Amber Morn (4 page)

Kent nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Mitch reached into the glove box for the guns.

EIGHT

“Sheesh, what a noisy bunch.” Carla Radling shook her head at her sixteen-year-old daughter, Brittany, as they approached Java Joint’s door. “You can hear them out here.”

“Yeah, and we’ll just make it louder.” Ali Frederick, Brittany’s one teenage friend in Kanner Lake, shook brown bangs out of her eyes.

Carla’s heart swelled as she smiled at the girls. How wonderful it was to have Brittany visit. She lived in Seattle with her adoptive parents, and Carla didn’t see her nearly enough. Being around the two girls made Carla feel like a teenager again instead of her thirty-three years.

Wait, bad analogy. Not for a million bucks would she ever want to relive her teenage years.

The noise increased as they pulled open the door. Everyone was talking at once.

“Hey, Carla, finally!” Leslie broke away from S-Man and greeted them, arms out. “Ali, so glad you came.”

“Me too.” They hugged, Ali all grins. After being caught up in the terror of two murders in Kanner Lake last year, seventeen-year-old Ali had become like a little sister to Leslie.

“Wow,
love
your jeans.” Brittany’s large chocolate eyes roved over the bling.

“Thanks.” Leslie caught Brittany’s hands. “It’s great to see you again. Carla is
so happy
every time you visit.”

Brittany shot a look at Carla. Their eyes met in silent connection.

Amazing
. A year ago Carla hadn’t even known Brittany was alive. Now look at the beautiful, vibrant daughter before her.

Carla made the rounds with Brittany and Ali, reminding the girls of everyone else’s name. Paige. S-Man. Hank Detcher, pastor of the New Community Church, which Carla attended. Jared Moore, owner of the
Kanner Lake Times
newspaper and Leslie’s boss. Jared was sixty-seven but still worked long hours every day. Wilbur, perched on his stool as if it might run out from under him. Bailey — bustling behind the counter like a crazed chicken, making everyone’s drinks. Bev and Angie, retired schoolteachers in their sixties, and best friends who met at Java Joint every morning for coffee — even though their personalities were exact opposites. Angie was as fun-loving and giggly as Bev was prim and proper. But that Bev. She could needle Wilbur almost as well as Carla.

“Ohhh, hiiii!” Angie’s plump arms swallowed Brittany in a grandmotherly hug, her rouged cheeks flushing.

When she could extricate Brittany, Carla nudged the girls over to the counter. “Let’s see.” She draped an arm around each of them and looked around. “Not everybody’s here.”

Bailey set Carla’s latte on the counter. “Jake can’t come. Remember, he and Mable are on a trip this weekend. And Janet — that’s Pastor Hank’s wife” — she smiled at the two girls — “is also gone this weekend. One of their daughters is sick.”

Paige sidled up to the counter, her striking blue-green eyes focused on Brittany. “Hi there, beautiful girl.”

Carla took her arm away from Brittany so they could hug. “Hey, Paige, where’s Sarah?”

Sarah Wray owned Simple Pleasures across the street, where Paige worked.

“Oh, she’s coming. Sarah can’t stand to miss a party.”

“Hey, everybody, remember the drinks and pastries are on me!” Bailey frothed a mocha at the espresso machine.

Wilbur caught Carla’s eye and pulled his mouth down at the corners. Crotchety Wilbur. Carla’s favorite person to argue with. He slipped off his stool and picked up the mug at his end of the counter that held the bathroom key. Dumped out its contents. Shuffled up to Carla, turning his back on Bailey. “She and John don’t have the money to pay for all this, what with his medical bills and all. Give her a donation.”

A command, not a request. But Carla was happy to comply. Wilbur quietly hit up each person in turn. Brittany and Ali took the time to order their coffees.

When Bailey slid the last drink over the counter, Wilbur thrust the mug at her, overflowing with bills. “Here ya go, Miss Bailey. Best woman in the world, after my Gertrude.” His lips twitched into a semblance of a smile. “We wasn’t gonna let this be on your tab. Looks like you made a pretty penny.”

Bailey accepted the mug, eyes gleaming. “Oh, you all, I don’t know what to say.”

“You deserve it!” Angie called.

“Go ahead, count them suckers.” Wilbur jerked his chin toward the money.

One by one, Bailey slipped them out. Fives, tens, twenties. At the bottom was a one-hundred-dollar bill.

Wilbur
. Carla would bet on it. But the old curmudgeon would deny it with his last breath.

“Thank you,” Bailey whispered. “Thank you all, so much.”

Carla applauded and raised her cup. “Here’s to you, Bailey!” Soon everyone’s cups were raised.

“Thank you again.” Bailey looked almost embarrassed as she stuffed the money back into the mug and slipped it onto a shelf beneath the counter.

Pastor Hank sipped his drink, then raised it once more. “And now, S-Man, time to sign that contract!”

They all whooped and hollered. Ali and Brittany laughed.

Movement at the door caught Carla’s eye. Frank West stepped inside.

“Hi!” Paige glided to him like metal to a magnet. They hugged, then pulled back to gaze into each others’ eyes.

Carla leaned toward Brittany’s ear. “Are they gone or what?” She gave her head a slow shake. “Totally.”

S-Man opened his computer bag and pulled out a stack of paper. Carla raised her eyebrows. “Good grief, looks like one of my real estate contracts.”

“Yeah, this is three copies. Lots of pages to sign.”

“Tough work there, Ted.”

He smiled at her, and his serious face and dark knitted eyebrows relaxed. Carla had told Leslie all along —
S-Man’s cute when he smiles
.

Ted held up the contract. “
This
” — he shook the paper — “is what I’ve been working so hard for during the past two years. Writing all day, learning the craft, not making a
dime
. And now…” He blinked, as if he still couldn’t quite believe it.

