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COLE SWIVELED, NEEDING to get outside Burger Hut to call for backup. Mid-pivot, a figure, face covered by a rubber Easter rabbit mask shoved him aside, then locked the door and flipped the sign to Closed. Seconds later the dining room lights went out, emergency lighting providing the only illumination.
Cole’s initial reaction was that Easter was over and done. Then, the Easter rabbit was no restaurant publicity stunt. Realization that things were very wrong set in. Time slowed to a crawl. His vision tunneled.
The cop in him surfaced. This is what he’d trained for. He took mental inventory. He had a weapon. He did not have a vest. There were people in the shadowed restaurant, all sitting at booths and tables. All had hands folded on the tabletops.
Holy crap. That was Morgan at a back table. With Austin. Even in the dim light, he recognized her. She and Austin clutched each other’s hands atop their table.
Easter rabbit shoved a pistol into Cole’s ribs and marched him to a booth, already occupied by an elderly couple and a young boy about three years old. Grandson? A half-decorated kid’s placemat menu and four crayons sat on the table in front of him. He seemed more confused than scared when Cole slid along the bench beside him.
He smiled for the kid. “Hi, buddy. Okay if I sit here?”
Easter rabbit leaned in closer. “You weren’t here when I gave the rules, so I’ll forgive you this once. There is no talking. Understand?”
Cole mimed zipping his lips as he tried to analyze the rabbit’s voice, barely audible over the pounding in Cole’s ears. Likely a male. Muffled by the mask. No accent.
Rabbit walked toward the hostess stand. He was about the same height as Cole, stockier build. Wore bib overalls, a long-sleeved red-and-blue plaid shirt, gardening gloves. Red high-top sneakers. No way to judge skin tone, although from the glimpse Cole had through the mask’s eyeholes, he’d say white.
Rabbit returned, carrying a plastic Burger Hut takeout bag. “Phone goes in here. Then hands on the table.”
Cole produced his phone and dropped it into the bag. As he complied with the directive to put his hands on the table, academy training scenarios played out in slow motion, along with the monthly drills on the force. Jazz crowded his thoughts. What it must have been like for her that morning. Why he’d become a cop. Morgan. The same thing could not happen to her. Or Austin. He would not let it happen.
From his vantage point, he had a limited view of the restaurant. Morgan and Austin were beyond his field of vision. The hostess sat alone at a table, hands folded in compliance. Her expression was unreadable in the dim light, but Cole sensed it would be etched with fear. Another nearby table held six people wearing Burger Hut tee-shirts. So, staff had been rounded up as well.
What did Rabbit want? Not cherry pie like Jazz’s killer. Money? Why hadn’t he asked for Cole’s wallet? He hadn’t searched him. If so, he’d have found the SIG holstered at the small of Cole’s back. And his badge case. His guess was that if Easter rabbit knew he was a cop, things would get worse, not better.
With luck, the guy would get what he wanted and leave. The mask meant nobody could ID him with any certainty. His weapon was a Glock. Single shots.
Rabbit moved to a table toward the rear of the room, one with a chair set atop. He took the seat like a king on his throne overseeing his subjects. Gave him a good view of the room, but his position would slow him down. Then again, he had a gun. He didn’t need to tackle anyone when he could shoot them. What kind of a marksman was he? Didn’t matter. The threat of being shot was enough to generate compliance.
This guy hadn’t made any demands, hadn’t taken wallets, only cell phones. There had to be someone else in the back. Or due to show up, and Rabbit was waiting. Holding down the fort until his partner arrived.
Cole leaned back enough to feel the reassuring pressure of the SIG at his back. What would happen if he reached for it? He fidgeted, scratched his nose, then returned his hands to their folded position on the table. No reaction from Rabbit. How well could he see wearing that mask? Was his peripheral vision obstructed?
You’re here to protect people.
The kid next to Cole squirmed. “Gammy. I have to go potty,” he whispered.
“Can you wait?” the woman whispered back.
“No!” The boy pounded the table and shrieked in true three-year-old fashion. “I have to go potty now.”
A distraction? Cole turned toward their captor and half-raised one hand. “Sir, I’ll take the child. It’s not right to deny people the right to meet their needs. If you keep people here too long, you’re going to have more of them needing to use the facilities.”
