Amber Morn (3 page)

Paige shook her head and smiled. “Okay, Frank, Miss Seattle TV Reporter just appeared in all her glory. She needs to stop by her office for something; then we’ll be at Java Joint.”

He’d be there in about twenty minutes, Frank replied. Paige hung up, her anticipation fueled. She loved seeing her man in uniform.

THREE

Through a dirty living room window, Kent watched Brad stride to the pickup and climb inside. He swiped the two jackets on the seat — along with his own — onto the floor. Lenora stayed in the kitchen. Kent could hear her crying as Mitch told her good-bye.

Brad slid over to the middle of the truck’s seat. Staring straight ahead, arms crossed. Immovable.

“Dad, we got to
go
.” Mitch emerged from the kitchen in his jerky drugged walk. Lenora trailed him, her face splotchy and eyes red.

Kent gestured with his chin. “Go on out. I’m coming.”

“What’re you gonna do about Brad?”

“I’ll handle it.”

Mitch hitched a shoulder, then clomped out the door and down the porch steps. Kent turned back to hold Lenora.

They hugged in silence, hearts beating against each other’s chest. He pulled back, looked into her worn face. Lenora used to look young for her fifty-one years. Not anymore. She’d aged in the last seven months, her wrinkles deepened, crow’s-feet at her dulled eyes.

She raised her gaze to his. “Go, Kent. Do what you have to do.”

He flexed his jaw. “It’ll work, Lenora, I promise. And it won’t take long — a few hours. It’ll work.”

She managed a weak smile.

Kent broke away and walked out the front door. He resisted the urge to look back.

Mitch was pacing by the open passenger door of the truck, cussing at his brother to get out. Brad ignored him. He drew up when Kent approached and cocked his head to one side. Waved his skinny arms. “He ain’t listening.”

Kent got behind the wheel and started arguing all over again. Brad wouldn’t budge.

“Come
on
, Dad.” Mitch shifted from one foot to the other. “We’re behind schedule.”

Kent kept talking. Brad ignored him.

“
Forget
this.” Mitch clambered into the seat and slammed the door, sealing his brother’s place in the middle. “Easier with three anyway.” He kicked the jackets over toward Brad’s feet.

Kent spat a curse and glared at his oldest son. Mitch never had the sense to come in out of the rain. This was his worst choice yet.

Brad kept a stubborn focus through the windshield. “I told you I’m going, Dad. You
need
me.”

Kent pressed back in his seat. Wild thoughts flew around in his head. Like maybe they should call the whole thing off. Go back and try talking to the lawyers again.

Yeah, right. The talking hadn’t worked. And it never would. And now look at T.J. — in the prison hospital. That was Kent’s fault for waiting so long.
His
fault.

Rage and self-loathing twisted through Kent’s spine. He’d vowed to fix this situation today. And he would.

They needed to leave.
Now
.

Kent Wicksell took a long breath — and started the engine.

FOUR

At 7:25 a.m. Bailey Truitt’s spirits sang. What a beautiful morning! Dawn had blossomed over Kanner Lake in stunning shades of scarlet and peach, turning to a soothing amber glow as the sun rose. The temperature would be in the mid-eighties — unseasonably warm for Memorial Day weekend. And most of her fellow Scenes and Beans bloggers would soon gather at Java Joint for their celebration. Bailey’s husband, John, who suffered from epilepsy, felt good enough to come too. That was a blessing in itself, given the side effects he’d experienced with the new medication.

Bailey smiled as she foamed a biggie nonfat latte for Bev Trexel, the first to arrive. Ah, the familiar scent of coffee and milk and sweet pastries, the sizzle-and-gurgle of the espresso machine. They tickled Bailey’s senses as she pulled the drink away and set it down. “There you go, Miss Bev.” She pressed a plastic top over the cup and handed it across the counter to the retired English teacher. “No waiting in line — that’s what you get for being first.”

