His eyes narrowed, then widened as if he’d figured it out. “You were there.”
“You’re catching on,” I said.
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “How do you know I don’t have a weapon on me?”
I didn’t flinch. “If you do, it would be mighty dumb to use it here.”
He glanced around then, really looking: the crowded booths, the counter full, the hum of conversation, Lara moving briskly between tables. He leaned back, jaw tight.
That’s when the bell over the diner door jingled.
“Morning, Mayor Madison!”
“Good to see you, Mayor!”
“Doing a wonderful job, Mayor!”
My mother paused just inside the door, smiling and greeting people as she made her way through the diner. Her eyes landed on me, surprise flickering briefly before she headed over.
“Pepper,” she said, sliding into the booth beside me as though this was exactly where she’d planned to sit. “I was hoping I’d run into you.” She glanced at the man across from us, then back to me. “Is Ian on his way to meet you?” She smiled pointedly. “Your boyfriend.”
The man stiffened but stayed seated. “I’m just passing through.”
My mother gave him a polite nod, then looked at me, eyebrows lifting slightly as if to say,Care to explain?
He cleared his throat. “I really should get going.”
He hesitated, fingers tightening around his mug. “That information you said you had for me?”
I smiled. “The FBI is in town.”
My mother turned to him. “Why would that interest you?”
He swallowed hard, and his gaze flicked toward the door, shoulders tensing, every line of him ready to bolt.
The bell jingled again.
My dad walked in and there was no mistake, he was the sheriff, gun and all.
He took one look around the diner, spotted us, and headed straight for the booth.
I saw it before the guy moved. The flick of his eyes. The subtle shift in his shoulders.
The guy’s gaze dropped to the table, landing on the butter knife resting beside his plate. Not much of a weapon—barely more than a suggestion—but in the wrong hands, and with fear driving the choice, even foolish tools could become dangerous.
I leaned forward just enough for him to hear me. “Don’t be stupid. Surrender. Cut a deal. Turn the others in.”
His jaw worked. Sweat beaded at his temple.
That’s when my dad reached the table.
He stopped dead, eyes narrowing as they locked on the man’s face. I knew that look. It wasn’t suspicion—it was recognition.
“Well, look who we have here,” my dad said, keeping his voice calm.
The man’s breath hitched.
“Just so you know what you’re up against. Your photo, your rap sheet, and where you were last seen, Willow Lake, has reached every surrounding sheriff’s department. There is no place for you to hide.”
