“Sit. Down,” Tiny roared, pinning Ray’s arms against the armrests with a grip that looked like it could snap bone.
Ray was hyperventilating, his eyes wide with absolute terror. He struggled uselessly against Tiny’s immense strength, kicking his legs, spitting out half-formed threats and pleas.
“Let me go! You’re assaulting me! I’ll have you all arrested! I’ll sue this whole place into the ground!”
Bear didn't move toward the chaos. He didn't need to. He immediately knelt down, wrapping his large arms around Lily, shielding her from the physical violence of the takedown. He pulled her gently against his chest, tucking her face into his leather vest. It smelled like motor oil, old rain, and peppermint. It was the safest thing she had ever smelled.
“I’ve got you, little bird,” Bear murmured softly, keeping his broad back between her and the struggling man. “I’ve got you. He’s never going to touch you again. I promise.”
Lily buried her face in his vest and finally, after months of holding it together, she began to cry. She sobbed, her small shoulders shaking violently, releasing all the grief of losing her mother, the terror of living in that cold house, and the sheer exhaustion of her escape.
Over the sound of Lily’s crying, Bear looked up at the bartender.
“Mac,” Bear commanded, his voice echoing with absolute authority. “Call Jim. Use the landline in the back office. Tell him to get over here right now, no lights, no sirens. Tell him we have the man who murdered Claire Thompson.”
Ray stopped struggling. The word murder seemed to suck whatever fight he had left right out of his body. He went entirely limp in Tiny’s grip, his face completely pale, sweat pouring down his forehead.
“No,” Ray gasped, shaking his head frantically. “No, no, it was an accident. I didn't push her. I didn't! She slipped!”
“Shut your mouth,” Hawk snapped, leaning in so close his nose almost touched Ray’s. “You save your lying for the judge. Every word that comes out of your mouth in this diner is an insult to her memory.”
For the next twenty minutes, the diner remained in a state of suspended, heavy tension. Mac unlocked the front door just long enough to flip the Open sign to Closed, then locked it again. The jukebox finished its record and clicked off, leaving the room silent except for the drumming rain on the glass and Ray’s ragged, panicking breaths.
Bear carried Lily to the bar counter. He lifted her up and set her down on one of the tall red vinyl stools. Mac emerged from the kitchen carrying a warm plate of french fries and a tall glass of chocolate milk, sliding them gently in front of her.
“Eat up, sweetheart,” Mac said gently, offering her a warm, sad smile. “You’ve had a long morning.”
Lily wiped her eyes with the oversized sleeve of her purple coat. She picked up a fry with shaking fingers, taking a small bite. The warmth of the food slowly began to chase the chill from her bones.
Bear pulled up a stool next to her, keeping himself firmly between Lily and the booth where Ray was being guarded.
“She really worked here?” Lily asked softly, looking around the gritty diner, trying to picture her elegant mother carrying trays through the aisles.
“She sure did,” Bear smiled, the deep wrinkles around his eyes softening. “Best waitress we ever had. She could carry four plates on one arm, and she didn't take any lip from anybody. If Hawk got too rowdy, she’d smack him right on the back of the head with a rolled-up menu.”
Lily let out a small, wet giggle. It was a beautiful sound in the grim room. “She did that to me sometimes, when I didn't eat my vegetables.”
Bear reached out and gently ruffled her damp hair. “She was a good woman, Lily. We missed her a lot when she left. And I am so damn sorry we weren't there to help her when she needed it.”