Amber Morn by Brandilyn Collins Page A

toward the back wall of the café so they all could sit jammed together, at least partially facing the street. The rest of the tables and chairs were pushed against the wall on the right. Which left the center clear for pacing.
    Well, Mitch paced. And jerked and sweated. Guy had to be high as a kite, probably on meth. Three steps toward the counter, three steps the other direction. Back and forth, back and forth. Torso twisted so his gun pointed at his hostages. And a twitchy finger near the trigger of a weapon that could blow them all to smithereens in seconds.
    At Leslie’s table, Ted faced the front door with Paige on his left, Leslie on his right. Leslie had a good view of the counter, where Bad Boy Brad had positioned himself. Behind Leslie sat the corner table that held Java Joint’s computer. A glance over her shoulder caught Kent perched in front of the monitor, his gun on the floor to his right, within a second’s reach. Lucky Bailey got to sit on his left, between him and Leslie.
    Brad had moved their duffel bag of extra ammunition behind the counter.
    Leslie focused on Brad. He stood in front of Wilbur’s stool, feet apart, gun aimed at their group. A fox in a henhouse.
    Frank.
Revenge slimed through Leslie. She didn’t want to see Kent and his two sons go to prison for this. She wanted to see them
die
.
    Brad caught her eye and glared. If his father was stone, this guy was steel. He had an overconfident air about him that read,
Yeah, I’m younger, but I’m meaner and smarter, so don’t push me
. His finger, too, edged a trigger. Like he’d pull it just to prove a point.
    Leslie looked away.
    Oh, for pen and paper. Her reporter’s mind catalogued the position of every other hostage in the room. Farthest away, at the table closest to the hall, were Bev, facing her, Angie in the middle, and Jared, with his back to Leslie. Next table, Carla, sitting between Brittany on her left and Ali on her right. Carla held hands with both girls. One thing Leslie knew — if any of the Wicksells touched those girls, mama bear Carla would launch a full-on attack — and get her head blown off in the process. Leslie wouldn’t be far behind. She was too close to Ali to sit back and watch something terrible happen to the girl.
    Leslie surveyed Brittany. How was she holding up? Only eight months ago her entire life had turned upside down. The only father she’d known was a U.S. senator from Washington, on his way to the White House. Now his political career lay in tatters. Given his history, the media would jump on this story even more when they learned Brittany was among the hostages.
    Leslie’s gaze moved to the third and closest table — where Wilbur and Pastor Hank sat. Wilbur faced her, but she could see only Pastor Hank’s back. Wilbur was studying Meth Mitch with the venom of a cobra.
    Ted inched his hand over and laid it on top of Leslie’s. Tears bit her eyes. Her wonderful S-Man, trying to comfort.
    How can I leave him in two weeks?
    She swallowed hard. Hey, who said she’d live till then?
    Behind her, Kent cursed. “Come on, what’s
taking
him so long?”
    Mitch yanked to a stop. “How long’s it been since we got here?”
    Brad’s eyes flicked to the wall clock. “Twenty-five minutes. Dad, let me take over the computer. I know what I’m doing.”
    “Stay at the counter and shut up! This was
my
job before you decided to tag along.”
    Brad’s eyes narrowed to slits.
    Great
,
can’t even get along with each other. Where’s that leave us?
    Of all things, Kent was waiting for a comment to appear on the current Scenes and Beans blog post. He’d drafted Bailey to show him how it worked. Leslie listened as Bailey popped the comments box up on-screen, then showed him how to close out of it and get back in, checking for a new comment. The man had to be clicking the thing a good three times a minute. Every time he apparently found no change, he cursed louder. Before long he’d bust right out of his