I press down on the gas pedal harder.
The worst part will be the emotional toll this information takes on her. But not telling her when—according to Brent—Bran has plans for her would be even worse.
The shadows from the imposing trees lining the road darken across the asphalt.
Faster, faster, faster, I chide myself.Get to Lily.
I can’t lose her, too.
When the diner comes into view, I ignore the parking lot and slam into park, half my truck up on the curb. Jumping out, I run toward the front door, but someone saying my name stops me.
It’s not the raspy voice laced with hidden sarcasm I seek. No, this voice is demanding and therefore instantly irritating.
“Noah,” he says again, and when I look up, Paul approaches. “Leave it alone, Noah. This is bigger than you.”
“I’m getting really fed up with people telling me that. What the hell is your problem, Paul? Be the damn sheriff.”
“He’s too powerful. Backed by the cartel, telling him to get out of our town is almost laughable.”
I glance toward the door, stepping back in that direction. “I could give two shits about his resume. I need to find Lily.”
When I turn to ignore him, his hand pinches my shoulder. “I can’t let you do that.”
I snarl. “You, too? Under his damn thumb? You’re supposed to protect and serve.”
Lily was right about him. How she knew I don’t know, but hell, I’m starting to hate law enforcement, too. Is everyone corrupt? Looking out for their own agenda.
He steps forward, reaching for me.
“I will take you out before you keep me from going in there, Paul. Don’t be stupid.”
In one fluid motion, he draws his gun—barrel aimed straight at my face. “Let her go, Noah. As an old friend. He’s going to have her. She’s his.”
There’s no time for fear, no space for second-guessing what I’m about to do.
I move. Fast. Pure training kicking in.
My hand snaps up, slamming into his wrist, and forcing the gun upward. A shot cracks in the air, and several screams from unseen people across the street echo along the building façade. Driving my other hand into his elbow, I force it the wrong way. He grunts, stumbling back, but I’m already twisting his wrist, and gun bucks free.
I catch it before it hits the ground, and for a split second, he stares at me. His gaze flicks to the gun and then to me, eyes wide.
I bat away the devil on my shoulder, whispering to pull the trigger.
I exhale slowly, steadying my aim. “She isn’t anyone’s.”
Sirens scream in the distance, and I gesture with the gun toward the sidewalk.
Paul knows the drill, and he kneels, hands up behind his head.
“All the way down. On your stomach.”
The screeching of police sirens gets closer, and I barely wait for his stomach to contact the pavement before I take off for the diner.
“You’re making a mistake!” he yells.
The bell above the door jangles as I shove it open, the sound too cheery for the way my heart slams against my ribs. Something deep-fried and burned lingers in the warm air, mingling with the thick scent of grilled burgers and buttered toast.
Several sets of eyes pin me when I walk in the door, some people scramble over each other at the diner windows, frantic. Others smoosh down into their booths, eyes wide with the way I’ve blown in here. The thought is fleeting as I make a sweep through the diner, searching.
