Maybe she needed to fix herself a cup of something to calm her nerves and take her mind off of him.
She made the three coffees, calling the customers up one at a time as she finished each one.
She turned to clean the smoothie blender.
When she finished and turned back to the room, she discovered John stood at the counter, waiting patiently and still watching her.
She glanced down, happy to see the white blouse she wore beneath her apron was still buttoned properly. “Can I help you? Was the coffee all right?”
“The coffee’s perfect. I was wondering…”
His words just kind of faded. For several long seconds he wasn’t the man on a mission she first thought he was. He looked uncertain. And his uncertainty was like a cheap shirt that didn’t fit well on him.
“Yes?”
“Would you care to have dinner with me tonight, Abigail?”
Had he felt that little zing, too, when they’d touched? She no longer licked her lips. Now, she bit her bottom one.
Just say no. It should be easy. No, thank you. Then smile, like you’ve done to countless men who asked you out in the past five years. No. You can say it. Go ahead. Say it.
“I close at six.” She couldn’t believe her own words, couldn’t believe what simply popped out when she opened her mouth.
He gave her that little acknowledging nod again. “I can be here at five after. We can walk anywhere you’d like to any of the restaurants down here or I could drive to someplace special if you’d like.”
“Walking might be best.” She told herself if they walked to a place close by in this downtown area, she could cut and run if she needed, considering she lived in the apartment above her shop.
“Okay.” His smile looked like one of relief.
Had he been afraid to ask her? The last thing he looked like was a man who would have fear, any fear. He was simply too sure of himself. “I’ll be back later, then.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Her heart raced again with the idea and it felt as if it somehow moved up into her throat where it choked her. But now that the words were out, she wasn’t going to take them back. Not after what she’d felt when she touched his hand.
He’d set his cup of coffee on the counter just before he asked her. Now he picked it up again. With another nod, he turned and went toward the door. Before he could open it, however, his phone chimed. He paused, moved to the side away from the door and answered it.
She forced a painful swallow and watched him, purposefully not trying to eavesdrop on his conversation. She still wasn’t even sure why she’d agreed to dinner or how he’d managed to get her to agree so easily. She sucked in a deep breath and told herself not every man was bad. She again scratched her stomach. Not every man…
“Yeah?” he said.
His expression changed in the blink of an eye as he listened, holding the phone to his ear. Obviously, it was bad news. His expression darkened, but wasn’t anything like the look that haunted her past…
He talked softer. She heard muffled words. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m in a little place, this little coffee shop called Lotta Latte. No, I’m fine. Why don’t you guys meet me here?”
Then he looked up and met her gaze and his expression softened, going back to how he’d looked when he asked her to dinner, as he listened. He turned toward the window and looked out.
She watched him move back to his table after he stabbed his phone with his finger to end his call. He held his left arm to his body as if cradling it, his coffee in his right hand as he sat back down. “I’ve got some friends coming. We’ll be ordering more coffee. They may even want a few sandwiches or something.”
“All right.” She smiled at him. Yes, he was a man on a mission. His eyes softened when he looked at her. She found herself drawn to that.
Not all men hurt women.
Not all men wished to cut them up. The man who had cut her had had dead eyes, no emotion at all when he held his knife. She remembered that well.
She’d gone through months of therapy trying to rid herself of those thoughts. Seriously, what were her chances of meeting two monsters in five years? Was it the same as winning the lottery twice? Getting struck by lightning? Finding Bigfoot? She wiped the counter. Fear and anticipation swirled through her like a tornado. She wanted to go to dinner. She longed for normalcy. And she told herself it was time to be just that.
At the same time, she was terrified. If there was no one in the shop, she planned to close a few minutes early to duck upstairs, clean up, and change after a long day in her coffee shop. Her main employee, Ellie Westfall, was on a personal family leave, and Abby had worked most days for the past three weeks by herself with help of a few college people at times. Still, she planned to allow herself a few minutes at close. Any more than that, and she might change her mind. She glanced at the clock. She had nine hours.
She looked up again at John, deciding when his friends arrived, she’d top his coffee for free. She looked forward to seeing him with his friends. She saw a huge ocean of emotion in John’s eyes.
She also knew the monster who had hurt her had had no friends. Perhaps a few criminal acquaintances, but no real friends. Hell, his family didn’t even want him around. She’d learned through her recuperation time, too.
Chapter Three
With his left pointer finger, John stabbed the end button on his phone. A sharp bite of hot pain flashed down his arm from his shoulder, reminding him it wasn’t a good idea to move that way. The pain dissipated, but his rage and frustration barreled through him like a herd of bulls on the streets of Pamplona. He was sorry he hadn’t taken this call at home on the special phone in his office. Then he would have had the satisfaction of slamming it down. He sat back down in the seat he’d vacated moments ago.
The bastard who’d shot him was cooperating with the Feds! Well, of course he was. Truth be told, John expected nothing less. But the idea sliced through him like a razor blade. FBI Agent Brubaker was now in charge. Brubaker, who cut more deals than a used car salesman. Brubaker, who screwed more people over than a carpenter with a new set of tools. Brubaker, who was known to negotiate the least little bit of information for a lighter sentence and less charges.