“Thank you.” Bev took a drink, satisfaction spreading across her powdered face. She looked mighty festive in a bright blue top and gold slacks. Quite the bold colors for Bev. Her white hair was perfectly coiffed as always. A standing weekly appointment at the beauty parlor kept it that way. “Where
is
everyone? It’s almost seven thirty.”

“Oh, they’re coming.” Bailey waved a hand. “You know this bunch. Like herding cats.”

Bev’s eyes glinted. “I think the saying should be ‘like herding Wilburs.’ Now
that
would be a trial.”

“True.” Bailey glanced out the window. “Speaking of…”

Bev’s expression flickered with sudden mischief. All innocence, she sidled toward the fourth counter stool and sat down.

Uh-oh.

Outside, Wilbur Hucks shuffled toward the door, wearing his yellow T-shirt with the cartoon face of a stupid-looking redneck. The typical shirt that tourists loved to buy read “I-duh-ho.” Wilbur hated that. He’d had his own custom version made: “You wear I-duh-ho, I tell ya where to go.”

Wilbur caught sight of Bev through the window — and a glower spread across his face. He pulled open the door.

“That’s my stool, woman!” He clomped across the floor, aiming for Bev’s back. She sat primly, one elbow on the counter, and sipped her drink.

Wilbur threw Bailey an exasperated look. “See what she’s doin’ to get my goat? Three other stools at the counter, and she takes mine.”

Bev raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see your name on it.”

Wilbur’s wizened face flushed to the roots of his white hair. “We’re supposed to be celebratin’ today, Bailey. Why you let her start settin’ me off?”

“Oh, Wilbur, you know you love it,” Bailey teased him with a smile. “What would you do if you couldn’t complain?”

“I ain’t here to complain. I’m here for the free coffee and pastries you promised.”

Bev lifted her chin, disapproval deepening her frown lines. “Sounds like good enough reason to take another stool for the day. Imagine that, Bailey, guzzling your coffee for
free
— and complaining about a little thing like where I choose to sit.”

“You know it ain’t no little thing.” Wilbur huffed. “Either I get my stool back, or I’m goin’ home to Trudy, where it’s nice and
peaceful
.”

In a silent dare, Bev stayed put.

Wilbur waited five seconds, muttering under his breath. Then turned himself around and stomped toward the door.

FIVE

Silence hung thick in the truck cab. Kent drove west toward Highway 41, fingers tight on the wheel. Kanner Lake was over twenty minutes from their house, which sat off Highway 95 just north of Hayden. He pressed the accelerator, on the watch for cops. They had to make up for lost time.

His mind whirled. Now that Brad was here, what should he do? Kent and Mitch had planned every move of the attack. Each second counted. Now tasks had to be refigured.

Kent mulled it over. Much as he hated to agree with Mitch, three men would make it easier. Now they could hold the hostages in the first few minutes while Brad did the busywork. Safer that way. Brad just might be a little too trigger-happy, and Kent didn’t want to lose any more hostages than was necessary up front. Hostages were bargaining chips.

When everything gelled in his mind, Kent announced the revised plans. His sons agreed without argument. That was something for Brad.

They drove in simmering revenge and determination. Every mile turned up the heat.

Mitch’s right leg jiggled. Harder and harder it went until the floor shook under Kent’s feet. He wanted to slap the stupid thing still. Adrenaline and fear slammed around in his veins too, but he’d just as soon deny it. Seeing that nervous leg broke him out in a sweat.

The city limits sign reared its head. “There ya
go
.” Mitch pounded a fist against his window. “Yeehaw, if they only
knew
what’s coming!”

SIX

Welcome to your own party, S-Man.

Ted Dawson reached for the Java Joint door, memories from the past two years flashing through his head. Lying in agony in the forest during a workday of logging, his leg crushed… The small cartoon dragon drawn on his cast in the hospital that led to the creation of his main character in
Starfire
… Typing away on the manuscript at his regular table in Java Joint day after day… finally finishing… rewriting… pursuing an agent… And best of all — even better than landing a contract that would make him a full-time writer — the look in Leslie Brymes’s eyes when he blurted that he loved her, and she responded with the same words. Stunningly beautiful, dramatic, take-on-the-world Leslie, ten years younger, loved
him
.

