My son-in-law, the man I had warned Sarah about, had somehow directed three hostile strangers to my favorite diner.
But why?
Before I could ask another question, the heavy-set biker on the left, whose name I later learned was Dex, took a step forward.
“Let’s stop wasting time,” Dex grunted.
He reached out and deliberately backhanded my ceramic mug off the table.
The mug shattered against the concrete patio.
Hot, dark coffee splashed across my boots and completely soaked the cover of my Louis L’Amour paperback.
Inside the diner, I saw Lily, the teenage waitress who always saved my favorite table for me, pressing her face against the glass window.
Her eyes were wide with panic.
Two truck drivers sitting in a booth nearby stopped eating, but neither made a move to come outside.
They were scared, and looking at the three massive, heavily tattooed men surrounding me, I couldn’t blame them.
“Pick up the book, Dex,” Marcus laughed. “Maybe he wants to read us a bedtime story before we take his wallet.”
I didn’t look at the shattered mug.
I didn’t look at the ruined book.
My eyes were scanning Marcus’s leather vest, looking for any clue, any indication of what this was really about.
That was when I noticed it.
Tucked into the inside pocket of his leather vest, partially obscured by the zipper, was a thick, light-blue envelope.
I recognized the stationery instantly.
It was the exact same heavy blue paper Sarah always used for her birthday cards.
More importantly, I could clearly see my own address written across the front of it in her unmistakable, looping cursive handwriting.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
Why did this violent stranger have a letter addressed to me, written by my daughter?
A horrifying thought crashed into my mind.
Had David used Sarah as collateral for some kind of debt?
Was my daughter in danger right now, relying on me to figure out what was happening?
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, devoid of any fear or panic. “Take off the ring, hand over the blue envelope in your pocket, and tell me where Sarah is.”
The youngest biker, a twitchy kid named Cody who couldn’t have been older than twenty-two, let out a loud, mocking whistle.
“Look at the old man trying to act tough!” Cody laughed, bouncing nervously on his heels.
Marcus stepped directly into my personal space again, towering over me by at least four inches.
He didn’t find my demand funny anymore.
He looked annoyed, like he was dealing with a stray dog that wouldn't get out of his way.
“You don’t get to ask questions, grandpa,” Marcus growled. “You’re going to empty your pockets. You’re going to give us the keys to that old Ford truck. And then we are going to take a nice, quiet ride to your house to get the cash David said you keep in your safe.”
My false belief shattered instantly.
I had spent the last five years thinking Sarah’s silence meant she was living happily without me.
I had convinced myself that I was the villain in her story, the overbearing father who had pushed her away.
But right now, standing in the sweltering heat of the diner parking lot, I realized the truth was far worse.