Читать книгу Home To Family - Ann Evans - Страница 8

“I HAVE TO STOP for a coffee,” Matt D’Angelo said.

Beside him in the passenger seat, Shayla shook her head. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. Just a quick one. If I don’t, I’ll never make it.”

Shayla swung a look in his direction. He could see she was about to object again, so he gave her one of his most winning smiles. They’d been dating only three months, but he knew Shayla was crazy about him, and he wasn’t above using that knowledge to his benefit.

As he expected, she gave him a playful, censuring scowl. “You’re completely addicted,” she told him. “You know that, don’t you? And we’re already late. Your folks are going to worry.”

“Mom and Pop know what the traffic is like this time of year. They won’t look for us until after dark.”

This was true. It was December twentieth and the usual delays of Christmas travel and snowy weather had put them behind since early this morning. They’d had to de-ice the plane in Chicago before take-off, and by the time the bumpy, overcrowded flight made it into Stapleton in Denver, the swill in Matt’s stomach—a cup of weak decaf from an airport kiosk—had long soured. Now the Eisenhower Tunnel along the Interstate-70 corridor would be slow-going, crowded with skiers heading for the slopes and families making their way to holiday reunions with friends and family.

Matt took his hand off the steering wheel and reached across the front seat to rub his fingers along the back of Shayla’s neck. “Come on, Shay. How can you be so cruel to someone you’re crazy about?”

That got the reaction he expected. She gave him a sharpened look, eyes wide. “You’re way too full of yourself. I’m not that crazy about you.”

He grinned. “Let me stop and get my coffee fix, and when we get to Lightning River tonight I’ll show you all the reasons you should be.”

“Under your parents’ roof?” she said with a small gasp. “I don’t think so. For the week we’re staying with them, there’ll be none of that sort of thing, Matt D’Angelo.”

He laughed. “I know a dozen places in the lodge where we can find privacy. I was very inventive when I was a horny teenager.”

“Well, you’re an adult now. At least you’re supposed to be. Abstinence will give us something to look forward to when it’s time to go home.”

He faked a miserable look. “I’ll have a bluuuue…Christmas without youuuu…,” he warbled.

She put her hands over her ears. “Stop! You may be a great surgeon, but you’re completely tone-deaf.” She nudged his arm lightly. “Get your cup of coffee, but then let’s get going.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. That had been easier than he’d expected.

He took a turn off the highway that ran through the outskirts of Denver, following a road swept clean by the snow crews. Somewhere along here, there had to be a place they could make a quick stop.

He spotted it in the middle of the block. One of those old dining cars from the railroad days. Duffy’s, the modest sign proclaimed. He pulled into the parking lot, found a spot and killed the engine.

As soon as the heater died, Shayla tucked her fingers into the pockets of her coat, already looking displeased.

“Two minutes,” Matt promised. “Want anything?”

“No.”

He leaned over, fingering a stray lock of Shayla’s blond hair behind her ear so that he could skim a kiss across her cool cheek.

She swung a look in his direction. “Are you kissing me because you got your way?” she asked with a skeptically raised eyebrow.

“No,” he replied honestly. “I’m kissing you because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. I’m a lucky guy, and I know I don’t say that often enough.”

She looked surprised at the unexpected compliment. He laughed as she practically pushed him out of the car.

A blast of frigid air hit him as he got out, and he hurriedly buttoned his coat against it. The snow had let up, but the wind was as bone-chilling as the worst winters they got in Chicago.

Carefully he made his way up the steps of the diner. He’d never hear the end of it if he slipped and broke something now. The red light from the neon sign in the window glowed like a spill of blood across the pretty snow mounded on the bushes near the door.

The place was small, a single counter with stools and a few booths along one end. Nobody looked up as he came in, though there were four or five people who had obviously sought shelter against the inhospitable weather.

There was a man seated on the end stool, nearest the door. A young woman with sallow skin but pretty blond hair stood behind the cash register. At the opposite end of the counter, a barrel-chested guy in a spotty apron— Duffy?—nodded curtly at Matt.

In half a dozen strides, Matt reached the counter. “Hi,” he said to the waitress. “Can I get a cup of coffee to go? Black, please.”

