Daniel’s jaw tightened. “You have no idea what you’re interfering in.”
Margaret whispered, “He killed my daughter.”
That hit the room like a gunshot.
One of the college kids gasped. Marla took a step back. The trucker straightened fully for the first time all night.
Daniel’s face remained composed, but only just. “That is a vile accusation.”
“It’s true,” Margaret said, louder now, trembling but fierce. “My daughter Helen found something. Money. Names. Accounts. She told me if anything happened to her, I was to go to someone with this.”
With shaking hands, she reached inside the lining of her soaked coat and pulled out a tiny plastic-wrapped flash drive.
Daniel moved instantly.
Gideon moved faster.
Daniel lunged across the booth, but Gideon caught him by the forearm and slammed him against the table hard enough to rattle dishes. The trucker jumped to his feet. One of the students screamed.
“Marla,” Gideon barked, “call the sheriff.”
She grabbed the phone.
Daniel didn’t struggle wildly. That was the unnerving part. He went still beneath Gideon’s grip, then said in a low voice, “You really should let go.”
Gideon leaned closer. “Not happening.”
Daniel looked up at him with cold, flat eyes. “Then you’ll die with her.”
The lights went out.
The diner plunged into blackness.
Someone shouted. Glass shattered somewhere near the front. Thunder roared overhead.
Gideon released Daniel for half a second, enough to reach for Margaret, but in the darkness bodies moved, tables scraped, and panic exploded. A flashlight beam jerked wildly from behind the counter.
“Back door!” Marla yelled.
Gideon found Margaret by her coat sleeve. “Stay with me.”
Gunfire cracked.
The college kids shrieked and dropped to the floor. The trucker swore. Another shot punched through the pie display, sending sugar and glass across the tiles.
Daniel wasn’t alone.
Two shadows burst through the kitchen doorway, both men in dark jackets, both armed.
“Move!” Gideon shouted.
He shoved Margaret low behind the counter as bullets tore splinters from the booth where he had been sitting moments earlier. Marla crawled toward the office phone. The trucker, surprisingly brave, hurled a heavy ceramic mug at one of the gunmen’s head. It struck with a sickening crack, buying Gideon one breath of advantage.
He took it.
Gideon launched himself across the slick floor and drove his shoulder into the second gunman, smashing him into the pie cooler. The man fired once into the ceiling before Gideon ripped the weapon from his hand and slammed his fist into the man’s throat.
The first gunman staggered, blood running down his temple, raising his pistol again—