What the hell?”
“Call 911!” Brenda shouted.
The man slammed his knee into my ribs.
Air left me.
The gun clattered to the floor.
The little girl saw it first.
She scrambled toward it, shaking.
“No!” I barked.
She froze.
“Kick it!”
She kicked the gun under the counter.
Brenda grabbed it with both hands and screamed like it might bite her.
The man threw his head into my face.
My nose cracked with heat.
I tasted blood.
He broke free and lunged toward the girl.
That was his mistake.
I caught him from behind and drove him face-first into the floor.
Hard.
His polished cheek hit the dirty linoleum.
I pinned one knee between his shoulders and wrenched his arm behind his back.
He hissed, “You have no idea who I am.”
I leaned close.
“I don’t care.”
The little girl crawled backward until she hit the booth.
Her hands moved.
Fast.
Messy.
Terrified.
CAR.
OUTSIDE.
BOY.
I stared at her.
“What?”
She signed again, crying.
BOY IN CAR.
My stomach dropped.
The stranger laughed beneath me.
Not loud.
Worse.
Satisfied.
Brenda was shouting into the phone.
The trucker stumbled over, belt in hand.
“Need help holding him?”
“Hold his legs.”
He did.
The stranger stopped laughing.
I looked at the girl.
“How old?”
She signed.
FOUR.
My chest tightened.
A little boy.
Outside.
In the storm.
I looked through the diner window.
The parking lot was black except for my Harley headlight reflecting in puddles.
Then I saw it.
A dark SUV parked near the edge of the lot.
Engine running.
Windows fogged.
The girl pointed, sobbing.
BROTHER.
The man under me went very still.
I looked at Brenda.
“Police on the way?”
“Yes!”
“How long?”
She listened, pale.
“Twenty minutes. Storm washed out the east bridge.”
Too long.
The girl signed one more thing.
TRUNK.
I stood so fast the trucker nearly fell.
The stranger tried to twist free.
I slammed my boot beside his face.
May you like
“Move again and you won’t like what breaks.”
Then I ran into the rain.
