14. Dana
It feels like I haven’t been to the coffee shop in weeks, let alone less than twenty-four hours.
After parking my car around back, I unlock and pull open the alley door to the kitchen and hurry inside, locking it behind me. Jack said we couldn’t come back here because there would be people watching the place, so I’m staying off the front street.
The sun is high enough that lights aren’t necessary, so I am able to move around without alerting anyone that I’m here.
What a difference a day makes.
On a normal day, I’d be in the back, making sandwiches for the kids to take to school. Tyler would be joking around, and Kaley would be asking me if we could add bacon to our next batch of chocolate chip cookies.
Yesterday, I was oblivious. I had become complacent.
Today, I’m grateful no one showed up for a shift, and, judging by the time on the clock, the kids got the message not to come in today before catching the school bus.
I walk a straight line to the shelf I had almost forgotten about. I pull out a metal stool, and the scraping sound makes me wince. I step up and reach above our extracts and food coloring, sliding my hand all the way to the back of the shelf until my fingers brush up against the little box. I’m careful to not let anything fall as I return to the ground.
The contents inside are just as I left them. Pulling out the papers on top, I check to make sure the drive is still there before I seal the box up and put it back in its spot on the shelf. I’ll circle back for Zane’s files on my way out.
I step down, pull open a drawer, and search for a pen. I scribble a note on the front of the papers before signing my name. Then the bell over the front door jingles.
The paper I am holding immediately shakes in my grasp. Only Tyler and Kaley have a key to the place, and the thought of them being here is terrifying.
“Dana, get your ass out here now!” Last night’s comfort in Michael’s voice is gone, and I steal a glance at the box on the shelf before deciding against grabbing it and running out the back door.
They’d be on me before I got to my car, and they’d have Zane’s program. So I leave it where it is and join Michael in the front of the shop, dropping my backpack and the papers on the table closest to me, hoping I’ll have another chance at destroying the drive later.
“How did you get in?”
Tucking what looks like a wallet back in his pants, Jack speaks to me like I should already know the answer. “Please. This lock is worse than the one at your place.” He rolls his eyes at me as he walks toward the kitchen, pushing open the swinging door to look inside, while Michael steps closer to the table I am standing behind like it’s my shield.
“Is it just you here?” Jack catches my attention, and I nod before he pushes the door a second time and steps out of the room.
“You left the coffee shop to those kids?” Michael leans over the table, reading my business documents. “There’s a little more to it than writing a note. This isn’t legally binding.” He taps his finger on the papers beside my bag.
The words I want to say are on the tip of my tongue, but I leave them there. I want to say it probably doesn’t matter, because it’s me against three more hitmen and any second could be my last, but I only respond with a shrug.
Michael releases a bitter chuckle, and a pang of guilt turns my stomach. I am the one closing off our communication, and we both know it.
“You shouldn’t have run, Dana. I can’t make this easy for you now. Gather what you need. We’re leaving.”
My heart sinks with my shoulders. The only choice now is to tell them I have what they are looking for. The drive won’t be destroyed, but their hands aren’t the worst place Zane could end up in.
The jingle startles both of us, and we turn in unison as the front door opens. My heart beats hard against my ribs as Michael reaches around behind his back to where I know he keeps his gun.
“Sheriff Talbott.” I emphasize who the man is, and Michael drops his hand from his waist and nods.
“Kim,” the sheriff greets me. Then he turns his attention to Michael, raising his brows, urging him to speak.
“This is Michael. He’s an old friend. Just passing through town.”
The sheriff takes a long look at Michael, then steps forward, extending his hand and shaking it with vigor.
Michael’s smile stretches into a wince. His wound must be bothering him.
“Michael. You’re not by any chance renting the Miller cabin outside of town, are you?” His question is aimed at Michael, but his eyes remain on me, and I smile.
“We are.” As Michael answers him, I glance to the kitchen, seeing the door open an inch before it closes completely. Jack must have decided not to show his face in here. “I’m out here with a few friends for the week.”
“You’re not hunting, are you?” Panic sets in as I notice the start of a nod coming from Michael, and I interrupt.
“No, they’re fishing down the way a bit. Hunting season is over. We were just talking about that.” I smile at Michael, and he catches himself, nodding in confirmation.
“I see.” The sheriff rocks from the balls of his feet to his heels as he looks around the room. “There were some reports of gunshots in town last night. Do either of you know anything about that?”
“In town? No. I was here in the evening, and I heard a couple of shots, but they sounded farther away. I met up with these guys at Dale’s shortly after, and I overheard someone say it was out by Hawk’s Pass.”
“Dale’s,” Sheriff Talbott repeats. I know they don’t get along well, so he won’t check out my story unless he really needs to. “Okay then. I’ll head out that way in a bit. Nice meetin’ you, Michael. You saved me a trip to the cabin. Mind if I take a standard look around before I leave?” His eyes settle on me.
“Sure, Sheriff.” The smile I have plastered on my face hurts my cheeks as he turns in place before walking toward the kitchen.
I follow him, already plotting my excuse for why Jack is back there, and Michael trails close behind me.
The kitchen is as I left it this morning, and Jack is nowhere to be found. The door to the back alley is unlocked. He must have stepped outside; I’m sure I locked it on my way in.
I exchange a glance with Michael before he narrows his eyes at me. His forehead has become shiny, and his eyes dart nervously around the room.
“You didn’t open for business this morning?” The sheriff catches me off guard.
Between the questions and Michael’s odd behavior, an urgency to get this over with knots in my stomach.
“No. I’m doing inventory and fixing a few things. I do have some muffins here that’ll go bad before I get to open again. Can I pack some up for everyone back at the station?” I pull out a container, and he nods as Michael leans against the walk-in freezer door and crosses his arms.
“That’s mighty nice of you.” He tips his hat at me.
“You know what? Take the whole thing. I’ll make another batch later while I work.” When I slide the original container across the table, the sheriff’s eyes widen, and he snatches them up with thanks as I stretch my arm toward the door.
It’s time to get him out of here.
Michael pauses for a hot minute before walking out, lowering his voice as he nears me. “Hawk’s Pass? You know your way around out here?”
I nod. There isn’t much else to do but explore when you lose cell service and you’re trying to stay off-grid. I’ve been a local tourist for months around these parts, but I don’t need to share that with Michael.
If I get another chance to run, he’ll find out just how well I know the area.
“If you see anything suspicious, you call it in right away.” The sheriff walks through the dining room, and I absentmindedly answer as my attention falls on an open closet door just off the main area.
I could have sworn it was closed earlier.
“I will, Sheriff. Thanks for checking on us.”
“And you.” He turns to Michael, startling him as he reaches out his free hand. “I hear they’re biting down at the reservoir.”
“Pardon?” Michael returns his handshake, looking puzzled.
“The fishing. It’s a bit of a longer drive, but it might be worth the trip for you boys,” the sheriff clarifies.
I smile, patting Michael’s good arm. “Good idea. I’ll tell him where it is. Take care now.” I wave the sheriff out the door with a smile as I catch Michael removing his jacket out of the corner of my eye.
He must have had a spare shirt on him; his bloody white one has been replaced with a black tee. His bandages peek out from below the sleeve. I tap my own arm, drawing Michael’s attention to the light dressing against his inked skin, and he tugs his sleeve down to cover it before the sheriff notices and decides to ask more questions.
I turn my attention back to the sheriff, and Michael and I stand still, smiling and waving as he leaves—without a sound.
The silence of the room settles around us as my world falls apart in slow motion.
We’re standing in utter silence.
The familiar jingle is absent.
My eyes slowly travel up to where the little bell hangs above my front door.
But it’s gone.