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for
a while?"
She shook her head. "I couldn't leave the business.
Besides, I've got everything I need right here."
He looked surprised. "Everyone needs a vacation once in
a while."
"Not me." She was such a liar. She ached to get away, to
see the world, to stretch her legs on earth she'd never walked
on before, to wake up to a view that was as foreign to her as
chopsticks. "If you can't find what you want right where you
are, you don't need it."
He leaned over the table with a mischievous grin, his dark
brows raised, eyes intense, voice lowered suggestively. "You
don't believe in going after what you want?"
Please, someone save me from taking what I want, right
now, right here .
"Here you go," the waitress said, balancing their plates.
"Thank you." And Jess meant it a lot more than the
waitress could guess.
The waitress pulled a pen and pad from her pocket.
"Anything else I can get you folks?"
Jess bit back a request for Mitch ala Mode and glanced at
her cup. "More coffee, if you get a chance."
"No problem." She turned to Mitch. "What about you?"
He covered his cup with one big-knuckled hand. "I'm
good."
"Be right back." She left.
Jess attacked her pancakes with butter and syrup, keeping
her hands and mind occupied. Mitch lifted a fork full of
pancake, but froze. The very air stiffened around him.
"What?" She looked at his plate. Did he find a cockroach
or something?
Mitch didn't answer. His fork fell to his plate with a
clatter. "Go to the bathroom."
"What?" The beginnings of a smile soured on her face.
He was serious. "I don't have to go."
"Go, now." He scooted to the edge of the booth, yanking
her hand and forcing her own fork to fall from her fingers.
"What the hell is going on?" Her heart stuttered on a
wave of unexpected adrenaline as she tried to pull her hand
back.
"Too late." He cursed and lunged across the table,
knocking her coffee over. She got a glimpse of the shoulder
holster beneath his coat as the lapels parted and his big hand
emerged with an even bigger pistol. The worn spot on his
jacket .
His free hand shoved her head down, aided by the brick
wall of his chest. She hit her forehead on the edge of the
Formica table top and cried out in pain.
The window exploded inward. Glass rained down through
every open space Mitch's broad back didn't cover. Her heart
leapt from her chest and lodged in her throat, cutting off her
scream.
* * *
Sprawled across the table, Mitch squinted through falling
glass. Outside, the car he'd seen trolling the street seconds
before, sped up as the passenger fired a silenced pistol at the
front of the diner.
Hard-boiled rage filled Mitch. He pulled the trigger
repeatedly and emptied his clip at the tires. You ain't goin'
nowhere.
The front tire blew, then the back. The driver lost control
and the sedan plowed into the car parked two up from Jess's
Mustang.
"Stay down." Mitch pushed her further into the booth and
lifted himself off the splattered syrup and coffee mess on the
table. A teen girl screamed over and over again in her mother's
arms. Others whimpered, huddled behind counters and beneath
tables. He stalked to the door, furious. Did they really think
they could get away with this? Shooting at innocent people?
At Jess?
Not on their very short lives.
Pistol aimed at the ceiling, he ejected the cartridge and
slapped a new one in. He chambered the first round, then
yanked the door open hard enough to make it bounce off the
firewall.
On the street, the sunshine felt too bright, too hot. A red
haze dropped over the deserted street. The knuckles of his
empty hand crackled as he clenched and unclenched them in an
eager fist, as he started toward the car.
The driver threw the sedan in reverse, trying to dislodge
the front bumper. The passenger shoved at his door, banging it
against the rear fender of someone's Chevrolet.
At a telephone pole plastered with flyers, he exhaled,
focusing. Murder won't get me answers . Visions of beating a
name from these