The mask made it impossible to see the man’s expression, but he seemed to be considering Cole’s statement. “Not you. Her.” He pointed to the woman at their table. “She goes.”
Cole lifted both hands. “Understood.”
The woman rose, sliding a cane from the bench. “Come along, Rylan.”
Cole felt Rabbit watching as he slipped out of his seat to let the kid by. Once Cole was standing, his back away from the gunman, he used his left hand to help the kid, hoping if the gunman was watching Cole, his attention would be misdirected, focused on that hand while the other moved behind his back and slipped his gun from the holster.
As Cole hoped, Rabbit’s head had turned slightly as Rylan and his grandmother made their way across the room. The boy shouted and tugged, the grandmother moved deliberately with her cane, telling him to be quiet and slow down, which made the boy scream louder.
“Tell the kid to shut his yap,” the rabbit said.
With the man’s focus directed at the woman and child and away from him, Cole darted across the floor, keeping low, praying nobody in the restaurant would call attention to him. He made it to the table, reached up, and grabbed the man’s ankle and yanked as hard as he could.
The chair tipped. The man tumbled, hitting the table, then the floor. Cole put his gun to the man’s head. “Police. Don’t move.”
Cole put his knee on the man’s arm, the one holding the gun, and pinned it to the floor. He clamped his free hand over the man’s mouth so he couldn’t alert any accomplices.
Seconds later, three men from the restaurant were all over Rabbit. One, who must have weighed three hundred plus pounds parked himself on Rabbit’s chest. Two others grabbed his legs. Another man approached, sliding his belt from its loops and helped secure the man’s legs.
“Thanks, guys. Stay as you are for a few minutes. I’ll be right back.” Cole took the rabbit’s gun, slipped it into his holster, and turned to the diners, most of them still in shock. His eyes landed on a wide-eyed Austin, but Cole refused to single out any one person. He put a finger to his lips, signaling the diners to stay quiet.
Cole spoke in a loud whisper, waving everyone out the door. “Go. Go. Go.”
He made sure everyone was leaving. He couldn’t spare a moment for Morgan and Austin, other than to confirm they were in the group. Focus.
Gun at the ready, he crept toward the kitchen.
~~~
HER HEART DOING ITS rendition of a kettledrum, Morgan hugged Austin close to her as they filed out of the restaurant. The hostess had the bag of cell phones, and everyone huddled in the parking lot as they tried to make sure phones went to their rightful owners.
Everyone was either calling 911 or their friends and family, so she didn’t need to add another call to the police. If the Easter bunny hadn’t been so quick to confiscate phones, she had no doubt this would already be all over the internet. Once Morgan had hers, she dragged a now-fascinated Austin to their car.
“Officer Patton was cool,” he said, buckling his seatbelt. “He just rushed up and knocked the man in the costume down. He didn’t even seem scared.”
“I know I was.” Morgan started the car, then waited her turn to exit the parking lot. Many people had the same idea she did. Get the heck away. “Surprised first, then scared. A lot.”
“Yeah. At first, I thought it was a joke. You know, somebody dressed up to greet people. Then he got nasty and showed his gun. So, I guess I was a little scared after that.”
Morgan couldn’t hold back a smile at Austin’s after-the-fact nonchalance and bravery.
“We didn’t get dinner,” he complained.
“We’ll eat at the house.” Sirens announced the impending arrival of the police, but Morgan didn’t have any desire to hang around and watch. Besides, now that everyone had their cell phones, the aftermath would hit the internet many times over. She made her way through the town center and headed for Elm Street.
You’re not going to wait to see how Cole is?
She’d be in the way. He knew what he was doing. She hadn’t drawn a full breath from the time he’d rushed the man in the Easter bunny mask until she and Austin were outside. Her philosophy was, in the face of potential danger, get as far away as possible. People with guns meant very potential danger in her book.
Cole would fill her in. Or she’d see it on YouTube.
Still shaking, she focused on the garage at the end of her driveway, barely noting the Dumpster and a stack of construction materials. She stopped in front of the garage, got out to wrestle the door open, telling Austin to wait until she’d pulled in. As soon as the car was inside, he jumped out, dragging the carry-on.
“Hey, they got the fence up,” Austin said. “Now Bailey has a yard to run around in.” He fumbled with the gate latch and ran toward the house.