She didn’t say a word, just turned around and started to fill the order. Little white bag, napkin, stir stick. Matt blew on his hands to warm them while he waited. The man beside him looked up and gave him a tight smile. Matt nodded.

The service was slow. The blonde turned at last, coffee now hidden away in the bag. Matt could smell it—strong and heavenly, and he could almost feel it warming his insides already.

And then he heard something strange. Bells. Very faint and delicate-sounding. He thought it might be coming from the jukebox at the opposite side of the room—Christmas tunes would be the order of the day—but that couldn’t be. The colored arch along the top of the machine was dark, like a dead rainbow.

He realized the sound was coming from the waitress. He caught a name badge over her right breast. Jill. Her hand was clutched on the take-out bag, and it was then Matt noticed that she wore a bracelet. A concession to the Christmas season—small linked jingle bells covered her wrist.

They were shaking. Hard. So was her hand.

In fact, when Matt looked back at her name badge, he could see her heart pumping wildly, moving the plastic back and forth.

“Are you all right?” he asked with a frown.

The girl went white as new snow. Unexpectedly, the man on the stool next to him rose and quickly went around the end of the counter. He hugged Jill to his side, then smiled at Matt.

“Not a problem, man,” he said. “Jill’s my lady, and we just had a little spat. But everything’s okay now. Ain’t that right, Jill?”

Jill nodded, trance-like, but nothing in her stiff posture indicated smooth sailing ahead for this couple. Must have been one heck of a spat, Matt thought.

And then, in that moment, in one split, God-awful moment of understanding, it hit him. He knew precisely what he was witnessing here, and it wasn’t an embarrassingly public lover’s quarrel.

The nearly deserted street outside. The unnatural, still silence of the other diners. Jill’s barely controlled panic. The tense, wary way in which the man who held her smiled at him.

In that same instant, the older employee at the opposite end of the counter took several steps in their direction. “Turn her loose,” he growled, his eyes wild and burning.

The man holding Jill lifted one arm, and Matt saw the gun in his hand for the first time. “Back off, old man,” he snapped. “You don’t want my kind of trouble.”

He pointed the gun at Matt when the employee stopped dead in his tracks. “You. Just stand right there. If you’re smart, you won’t move.”

Matt did as he was told. The robber was short, but he had a bully’s jaw and the harsh, fierce eyes of a sewer rat. Matt watched as the man let go of Jill and came around the counter to stand in front of him. With the end of his gun, he motioned toward the counterman. “Finish opening the safe.” Jill had begun to cry now, and the robber barked at her, “Shut the hell up!” For good measure, he reached across the Formica, yanked her close with a twisting grip on her blouse, and slapped her.

Matt flinched inwardly, but remained still. He knew enough to keep from escalating this any further with a foolish show of bravado. The robber would take the cash and make a run for it. There wasn’t any need for anyone to get badly hurt.

Jill bit down on her bloodless lips and went silent.

“Harley!” the sewer rat shouted down the length of the room. “What’s taking you so long? Hustle up!”

For the first time Matt realized that a second robber had begun rounding up prizes from the other diners—wallets and rings and anything that looked remotely valuable and portable. He was tall, with long hair that made him look young and oddly innocent.

While Harley worked quickly at the other end of the diner, the first robber kept his gun trained on Matt. A demented grin snaked across the man’s face.

He thumped Matt lightly on the chest with the barrel of his weapon. “Nice coat. Got anything else under there I might like?”

Matt unbuttoned his coat, withdrew his wallet and handed it over.

The man glanced at Jill and made an impatient gesture with his fingers. “Get that ring off.”

Unexpectedly, the girl showed a sudden spark of life. “No,” she said. “It’s my engagement ring.”

The guy didn’t like that. “I don’t care if you inherited it from your dear departed mother. Take it off.”

He started to lean over the counter, but Matt took a step in front of him. “You don’t have to hurt her,” he said, desperate to keep the situation calm and his thoughts coherent. “Go easy. She’ll give it up. Won’t you, Jill?”

He looked at her, this stupid, stupid girl who seemed willing to go to the mat for a bauble that wouldn’t bring one hundred dollars in a pawn shop. “It’s not worth getting hurt,” he told her, softly.

He felt a swell of relief when she started twisting the ring off her finger. No reason for this to go sour. Unpleasant, yes. A nuisance, really, with the police reports that would have to be filed.

