“He’s hot,” Trixie said thoughtfully, digging into her salad. “Looks like a cop, though.”
Pippa jolted. “How so?”
“His eyes. Reminds me of that cop outside of, where was it? Milwaukee. Except not so furious. Well, maybe a little angry.” Trixie chewed for a few moments, her gaze over Pippa’s shoulder. “Yeah. He has a nice smile, but there’s boiling emotion in him. Right?”
Pippa nodded. “I think so. He’s an ex-cop, by the way.” She leaned over and swiped the brown contacts out of her eyes. If she tried to keep them in while having ice cream with Malcolm, he’d definitely notice.
Trixie sighed. “Once a cop, always a cop. You know if they ever catch us, we’re done for. They have our fingerprints.”
“Maybe.” She could feel Malcolm’s presence in the diner. “Maybe the family lied to us. Maybe nobody has our fingerprints. We were just kids, Trix.”
Trixie nodded. “That’s true. But are you going to take the chance?”
Pippa bit her lip again. She was tired ofnottaking chances. At some point, didn’t she have to start living? If not, what had she been fighting for?
Chapter Ten
Malcolm sat across from the lawyer and ran his gaze down his expensive suit. “You couldn’t dress down for a diner in the middle of nowhere?” he drawled.
Comstock set down the stained menu with a long-suffering sigh. “I was in court, flew my ass down here, am meeting with you, and then flying back to effin’ court.” When the waitress appeared, he gave her a thousand-dollar smile and asked for the special.
“I’ll have the same,” Mal said, not giving a crap what the special was.
His earbud crackled. “Talked to a couple of truckers. They said to order the pastrami,” Angus Force said easily.
Wolfe snorted, and Malcolm cut him a hard look across the diner. The soldier was sitting in a booth by himself, facing the door. They’d left Angus outside because Pippa had seen him the other day. “I ordered the pastrami,” Wolfe said, tucking in his chin. “I’ve gotten several pictures of the woman with Pippa. Who’s following her after lunch?”
“I am,” Angus said.
Malcolm tuned back in to whatever the lawyer was saying. “I’m not testifying,” he said, just in case that was where the conversation had turned.
“You don’t have to. God. Don’t you listen?” Comstock muttered, wiping off his utensils on the napkin. “I just need you to run me through the evidence specifically against these two guys. The file is a little light, and I’m sure it’s just because they weren’t high up in the organization.”
Jesus. The last thing in the world Mal wanted to remember was those morons. But he recounted every detail, more than once, while the attorney made notes. They finished their sandwiches.
Thankfully, both Force and Wolfe mainly stayed silent through the earpiece.
Finally, Comstock sat back. “That’s enough. They’ll have to plea out. Thank you, Detective.”
“I’m not a detective.” Mal wanted to get back to Pippa. Why the hell did she have a go-bag?
His earbud crackled. “We have movement out here,” Angus said tersely, the wind whistling through the line.
Mal stiffened and angled more to the side so he could ask, “How many?”
“How many what?” Comstock asked, counting out bills for lunch.
“Two cars. One going out back,” Angus said. “Shit! Get down, get down, get down!”
Mal launched himself into motion, grabbing Comstock by the neck and tossing him to the floor. He was halfway back to Pippa when the front windows exploded with gunfire. “Get down!” he yelled. He reached her as she was trying to run from the booth. He smashed into both her and Trixie, forcing them beneath the table. “Stay right there.” Yanking his SIG from the back of his waist, he crouched down, covering them.
More bullets sprayed through the window. Several people were screaming, and the scent of blood, hot and coppery, filled the day. Pie pans exploded, spitting bits of apple and crust into the air.
Wolfe maneuvered gracefully besides the booths, heading for the front door. “How many?” he asked into his comm.
Three quick shots echoed from the front of the building, all in rapid succession. “Three in front . . . down,” Angus said, his voice flat. “They weren’t looking behind themselves. Watch the back door. I’ll head around. Looked like two unfriendlies in the truck as it drove by, but I can’t be sure.”
High-pitched screams and the patter of gunfire flashed into Malcolm’s brain, mixing with the last time he’d been shot. The two moments combined, fuzzing his thoughts. His body froze. His heart rate accelerated and his lungs solidified.