“Now you’re headed toward fame and fortune!” Leslie raised her hands in victory. “Like the publisher said, ‘Stellar writing. The nation’s next science fiction star.’”

No kidding
, thought Carla. Seventy thousands bucks
each
for two books. That had to be a big advance for an unknown writer.

“He’s already a star, thanks to our blog.” Wilbur wagged his head. “Man’s almost as popular as I am.”

“All right, who’s got a pen for this historical moment?” Pastor Hank patted his empty shirt pocket.

“Right here.” S-Man already held one in his hand. “But this won’t be quick. I have to sign all three copies, plus initial every page.”

“That’s all right, Ted. I’m clapping all the way through.” Bev started to applaud.

Carla joined in along with everyone else.

Ted leaned over the counter and began the happy task they’d all come to witness.

NINE

Mitch and Kent each hid a handgun in the large right pocket of their jackets. Brad grabbed his own coat from the floorboard and patted its bulge. “Already got mine.”

Kent threw him a hard look.

The three men jumped from the truck. Lifted two large duffel bags out of the back. The heavier one was filled with four MP5 submachine guns and enough thirty-round magazines to take down a small army. Kent unzipped the lighter bag and pulled out a white envelope. Brad stuck it in the waistband of his jeans. Kent closed the bag and gave it to Brad to carry. Mitch took the bag full of weapons.

They looked at each other. This was it, and God help them.

For you, T.J.

Kent checked his watch. Eight o’clock.

They cut diagonally across Second toward the corner of Main, trying to look nonchalant. The morning air felt fresh and tingling on Kent’s cheeks.

Would he ever feel it again?

Sudden grief for all he would lose pierced him. Freedom, home, Lenora. He knew he’d go to prison for this. Maybe for life.

He turned his head and spat on the street.

They reached the curb of Main Street and stepped up to the wide sidewalk. Java Joint would be on their left, a few doors down.

At the bottom of the block, a man in an old Subaru pulled into a parking space. Kent kept an eye on him.

The world narrowed. The sound of their footsteps, the street, their target’s front entrance. Adrenaline surged through Kent, making his fingers twitch. The
power
. Nearly beat his heart right out of his chest. Each step melted away the months of sickening helplessness.

Today Kent Wicksell would see justice for his youngest son.

He breathed in, breathed out.
Walk normal. Look normal.
He could hear Mitch sucking air, could
feel
his pent-up energy. Brad’s shoulders were back, his face like stone.

Five more feet. Kent slipped a hand into his jacket pocket, squeezed the cold metal of his weapon.

Hold back. Not yet.

They reached the door. Kent threw it open and yanked out his gun.

TEN

John Truitt had just stepped onto the sidewalk, headed for Java Joint, when he saw the three men. Two carrying duffel bags. No one else on the street — typical for this early on a Saturday morning. Retail shops didn’t open until ten.

Something about those men. They walked like they were in no particular hurry. But those duffel bags… and their straight backs and roving eyes didn’t —

The pen
. And his cell phone. He’d left them in the car.

John sighed and turned back toward the Subaru. The new epilepsy medication really addled his brain. Made him light-headed too. He was already running late. S-Man had probably signed his contract by now — without the fancy new pen John had bought him. Should have had Bailey bring the present.

He opened the passenger door and leaned down to fetch the gift from the seat. The pen was in a nice wooden box, wrapped in green paper. John snatched it up and straightened — too fast. Dizziness hit.

He shook his head and blinked, waiting it out. With a deep breath, he closed the car door.

Back on the sidewalk, he realized he’d still left his cell phone behind.

Forget it
. He wouldn’t need it anyhow.

The three men had disappeared. Must have gone into Java Joint.

John smiled to himself.
Wonder if they know they’re walking into a party.

ELEVEN

Paige noticed a flicker of worry on Bailey’s face and suspended her hands midclap. In front of her, Frank kept applauding. Paige leaned over the counter toward Bailey. “Something wrong?”

She tossed her head. “Oh no, it’s okay. I was just wondering where John is. He’s supposed to be here, but this new medication he’s taking…”

Bailey’s eyes focused over Paige’s shoulder, toward the window. Her expression flattened. Paige turned. Spotted three men approaching the door. Two of them were carrying duffel bags.

The hard looks on their faces…

Paige reached for Frank’s elbow.

The door flew open. The three men leapt inside.

Guns. They had
guns
.

“Freeze!”

“Don’t move!”

“Freeze now!”

Everyone’s head snapped around.

The men threw down two duffel bags, and one landed with a clatter. The last man inside banged the door shut and bolted it. Three weapons pointed.

Brittany and Ali shrieked. Frank whipped his right hand toward his gun.

The first of the three men fired.

Bam-bam-bam
.

Frank jerked back, and his hands flew up.

He crumpled at Paige’s feet.

No!

Paige screamed. Someone else screamed. The room shattered into chaotic wails.

Paige sank to her knees, all breath stopped in her throat. “Frank.
Frank
!”

“Get up!” The man who shot him stalked over, weapon pointed at her face. “Get up
right now
and move back to the counter.”

The youngest man’s face twisted. “All of you, shut up! And get your hands in the air!”

Screams choked into stunned gasps. Shaking hands raised.

The barrel jammed into Paige’s cheek. “Get up.
Now
.”

She moved. Somehow. Pushed to her feet and shuffled back a step. A second. Swaying. Nausea clawing at her stomach. Her blurring gaze fixed on Frank. He wasn’t moving.

Dear God, please, no, no, no
…

Her heel hit the base of a stool. Seconds ago, Frank had stood right there. Clapping.

This isn’t happening. It isn’t real.

Paige smacked both hands over her mouth.
Please, Frank. Move.