White Tiger

“You can’t fight guns with a sword,” Addie protested. “Are you nuts?”

Kendrick’s eyes sparkled with sudden heat. “If you mean crazy, yes I am. I’m one crazy bastard, which is what’s going to save my sons. Be ready.”

“But what are you going to do?” Addie asked in a worried whisper.

“What I have to.” Kendrick reached out and traced one scarred finger down Addie’s cheek.

Addie lost all her breath again. His touch traced fire, his eyes softening as the rest of his square face remained grim. Dark whiskers brushed his skin, the bristles also black mixed with white. Addie had a sudden, insane curiosity about whether his hair was like that all the way down . . .

The look in Kendrick’s eyes changed to one of consternation, and Addie realized she’d become fixed in place, staring at him.

“Right.” Addie broke away and quickly scrambled the short distance on hands and knees to the freezer door, sitting down next to the three boys.

“Robbie.” Kendrick transferred his hard gaze to the oldest boy and took a firm grip on the sword. “Take care of them.”

“Yes, Dad,” Robbie whispered, his gray eyes round, his look old for his age.

“I’ll take care of them,” Addie said, putting her hand on Robbie’s thin back. “You just take care of yourself.”

Kendrick sent her another long look that held a hint of a smile, a feral one. Then he . . . leapt.

It was weird—he sprang from a crouch up to the pass—the shelf where the cook put the completed dishes—then was through it and down the other side. It happened in only a second, from the time Addie drew a breath to releasing it again. Kendrick was gone, making no noise at all.

Signal—Addie was supposed to wait for a signal. Kendrick hadn’t said what signal. She should have had him make that clear, but then, she’d never been in a situation like this before. She didn’t have a checklist of what she needed to know.

Shouting sounded outside, but she heard nothing from Kendrick. If he’d hidden himself somewhere in the diner, he wasn’t making a sound.

Robbie sat up next to Addie, huddling with his arms around his knees. The two littler boys remained on their stomachs, silent and waiting. Addie’s body was cold, the floor hard under her butt, fear making her chest ache. She put her arm around Robbie but he didn’t lean into her. He was trying to be brave but she felt him shiver.

The kids shouldn’t be here. She had to get them to safety, call the police or the sheriff or at least 911. But, as Addie had realized, her cell phone was across the room in her locker, along with her purse. She kept the keys to her car in her pocket, but the rest of her life was in the small locker on the other side of the kitchen.

More shouting came from outside, men’s voices raised in anger, then gunshots, violence boiling around her world.

All at once a man screamed, the sound high, harsh, and full of terror.

Had that been Kendrick? Please, no. Addie’s heart thudded until it sickened her.

Another male scream came, and then a long, low growling filled the spaces between the noise, like a wild beast on the loose.

At the animal sound, the boys perked up. Brett and Zane sat up, eyes sparkling. Robbie even grinned.

The growling escalated and became snarls of vicious rage. There was more shouting, screaming, gunshots. A man, yelling, charged straight into the diner, glass crunching under his feet. Addie saw him through the pass, a big man, who turned around and fired behind him. The sound of the gunshot was right on top of them, deafening.

Addie clapped her hands over her ears. The man swung back to the pass and tried to jump up through it. He saw Addie and their eyes met for a brief moment, his wide and frantic.