Shayla had been right, damn it. He shouldn’t have stopped.

And just as he had that thought, the door to the diner was opening. He turned his head to see Shayla come into the restaurant, her features pinched and cold from too many minutes spent alone in the car.

“Jeez, Matt. How long does it take to get a cup of coffee?” she complained as she came toward him.

“Shayla, wait for me out in the—”

Jill began to wail, a high-pitched, nerve-jangling sound. Matt turned toward her, saw that the robber had turned his gun in her direction, clearly intending to silence the girl once and for all.

“No, don’t,” Matt said quickly. “Don’t…”

“Matt?” he heard Shayla say in sudden, quavering distress.

“Shut up!” the robber yelled at Jill. “Shut up!”

There was sudden movement at the other end of the room and a terrified squeal from one of the diners. Everything happened so fast, almost simultaneously, and yet Matt was vividly aware of every moment, as though they were frozen in place like statues.

The older man reached below the counter, pulling a shotgun from some hidden nook. “You sons of bitches!” he shouted. “You’ve taken your last nickel out of this place!”

“Harley!” the robber called to his compatriot.

A gunshot exploded.

A woman screamed.

Matt launched himself at the robber closest to him. The man bellowed in surprise, but Matt concentrated on getting control of the gun.

Chaos suddenly. More screams and shouts as gunshots sounded again, so close together that Matt couldn’t tell how many or just where they had come from. The robber’s gun lay trapped between their bodies now, and as they both grunted and cursed and struggled for control, Matt felt himself shoved hard from behind.

Moments later, when the pain hit, he realized the truth.

Not shoved. Shot.

And only seconds after that awareness, the gun in his hand went off.

He was free suddenly, the robber sliding bonelessly into a heap at his feet. Matt backed away, aware that he’d just shot another human being.

His legs shook, threatening to buckle. He sank to the floor, his back pressed against the base of the counter, his legs splayed out in front of him. Breathing hard, he just sat there, trying to hold on to consciousness that felt as though it was oozing away. In his ears, his heartbeats sounded like thunder.

He looked down and had the odd, unexpected thought that the coffee he’d ordered had spilled all over the front of his best coat. And then he realized that it wasn’t coffee at all, but blood.

His blood.

His head fell back, and he closed his eyes. He couldn’t be sure whether he lost consciousness or not, but when he opened them, a woman was kneeling in front of him. He could see his own shock and horror reflected in her features. Vaguely he remembered that she’d been sitting at the far end of the diner when he’d come in.

“Just lie still,” she said. “We’ve called the police and an ambulance.”

Matt nodded, feeling the blood stream down the inside of his shirt. “Towel…” he said, his voice no more than a whisper, like dry leaves blowing softly in the wind. “Need to stop the bleeding.”

“I’ll get one,” she told him, jumping up and moving out of his line of vision.

That was when he saw that the diner was insanely cluttered with smashed dishes, glass and blood. When he let his gaze swing to the right, he saw the robber he’d fought with lying near the cash register, his body twisted like a puppet who’d had his strings cut.

He heard someone crying. Shayla, he thought. Probably scared to death. He wanted to tell her he would be all right, but frankly, he wasn’t sure of anything right now.

He turned his head in the opposite direction. Shayla was lying near the door, a pool of bright blood beneath her. His breath left him in a rush. He bit down hard on nothing, pressing his teeth tight as he looked at her for a long, long moment.

No no no no…Oh God, Shay, get up. Get up.

Her face was partially covered by her long hair, but he could see her eyes. It was the kind of truth Matt would have felt in his bones, even if he hadn’t seen dozens of gunshot victims at the hospital. She was dead.

The image of her soaked so deeply into his mind that he knew it would never leave him. Swallowing against sudden nausea, Matt closed his eyes again, lost to everything but regret.

He clenched his fists. Why the hell had he stopped for coffee? Fresh pain owned him then, hot and fierce in his left hand. Frowning, he brought his fingers up in front of him. His hand was a mess. Nothing but blood and bone and torn tissue. He tried to absorb what that kind of damage could mean to his career as a microsurgeon. He tried to care. But he had only one clear thought.

He was alive and Shayla was dead, and all he wanted in those moments was to have it be the other way around.