I’m reaching for the door when a sharp pop hits the air.
Less than a second later, an unexpected pain rips through my side.
“Ah!” I buckle, using the car to steady my fall.
Something just stung my torso.
Not something.
A bullet.
My elbow hits the window just as another one pings off the hood.
“Shit!” Wrenching the door open, I fall behind the wheel and start the engine with shaking fingers.
Luis is running toward me, his gun aiming straight for my head.
I punch the gas and duck. The car screeches away just as the back window shatters. Gunning it, I haul ass through the gate and swerve onto the road.
Luis will be calling for backup and running for the SUV. There’s no way they won’t chase me down. They’ve got connections all over this town, including some dirty cops they keep well-funded. I need to get out of this city as fast as I can.
Risking it, I press the accelerator to the floor and put as much distance between me and Sloan’s crew as I possibly can, praying the whole way that I won’t get pulled over by a cop—clean or dirty.
3
A Drop-out Waitress with a Plan
I hate cops.
Not all cops, just the arrogant ones who think they’re better than everybody else. Who strut into my family diner like they own the damn place and I should grovel at their feet because they’re worthier than me or something.
Well, he’s not the only customer here today, so he can just be served when I’m good and ready.
“Annie, honey. The Righteous Three are waitin’.” Celia points with a thumb over her shoulder.
I give her a pleading look, but she just shakes her salt-and-pepper curls. “I’m already looking after four other tables. You’ve only got two.”
“I’ll trade with you.” I grab her hand, but she flicks me off.
“Dean hates when we do that. And I don’t want to get you in trouble. Just put on a polite smile and ignore everything they say to you. Except the order. You need to get that part right.” She winks and grins.
I give her a deadpan glare that just makes her laugh as she grabs the tray of drinks and weaves her way to the back booth.
Mateo dumps a plate of food on the counter. I wrinkle my nose at it, wishing our chef had even a sliver of class. The burger is basically toppling over, the fries falling into the wilting salad. The guy needs some lessons on plating. I swear, this diner would be out of business if it weren’t the only one in Buckland Springs. I don’t even know why people keep coming back here day after day, night after night.
Duke’s Diner used to be the hub of this little town, but then Grandpa Duke died and Gramma Holly started losing her mind. Mama married Dean, and it’s been a steady downward slide from there. He convinced her to change this place into Duke’s Bar and Grill. I’m pretty sure he was gunning to change the name to Dean’s Bar and Grill, but she held fast on that part at least.
That didn’t stop him from spending all our capital by building a bar next door, though. It’s changed the whole feel of this place. The bar opens at five o’clock every night and steals the charm of this family diner within minutes.
Loading up my tray with the sad-looking burger and a plate of fried chicken, I carry it out to Table Nine. They’re obviously just passing through. We don’t get many tourists in this place, but sometimes people like to take the back roads instead of the main highway up to Oklahoma City.
“Here you go.” I smile, setting down the food and hoping they don’t mind how dismal it looks.
Fingers crossed it tastes okay.
I hate that Dean is running this place into the ground. Why he doesn’t fire Mateo is beyond me. The guy is the worst cook in the world.
“Thank you.” The woman smiles, and for just a moment, I wish I was her.
She looks so free and happy, sitting opposite her husband with a relaxed grin on her face.
“You two travelin’ far today?” I can’t help asking.
“Up to Oklahoma City,” the man replies. “We’ve been on the road for a couple of months now, working our way through the country.”
“The road trip of a lifetime.” The woman grins.
They sound like they’re from California or someplace like that.
“Well, I hope you enjoy your meal in Buckland Springs.”
“Thank you.” They both smile at me, and I walk away from the table.
“I Want to Break Free” is playing on the jukebox, and it’s all I can focus on as I force my legs to Table Eleven.
Every Wednesday at two thirty on the dot, the “Righteous Three” walk into this place and ruin my day. Duke’s always closes between three and five. It’s the only decent break I get, yet they wander in here half an hour beforehand and expect service until they’re done. It means on a Wednesday, my afternoon break is cut from two hours down to one and a half, if I’m lucky.
Stupid men. I glare at the minister, the chief of police and the mayor as I walk to their table. They think they own this town, and maybe they kind of do. They’re the most influential men around here, and that’s all well and good if they like you.
The problems happen when they don’t.
“Afternoon, gentlemen.” I force my lips north and pull a pad and pen from my apron pocket. “What can I get for you today?”
Mayor Abernathy frowns at me for interrupting him. I bite my lips together and keep my eyes drilled on the pad. “The kitchen is closing up in just a minute, so I’m sorry to rush your order, but as you know, we close at three o’clock every afternoon.”
Police Chief Hank Keyes clears his throat, his withering gaze turning me into a maggot. “I’ll take a plate of skins and a cup of coffee.”
“Make that two.” Minister White raises two fingers. “With extra cheese and sour cream.”
I write it down, although I don’t really need to. He always orders the same damn thing.
“And for you, Mr. Abernathy?”
He glowers at me. He hates that I refuse to call him Mayor Abernathy, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. Now if his title was something like Jerk-face Abernathy or Jackass Abernathy, I could probably handle that. But he didn’t used to be mayor of this town, and when I was a kid, he was mister. So he can damn well stay a mister.
“I’ll have a slice of the apple pie with whipped cream, and a cup of tea.”
“Alrighty.” I gather up the menus, not understanding why we go through this ritual every week. They come here so often they probably know the thing by heart, but it’s just the way things are done around here, I guess. Routine is everything.
I take the order back to Mateo, who is already taking off his apron.
“Hold up! We’ve got one more order come in.”
“Gimme a break, Annie. You shouldn’t be taking orders this late.”
“It’s the Righteous Three. What the hell am I supposed to do?”
With a string of mumbled curses, Mateo snatches the order off me and gets busy. He’s always trying to cut out early when he can, but Dean won’t let him get away with disrespecting the Righteous Three. He’s not stupid. Well, not about this anyway.