temple.
The youngest man, called Brad, slid his gun into his pocket and yanked up the bottom of his jacket. Pulled a white envelope out of his jeans waistband. He strode to Frank and bent down.
“No!” Paige lurched toward him.
The first man leapt forward and shoved her. “Sit
down
!” He pushed her onto a stool next to Jared Moore. The man’s teeth gritted, cords ropelike on his thick neck. “Don’t move or you’re next.”
The world blurred. Paige blinked hard, fighting to see Frank. Vaguely, she registered others gasping. Leslie. Angie.
Brad was stuffing the envelope halfway down the back of Frank’s pants. He pushed to his feet, then grabbed Frank by the shoulders and flipped him over.
Frank’s uniform shirt shrieked three crimson holes.
He was dead.
Paige’s mouth opened. A primal cry rose from her soul, clattered up her throat. She slumped to her left. Jared caught her and held on.
Brad clamped his fingers around Frank’s wrists and dragged him toward the door.
“No, no!” Paige struggled against Jared, fighting to get up, reach Frank. She didn’t care, they could kill her. They’d
already
killed her. “Let me
go
!”
The first man turned his gun on her in cold hatred.
“Shh, Paige, stop.” Jared’s voice shook. His arms were like iron.
Paige went numb. Some part of her watched Brad unlock the door. The second, skinny man jerked backward, gun still pointed at the group, until he could hold the door open with one hand. Brad shoved Frank over the threshold in a sickening tumble. Closed and bolted the door.
Paige burst into sobs and collapsed against Jared’s chest. The only feeble thought her mind could hold was
sixty seconds.
One minute ago, Frank had been here with her. Now he was gone.
She hung on to Jared, squeezing his arms.
Tell me, tell me this isn’t happening
…
“All right, everybody, listen up.” The shooter’s voice could have cut steel. “You seen enough to know we mean business. Anybody who moves is dead.”
I’m already dead.
The hitched breathing of her friends filtered into Paige’s ears. Shock draped a wool blanket over the room.
Frank, Frank
…
The shooter jerked his chin toward Brad. “Get the weapons.”
Brad ran over to one of the duffel bags and wrenched back the zipper.
TWELVE
As John walked up Main toward Java Joint, muffled shouts sounded. He cocked his head. What was that?
Three sharp cracks in a row.
Gunshots
.
Screams followed. Yelling.
Bailey.
John’s feet rooted to the pavement. Sheer, cold terror washed over him.
S-Man’s present slipped from his fingers. Next thing he knew, he was running.
Java Joint’s door swung open. A body clad in a policeman’s uniform tumbled out.
John slid to a halt.
Frank West
.
The café door slammed shut. The deadbolt clicked.
Frank lay crumpled on his side facing the street, still as stone. Something white and flat stuck out of his pants at the back.
The screams from Java Joint stopped.
John’s mind spun. What was happening? He stared at the still form. Frank had been shot.
Shot.
Those three men. Their duffel bags.
Guns
.
Bailey. All of our friends.
Was he dreaming this?
John’s stomach lurched. He had to do… something. Get Frank. Get help.
He ran toward the fallen officer.
At the edge of the café, he pulled up. Its windows were almost floor to ceiling, starting too low to crawl beneath them. Go any farther, and he’d be a sitting duck.
Frank.
John had to get him out of there.
Dear Lord, give me strength
.
No more time for thinking; he had to act.
John took a deep breath, stooped down, and started a crab-walk toward Frank.
THIRTEEN
Bailey clutched the counter, her knuckles white. She watched the attackers around the backs of her friends, who were all clustered on the other side. As if frozen from some other world, Ted’s contract and pen lay near the other end of the counter. Had he only been signing it minutes ago?
The two older men pointed guns at them all. Shock