White Tiger

Addie simply said, “I’ll be right back,” and ducked into the kitchen to fetch the pie.

She took out the pieces, already sliced on their plates, and sprinkled a little extra cocoa powder on the banana cream ones from the dented shaker on the shelf.

Jimmy, the guy who washed dishes, wasn’t there. He liked to duck out for a smoke right at closing time, coming back in when Bo got there to finish the cleanup. Addie hummed, alone in the kitchen, her pulse still high from that look black-and-white man had given her.

If Addie marched out there and said to him, sure, she was interested—in a discreet way in front of his kids—would he break down and tell her his name?

Or would he take her somewhere and make love to her with silent strength, the same way he walked or ate his piece of pie, as though he savored every bite? Would Addie mind that?

She pictured him above her in the dark, his green eyes on her while she ran her hands all over his tight, beautiful body.

Nope, she wouldn’t mind that at all.

She picked up two pieces of pie, still humming. At the same time, she heard a scratching at the back door.

Bo? Addie set down the pie and walked over. Bo always used his key to get in—they kept the back door locked. Even though the small town of Loneview was pretty safe, robbers passing through might seize an opportunity.

Bo often couldn’t get his key into the lock—his hands shook with a palsy that ran in his family. Jimmy often had to help him, or Addie would open the door for him. Bo was a bit early, but he was sometimes.

Addie reached for the door just as something banged into it.

“Bo? You okay?” Addie unlocked the deadbolt and carefully turned the doorknob.

The door fell inward, a heavy weight on it. Addie looked down.

A curious detachment came over her as she saw Jimmy the dishwasher, a guy of about thirty with greasy brown hair and beard stubble. He was dead, his brown eyes staring sightlessly. She knew he was dead because he had a gaping red hole where his heart used to be.

If this had been a movie, Addie would be screaming, fainting, sobbing, saying, Oh my God, or running outside crying, Somebody, help!

Instead, she stood there, as though caught in treacle, unable to move, think, talk, or even breathe.

A faint noise sounded outside, and Addie raised her head. She saw the round muzzle of a gun, one of the automatic ones that shot however many rounds a minute. Her breath poured back into her lungs, burning, and she knew she was looking at her own death.

A rush of air passed her, and the door slammed shut. At the same time a pair of strong arms closed around her, propelling her to the floor, the man with black-and-white hair landing on top of her.

In the front of the diner, every window shattered as bullets flew through them. Glass exploded through the open pass between the kitchen and dining area, as did bullets, shards of cups and plates, tatters of napkins.

The kids, Addie thought in panic. Where were the boys?

There they were, huddled against the door to the freezer. How the man had gotten them in here so fast and out of sight Addie didn’t know, but her body went limp with relief to see them.

“Who’s doing this?” Addie squeaked. “What—”

The man clamped his hand over her mouth. “Shh.” His voice was a low rumble. “I need to you to be very quiet, all right?”

CHAPTER TWO

Addie, mouth dry, nodded. The man took his hand away after a few seconds but he didn’t rise or move from her, the weight of him warm.

The boys, Addie noticed, were utterly still. No panicking, no crying—they lay silently on the floor, heads down, as though they did things like this all the time. Sad thought.

The deadly barrage of bullets ceased after a few heart-stopping moments but the man still didn’t lift himself from Addie. He lay full-length on her on the grease-spattered floor, too strong for her to slide out from under him. His face was turned away from hers, bringing his hair and the curve of his neck in front of her eyes.