“The south alarm just tripped again. Someone’s moving toward the road.”
My throat went dry. “Fred saw a truck. Black pickup. No plates.”
He cursed under his breath. “Stay inside. Don’t leave with the girls. You hear me?”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I hear you.”
Fred hung up his phone. “You girls need to come upstairs.”
Nora blinked. “Why? What’s?—”
“Now.” That was all he said.
No one argued. Fallon grabbed her purse. Tayla reached for her coat. We followed Fred down the narrow hall, which smelled of flour and coffee, our footsteps uneven on the cracked linoleum. The metal stairs behind the kitchen were cold and steep. My hand slipped on the railing as we climbed.
The apartment above the café was small, but it initially felt safe. The furniture was mismatched. The floral curtains sagged a little. The quilt on the couch had been there since Fallon married Nash. Fred’s boots hit the floor once, heavy and certain. Then he locked the door behind us.
“Phones on silent,” he said. “Stay away from the windows.”
Nora tried to laugh, but her voice cracked. “Fred, you’re scaring me.”
“Good,” he said simply. He went to the window and lifted the edge of the curtain. “Truck’s still there. Been idling for at least ten minutes. Black. No plates.”
My stomach dropped. “The same truck from the ridge?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But whoever’s in it keeps looking this way.”
Fallon’s face went pale. Tayla muttered something under her breath that sounded like a prayer.
Fred turned to the closet. The scrape of wood against metal followed, then the hard, mechanical sound of a shotgun being pulled free. He checked it once, loaded it, and stood ready.
Nora’s voice was small. “You keep that up here?”
“Been years since I needed it,” Fred said. “But I didn’t throw it out.”
He moved back to the window, posture relaxed but steady. His face didn’t show fear, but the air around him changed.
Fallon stepped closer to me, her hand brushing mine. Her voice came out barely a whisper. “If he comes in.”
Fred didn’t turn around. “He won’t. If he does, he won’t get far. Stay put.”
The hum of the engine outside sank into the floor. I could feel it in my shoes, a faint vibration like the building itself was holding its breath.
The silence pressed heavily. Tayla crossed her arms and started pacing. “How long are we supposed to just sit here?”
“As long as it takes,” Fred said. “Lincoln’s on his way.”
That made my throat tighten. I wanted to believe that meant we were safe. I wanted to believe everything would be fine now that he knew.
Time stretched. The room grew warmer, stuffier. The smell of coffee turned bitter. Every creak of the old wood made us jump. The sound of a door closing somewhere outside made Nora flinch.
Tayla pulled the curtain an inch before Fred said sharply, “Don’t.” She stepped back, eyes wide, muttering an apology.
Fallon sank into the couch, hands twisted in her lap. “This is ridiculous,” she whispered. “We’re sitting ducks.”
“No,” I said softly, forcing my voice to stay even. “We’re fine. Fred knows what he’s doing.”
But my pulse told a different story.
