questions.
After she ended her call, the brutality replayed in her mind. Would their families learn what happened to them today? Didn’t every family care about their members, no matter what?
Still waiting tables, Rhonda breezed over. “Miss, your face is as white as a sheet.”
Amy’s heart drummed. “Hello, Rhonda.” Outside the whoop-whoop of a police sirens cut through the cafe’s chatter and clatter.
“That’s some loud street talking.” The older waitress flipped her russet-dyed hair off her forehead. “I’m surprised the village allows that.”
“You’re right,” Amy said dully.
Rhonda stared out the window. “Lake Arrowhead is becoming less and less like I remember it.”
“How do you remember it?”
“Peaceful. The Irish Mafia only came here to vacation.”
Amy glanced across the street. People exploded from the Harp’s green glass entrance.
“See those young guys running? The beards and turbans, they’re ISIS recruits,” Rhonda said. “What’s under the white bundles of fabric?”
“I’m guessing swords.”
Rhonda was speechless.
Amy watched firemen pile off engines. Serving here as emergency vehicles, they pushed inside. Cars crashed into each other.
Having lit the match that fired up the activity, Amy stayed put.
Rhonda found her voice and went into auto-mode. “Can I get you the soup of the day?”
She reached down for her little bag. “Forgot my purse. I’ll be back.”
“Don’t go out there.” Rhonda turned and moved through the crowd. The cafe was packed with people dining, talking and laughing. Word of the massacre would change that.
Amy needed to get her purse before the wrong people identified her. Trapped with indecision, the sheriff’s cruiser pulled in front of the restaurant.
Finn burst inside and scanned the place, not seeing her.
She said, “Finn.”
“There you are.” His low, gravelly voice rumbled through her like a caress.
“You found me.” Amy, overcome by the terrible crime, spoke in slow motion.
“With your cell,” he said. “Cops use the StingRay Tracker.” Bending, he wrapped his strong arms around her and pulled her up.
Her feet were on the ground. When he relaxed his grip, she didn’t let go. She dug her fingernails into his arms.
“What is it about you and ladies’ rooms?”
“Trouble finds me there.”
“You’ll be okay.”
“I will be.” She stumbled, trying to find her balance. After another few seconds, she loosened her hold. “Except for one thing.”
“It’s never one thing?” Finn sounded more like an Army Ranger than a CEO.
“I left my purse up there. In that bathroom,” she said in one exhale.
“The one overlooking the pit of hell?” His humor was meant to be comfort.
“Someone will find it,” she said. “They’ll know my name but not my current address.”
“No?” he asked.
“My driver’s license has my old address on it.” The DMV needed to know when a person moved, but didn’t send out a new license until it expired.
“That makes you feel safe?” Finn took her hand and with a gentle tug, led her outside. He opened the back door of Byron McGill’s cruiser. “Hop in, Amy.”
Byron turned around. “Amy. We accessed your phone’s photos.”
“Really.” Amy learned something new about police technologies.
Finn, now riding shotgun, said, “McGill, we need to get Amy’s purse.”
“It’s up in that bathroom,” Amy said. “It opens onto the mezzanine of the Harp Hotel.”
“I know the one, on the second level of Park It,” Byron said.
Amy said, “It’s on a hook inside a stall.”
“What color and style?” Finn asked.
“Green and tan plaid. A super-small barrel shape.” She withered against the warmth of the backseat. Grateful for the simple command of fasten your seatbelt, she listened to static on the police radio and closed her eyes.
When Byron blasted his siren, she clasped her hands over her ears. He spun the vehicle half circle. Slammed against the
After she ended her call, the brutality replayed in her mind. Would their families learn what happened to them today? Didn’t every family care about their members, no matter what?
Still waiting tables, Rhonda breezed over. “Miss, your face is as white as a sheet.”
Amy’s heart drummed. “Hello, Rhonda.” Outside the whoop-whoop of a police sirens cut through the cafe’s chatter and clatter.
“That’s some loud street talking.” The older waitress flipped her russet-dyed hair off her forehead. “I’m surprised the village allows that.”
“You’re right,” Amy said dully.
Rhonda stared out the window. “Lake Arrowhead is becoming less and less like I remember it.”
“How do you remember it?”
“Peaceful. The Irish Mafia only came here to vacation.”
Amy glanced across the street. People exploded from the Harp’s green glass entrance.
“See those young guys running? The beards and turbans, they’re ISIS recruits,” Rhonda said. “What’s under the white bundles of fabric?”
“I’m guessing swords.”
Rhonda was speechless.
Amy watched firemen pile off engines. Serving here as emergency vehicles, they pushed inside. Cars crashed into each other.
Having lit the match that fired up the activity, Amy stayed put.
Rhonda found her voice and went into auto-mode. “Can I get you the soup of the day?”
She reached down for her little bag. “Forgot my purse. I’ll be back.”
“Don’t go out there.” Rhonda turned and moved through the crowd. The cafe was packed with people dining, talking and laughing. Word of the massacre would change that.
Amy needed to get her purse before the wrong people identified her. Trapped with indecision, the sheriff’s cruiser pulled in front of the restaurant.
Finn burst inside and scanned the place, not seeing her.
She said, “Finn.”
“There you are.” His low, gravelly voice rumbled through her like a caress.
“You found me.” Amy, overcome by the terrible crime, spoke in slow motion.
“With your cell,” he said. “Cops use the StingRay Tracker.” Bending, he wrapped his strong arms around her and pulled her up.
Her feet were on the ground. When he relaxed his grip, she didn’t let go. She dug her fingernails into his arms.
“What is it about you and ladies’ rooms?”
“Trouble finds me there.”
“You’ll be okay.”
“I will be.” She stumbled, trying to find her balance. After another few seconds, she loosened her hold. “Except for one thing.”
“It’s never one thing?” Finn sounded more like an Army Ranger than a CEO.
“I left my purse up there. In that bathroom,” she said in one exhale.
“The one overlooking the pit of hell?” His humor was meant to be comfort.
“Someone will find it,” she said. “They’ll know my name but not my current address.”
“No?” he asked.
“My driver’s license has my old address on it.” The DMV needed to know when a person moved, but didn’t send out a new license until it expired.
“That makes you feel safe?” Finn took her hand and with a gentle tug, led her outside. He opened the back door of Byron McGill’s cruiser. “Hop in, Amy.”
Byron turned around. “Amy. We accessed your phone’s photos.”
“Really.” Amy learned something new about police technologies.
Finn, now riding shotgun, said, “McGill, we need to get Amy’s purse.”
“It’s up in that bathroom,” Amy said. “It opens onto the mezzanine of the Harp Hotel.”
“I know the one, on the second level of Park It,” Byron said.
Amy said, “It’s on a hook inside a stall.”
“What color and style?” Finn asked.
“Green and tan plaid. A super-small barrel shape.” She withered against the warmth of the backseat. Grateful for the simple command of fasten your seatbelt, she listened to static on the police radio and closed her eyes.
When Byron blasted his siren, she clasped her hands over her ears. He spun the vehicle half circle. Slammed against the
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