Un-fucking-believable!
All the damned evidence gathered against Bob Smith, one of the worst criminals John had ever come across—evidence that was still being pieced together and might take months, if not years, to determine just how much he really did—and he was working with Brubaker because Smith’s father was the former director of the FBI.
What the fuck!
John thought they might as well just set the bastard free now. Why waste anyone’s time or the taxpayers’ money?
Just how lucky—or unlucky—could his team get? They’d been undercover for weeks working to stop that prick. Countless people were threatened, a few were dead, several had been injured, including one of his team and another local cop. His own son had been in danger. And John had been shot.
And the guy was probably going to get out, breathing free air.
Great system.
He should stop fretting about it. He couldn’t change it. He could only catch the bad guys. He didn’t get to be judge and jury, too.
He hadn’t been back to work yet since the shooting. Hell, he hadn’t been anywhere but the hospital and his house, walking around his yard. Today was his first day out in the world. He’d eaten an early breakfast at a place called Mac’s. At the time, the eggs and fried potatoes had slid down easily. Now they felt as if they boiled in his stomach.
Then he’d seen this quaint little coffee shop. He knew the woman who helped them catch the prick who’d shot him worked here. She had actually shot him. John was just sorry he had been in recovery and hadn’t been there to see that. Something about the place called to him. He found it warm and inviting. He found the owner, Abby, was warm and inviting. So, he’d stayed to enjoy reading his newspaper there while having another cup of coffee
. The next thing he knew, he was asking the owner to dinner. What was he thinking? He’d be forty-five on his next birthday. He bet she wasn’t even thirty. Just what he needed to do—rob the cradle. The last thing she needed was an old man like him. An old man who was bitter about his job and uncertain about life right now. An old man whose job it was to do whatever necessary to catch the bad guys.
But she’d said yes.
Maybe he should go back to the counter and tell her he changed his mind.
No.
He wasn’t a man who changed his mind.
Besides, he couldn’t deny there was something about her gray eyes that called to him. She wasn’t afraid to meet his gaze. And what better way to jump back into life than to meet someone new. It was only dinner. He was allowed to make new friends. He was allowed to have dinner.
He was allowed to live. He simply needed to keep reminding himself of that.
He liked her short, chic dark hair, and he found himself wondering how her pretty, pouty lips would kiss. She wasn’t very tall, a whole head shorter than he, and she was curvy. Curvy looked nice on her and still was evident beneath the apron she wore over her white blouse and jeans.
And he’d been drawn to her voice. A mixture of throaty, deep and breathy. He wanted to listen to her more. It was easy to envision her at something like a poetry reading.
Even though he’d never been to one, had never even considered going to one.
The truth was she was about as opposite of Susan’s lanky build and blond hair and soprano voice as she could get.
And that worked for him. He didn’t want to spend time with any woman he might glance at and think he saw a hint of Susan. That wouldn’t work.
He glanced over at her and caught her watching him. Was that fear he saw in her eyes? He thought so. He wondered what she might be afraid of, certainly not him. Maybe he’d be given a chance to find out. But not until dinner. And in between now and then, he’d touch base with his team, get back into the game, find out what the hell was going on with one of the greatest career criminals he’d ever managed to catch. Alive.
He gave her a small smile. Abigail was her name. He liked that, too. It fit her. He found himself looking forward to dinner. The sweet anticipation was going to have to see him through the rage that still gripped him that he was forced to push aside. He’d learned a long time ago, there was no place for emotion in his job.
He allowed himself another second of looking at her. Then the chimes over the door sounded. He looked up and saw Gil, his right-hand man, step into the shop.
Chapter Four
Sarah Cummings was late for class.
She muttered a damn under her breath, knowing full well what that meant as she raced across the parking lot. It meant if she was the last student and none were absent, she wasn’t going to have a seat since there was one less seat than the number of students enrolled in her class. She was going to have to sit against the wall. On the floor. Everyone would know she was late. Everyone would see her walk in. There was no way in hell she could sneak in and then blend in. She would be today’s laughing stock, especially after Professor Largrove pointed her out, ‘welcoming’ her to class like he did every time someone walked in at more than one minute after the start. And it wouldn’t matter what her excuse was. It wouldn’t matter that her phone didn’t plug in all the way and went dead instead of charging, so her alarm didn’t go off. It wouldn’t matter that she’d stayed up all night studying for today’s physics quiz. And she knew damned good and well if she tried to use any of those excuses, Professor Largrove would sarcastically remind her it wasn’t his problem. She’d only been in Professor Largrove’s class a week, and already she knew him well.
She should be glad there was no rain. It was a warm, early fall day, but there were clouds gathering. There would probably be rain by the afternoon. At least she wasn’t trying to dodge raindrops or rushing between cars with her backpack and an umbrella.
