Countdown to Zero Hour Read Online Free PDF Page A

broken and hurt. She’d run before the cops had arrived, and there’d been no contact since. There had been one mention on a local website about trouble outside a club, and three or four of the people who’d been standing outside had mentioned the fight on social media, but there weren’t a lot of details. Everyone seemed to know it wasn’t their business, and to say anything about it would draw them into the danger.
    She was in it. That was her secret. Since that night, she’d worn her denim jacket like armor, even though the days were warm. She was fully aware of a perilous criminal world and she was planning on going back to turn a profit, instead of running as far away as possible. Which made her a crook, too. Like Art, who was always at the center of her thoughts. Coiled, a knife in both hands, smiling.
    “The daikons are fresh.” Carol, the Chinese woman who ran one of the better food stalls, picked up one of the glowing white radishes and shaved off a slice with a pocket knife. “Sharp, but a little sweet.”
    Hayley took it, and the quick burn of the daikon’s spice brought her a few miles closer to the rest of the world. But could she look Carol in the eye without the other woman knowing she’d waded into deep criminal water?
    She selected a couple of daikons and handed them to Carol to be weighed. “You have dill?”
    “With the herbs.” Carol pointed to the piles of green bundles. “Planning something?”
    “Experimenting.” Hayley picked through the dill stalks, finding the freshest and firmest. This was how it was supposed to be. Collecting what was in season, finding a way to use it and presenting it to the diners in her restaurant. “The daikon will go great in a simple cucumber salad. Sour cream, dill, lemon juice.”
    But she didn’t have a restaurant. Just a steam cart and a handshake with a mob boss.
    “Sounds excellent.” The woman bagged the radishes and the dill Hayley gave her. “Still waiting for you to open your own place.”
    Hayley took a long breath. “It’s going to be a while longer.” The first night of sales from the cart had been decent. How many more of those would it take to pay her mom back? And how long after that until she got into the black?
    Carol looked on with sympathy. News of Hayley and Burton’s breakup had made the rounds through the restaurant and food service community months ago.
    Then Carol’s face lit up. “Just a whim, try bitter melon in the salad.” The woman comped Hayley one in the bag. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be there opening night.”
    Opening night. She’d worked so hard for that moment, to see her mother and family there, sitting at a table, sharing her food and clinking generous glasses of wine over low candles. What had been so close now tasted impossible.
    And the main reason was probably sauntering through the same farmer’s market searching for just the right ingredient. Hayley fought the welling of hot tears.
    “Thanks, Carol.” She took the offered bag of produce from the woman. “Don’t need a restaurant. As soon as I have a decent dining table, I’ll have you over for dinner.”
    The woman’s eyes glinted, mischievous. “I’ll bring the wild card ingredients.” Then she glared over Hayley’s shoulder. “He’s here. Just up the aisle to your left.”
    The muscles between her shoulder blades knotted. But she wasn’t about to run and hide from Burton. He was a son of a bitch with cold feet and a cold heart. She had kept cooking.
    She turned, a small sneer on her lips. Burton saw her and stared back, about three stalls away. The harsh sun beat down. Everything glowed in a haze except Burton. His shaggy blond hair was deliberately tousled around his clean-cut and handsome face. Lanky and muscular, he was at least a head taller than most of the people around him. He held a couple of bags of produce and wore his usual shorts and a T-shirt. His customary easygoing surfer-guy chill seemed frozen.
    They’d run