Ted’s thoughts clouded. He paused, hand hanging in the air. This was a day to celebrate.
Don’t think about her leaving. Not today.

He took a deep breath and pulled open the door. “
Shnakvorum, rikoyoch
!”
Greetings, friends
, in Saurian. He limped inside.

“Whoa!” Wilbur Hucks pulled up inches in front of him. Ted had nearly run the man over. “You lookin’ to do me in this morning?”

“Oh. Sorry. Should have paid attention. I was just…”

“Yeah, I know.” Wilbur’s face was nothing but frowns. “You were in Sauria. You can get your head outta that world of yours now, you know. You done wrote the story.”

“Hey, Ted!” Bailey called from behind the counter. Her sunny smile was particularly brilliant this morning. The overhead lights shone on her auburn hair and caught the swing of her small hoop earrings.

Bev turned and shot Ted a cat-that-ate-the-canary look. She sat on the fourth stool.

“Oh.” Ted closed the door and focused on Wilbur.

“Yeah, oh. She won’t move, neither, so I was just leavin’.”

Ted pushed the strap of his computer bag farther up his shoulder. The bag felt light today without his laptop. His eyes slid from Wilbur to Bev and back. This was a character conflict for sure. What Wilbur needed was a fresh response. Something unexpected.

Ted leaned in close to the seventy-eight-year-old, voice dropping to a whisper. “I say let her keep it. That’ll take the wind out of her sails.”

Wilbur gave his head a firm shake. “Nope. Can’t do it. It’s the principle of the thing.”

With all the grace she could muster, Bev rose from the infamous stool and approached Ted. Extended her arm in invitation as if the stool were a golden throne. “Ted, there you are. I was saving this spot for the guest of honor.”

Moving faster than Ted had ever seen him, Wilbur scurried back to the counter and plunked down on the stool. “There!” His fingers wrapped around the bottom of the seat as if he dared anyone to pry him loose. “Ah-haaah!” He leered at Bev.

Bev huffed. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Wilbur, grow up.”

“Tell you what.” Ted lifted a hand. “Let’s call a truce for one day. We’re here to celebrate.”

“Hear, hear.” Bailey slapped down a palm.

Bev muttered something under her breath. Ted headed for the other end of the counter.
Conflict resolved. What’ll happen next?
In a novel, that’s the way it went. One conflict following another, building, building. His first science fiction novel was done, but he had a second to write, and plot ideas kept rattling around in his head.

He pulled the computer bag off his shoulder, then stood holding it, the gears in his mind starting to turn. Wilbur and Bev… fighting over a possession… one teasing, the other all too serious… What if the Wilbur character lashed out, hurt the other one? What if he accidentally
killed
? He’d have to run away… hide what he’d done —

“Where’s my favorite science fiction writer?” a familiar voice called from the door. Ted snapped his head up and smiled. Leslie had arrived.

SEVEN

Kent took a quick detour off Lakeshore — up a few blocks and back down so they could pass Main. He glanced up the street as they rolled by. A bunch of cars parked around Java Joint, which was on the right side and not far from the top of the second block. Java Joint — the café known across the country, thanks to its Scenes and Beans blog. Kent’s lip curled. The place would never see another day like this one.

Back at Lakeshore, Kent turned left. Almost to ground zero. Brad’s folded arms tightened, and Mitch’s leg bounced higher. On their right at the top of Kanner Lake rose the new hotel under construction. In three months it was supposed to be done. At the moment the site was quiet.

Good
.

Two blocks up, Kent turned left again on Second Street and pulled over to the curb. Cut the engine.

The truck’s digital clock read 7:55.

Tension ran like electricity through the cab. They all inhaled at the same time.

“D-day.” Brad stuck his jaw out.