Morgan closed the garage door and moved Cole’s suggestion to get a lighter door as well as the electric opener into her top five things to do. She took a moment to give the fence a cursory check. A real inspection would have to wait until tomorrow and daylight, when she was calmer.
Austin waited at the back door. She’d have to get him his own keys, too.
She unlocked the door, opened it to a wriggling, tail-wagging Bailey, along with the smell of fresh paint.
Austin ditched the carry-on and sat on the floor with the dog, accepting slobbery kisses. “Hey, Bailey. We’re home.”
Austin had called this house home. A glow warm as summer sunshine radiated through her chest.
Pleased that he appeared to be more interested in the dog than rehashing what had happened at Burger Hut, Morgan surveyed the kitchen. Aside from the microwave, everything was still in boxes. She’d wait until she talked with Tom before putting things away. Save doing things twice. The newly painted walls, a cross between peach and beige—which, for whatever reason, the color chart called Texas Rose—gave the whole downstairs a new, clean look.
“What do you think?” she asked Austin.
“Smells like paint.”
“I meant the color, silly.”
He tipped his head, first one way then the other, and scrunched his face. “Okay. My room’s not going to be this color, is it?”
“No. I thought you’d like bright pink better.”
At Austin’s wide-eyed expression of shock, she laughed. “I’m teasing. Your room is Windy Blue. The workers will be here early tomorrow. Up to bed, and you can check out the paint color.”
“I’m still hungry.”
Her appetite had disappeared with the sight of the masked man’s gun, along with most of her energy. Ah, the resiliency of youth.
She checked the freezer for something quick. Chicken nuggets. “There’s a bag of carrots in the fridge.”
Five minutes later, they sat at the table eating their last-minute meal. Austin didn’t complain that the microwaved nuggets weren’t crispy, so she offered no apologies. When he’d finished, she told him where to find a package of chocolate chip cookies.
She joined Austin in cookies and milk—although something stronger would have been more to her liking after the day she’d had. She considered Austin’s reaction if she had a glass of wine, given how things must have been with his mother, and decided a drink could wait until he’d gone to bed.
Austin cleared his place—even put his dishes in the dishwasher—and went upstairs.
She checked her phone to see if Cole had sent an update—he hadn’t—when Austin’s shout had her dashing for the stairs.
“What?” she called.
“I have furniture. So do you.”
From his beaming smile, Austin liked his new dresser and nightstand. And the paint color.
“Wonderful.” She was about to tousle his hair, but thought he might have outgrown that mode of showing affection, so she offered her palm for a high five. He performed an intricate series of hand motions.
“Whoa. Show me that one.”
He broke it down, step by step, looking at her as if she was clueless. Which, in matters of fist bumps and related choreography, she was. It took three repetitions before she got it down to a level Austin deemed acceptable.
“I like them, too,” she said. “First thing tomorrow, you can get all your clothes put away.”
Once she’d demonstrated her newly-acquired secret handshake in praise of her own bedroom furniture, she repeated her go to bed order. “You can read for a while. Lights out in twenty minutes.”
“Do you have some paper I can use?” he asked. “I want to write down the playlist for Momma’s memory.”
Her heart squeezed. “Of course.” She went down to the kitchen and fetched a notepad and pen.
She brought Austin the materials, and he started writing.
“I don’t want a bunch of sad songs. ‘Amazing Grace’ would be good, don’t you think?”
“I think it’s perfect.”
“I can’t decide if it should be first or last, though.”
“Why don’t you write all the pieces down, and you can work out the order later.”
He chewed his lip as he wrote.
Morgan left him to it and went to her room. Tomorrow, she’d deal with organizing her dresser. She crawled into bed with her laptop to check her email. She’d filled out the Kinship application form, submitted it, and even though she knew it was far too soon to hear anything, she had to check. Ms. Accorso had been helpful, as if she, too, wanted to resolve the issue of Austin’s custody as soon as possible.
For a government agency, that meant at a snail’s pace. As expected, no response.
The next message was from a D. Gehman at Metropolitan Financial Services in response to the email she’d sent. Did they know what the ledger sheets meant? Or was this a sorry, can’t help you message.
She closed her eyes and clicked it open.