Running between another row of parked cars, knowing the door was only another two rows away, she tried to quicken her pace, but the flip flops she wore didn’t make running easy.
A muffled sound caught her attention.
It was the sound of a baby crying.
In one of the parked cars.
Who would leave a baby out in a car?
An idiot, obviously.
Someone who deserved to be arrested.
Late or not, she had to check it out. It wasn’t a hot day, a baby probably wouldn’t get overheated on a day like today, but should still not be left in a car. She looked back. The sound came from a minivan three cars away. She was already late. Another minute or two was not going to make a difference now. She moved to the minivan and tried to look in through the windshield. The interior was dark, but the crying baby sound definitely came from inside.
Intent on helping, she knocked on the window, thinking maybe someone waited with the baby.
No one answered. The baby continued to cry.
Sarah tried the door. It was locked. “Is someone in there?”
A baby crying was the only reply. She looked around the parking lot. Because the time was now several minutes after the hour and most of the classes started on the hour, the lot was empty of people. She pulled out her phone, and dialed nine-one-one.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
“I’m in a parking lot at Southeast and there’s a baby in a locked van, crying.”
It was all she got out before a cloth sack was thrown over her face and she was grabbed from behind. She screamed and struggled to no avail. Her phone slipped from her hand. She was vaguely aware of the dispatcher calling out to her. Her “Help me!” didn’t seem to get very far. She kicked out, trying to kick her assailant, but felt she kicked her own phone which had landed on the pavement near her foot.
Then her face exploded with pain.
And there was nothing but darkness.
Chapter Five
Someone tried to dissect John’s team. But they all showed up to the meeting. Normally, they’d meet at the nearest federal building, or at times they met at a local law enforcement building. In the past, they’d even met at the hidden bunker at John’s house. But if Brubaker was in charge, none of them needed to be close to a federal building, or anywhere the Feds might have Bob Smith in custody, at least not until John had a few answers and a game plan.
He feigned needing a bigger table and moved to another closer to the window where they had a view of the entire room, away from others, away from any eavesdroppers when they arrived at the coffee shop. Gil, Tex, Dell, Orrey, Monty, George, Al, and Louis. Of course, on their previous undercover case, they’d been back to using code names and Gil was Maine, and they’d all had names for states. They had used this code for so long, John was surprised any of them remembered their real names. These names were just who they were when they were together.
Gil was first to arrive. John said nothing as Abby recognized him and greeted him. He replied in kind, asking her how she was before he sat down across from John. “How are you feeling?”
“Not too bad. A little twitchy. I move something the wrong way, or too suddenly, I get a shock going down my arm. How’s Ellie and her little boy?”
“Doing well.” He looked around. “This is actually where she works.”
“I know. I guess that’s how you know Abby.”
“It is. Normally, Ellie would be stepping through the door after she drops Raylan off at pre-school, but she’s taking a break for a few days.”
Before he commented more, George, Orrey, and Tex shuffled in, expanding on the conversation.
A few minutes later, when most of his crew were seated and seemingly talking at the same time, Abigail came over to the table after John nodded to her and took their orders for coffees, teas, one soda, three sandwiches, and two bowls of the soup of the day, which was broccoli with cheese. Within minutes, countless file folders that held photographs of evidence and a log of everything they had agains
t Bob Smith so far covered the table.
Dell was the last to arrive. Once he was seated with them, John asked, “How are you feeling?” During the last job, catching Smith, Dell had been paid for his services with a knife to the gut. It still amazed John what one lanky man could do.
“A little sore, but not too bad. I’m pretty sure I dealt with worse in the Gulf. I’ll be fine.”
“You should be at home, Sir.” Tex’s southern drawl fit him well as he addressed John.
They were all past military, had been a unit together half a globe away, protecting the free world from the threat of weapons of mass destruction. They worked well together. As far as John was concerned, they were family to him, as much a family as Charlie. He had told them over and over they no longer needed to call him Sir, but now he didn’t bother. He knew old habits died hard.
“Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine.” Actually, for the first time, his shoulder was itching the hell out of him. He turned to Gil. “Smith threatened to kill Ellie Westfall, her son Raylan, and so many other people.”
“Right now, everyone’s doing well, staying safe. I, of course, tried to get Ellie to take some more personal leave from here, but she said she needed normal, which meant getting back into a work routine, which she plans to do today as soon as she takes Raylan to school. Stan Lorentz, the local cop whose family Smith threatened, is also doing well. Smith cut him really bad, but he’s healing. He and his family are safe, too. And since he’s a cop—a good one—he knows how to serve and protect, even though he’s probably feeling a lot of guilt considering that bastard got so close to him and his family. His wife is in therapy. I think Ellie and Raylan are helping that family more than the therapy. Lorentz’s little boy, who thank God has gone into remission from his leukemia, spends a lot of time with Raylan when they aren’t in school. Monty’s been helping me watch out for them all this time while we’ve taken turns watching Smith. Since we know Smith obviously had long fingered connections and lots of associates to do his bidding, I plan to stay close to them.”
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