Читать книгу Terms Of Engagement - Kylie Brant - Страница 7

“Bill talked you into coming in, huh?” Song, a Eurasian woman with the size and build of a twelve-year-old boy, cast a sympathetic if harried glance Lindsay’s way as she entered the kitchen.

“Man’s got a silver tongue,” she acknowledged wryly, stowing her purse beneath one of the stainless-steel counters. She waved hello to Bobby, the teenager manning the dishwashers, and scanned the fluttering tickets in the order window. She gave a mental sigh. Any thoughts of getting out before closing abruptly dissipated.

“Sorry.” Song expertly dumped a fry basket and refilled it. “I know you were looking forward to a day off. But if I had to spend the rest of my shift with him in here screaming at me, I’d have murdered him with a santoku knife.”

“Lindsay!” a familiar bellow sounded.

“Hold that thought,” Lindsay muttered. The chest-high swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the dining area bounced open, and Bill Neldstrom’s beefy frame filled them.

“You took your time getting here.” The man’s florid complexion looked ruddier than usual. Lindsay had long thought he was one tantrum away from a heart attack. “Take over the grill. Song has managed to burn every damn thing she’s put on it waiting for you.” The man’s words had anger flushing Song’s cheeks, although the woman kept her eyes downcast. “Place is full out there. Every mother’s sister musta decided to do some Christmas shopping today.” His words abruptly halted as he stared at Lindsay’s face. “What the hell happened to you?”

It took a moment for Lindsay to follow his transition. Then she remembered her cheek. The cover-up she’d used hadn’t done much to hide the bruise. “Walked into a door,” she lied blandly.

He gave a short laugh. “Good one. Told ya that mouth of yours would get you in trouble someday.” He abruptly shifted back to business. “See that you stay caught up in here. I don’t want people bitching about waiting for their food. I’ll try to come in and help out when I have time.”

“You have enough to do out there,” Lindsay told him, crossing to the order window to snatch a handful of tickets. “Song and I can handle the kitchen.”

“Make sure you do.”

The man was a bundle of charm. Turning, he exited the room again and Lindsay heard Song’s audible sigh of relief.

“You always manage him better than the rest of us.”

“Considering that I’m here on my day off, that isn’t saying much.” And considering that Bill Neldstrom was little more than a workplace bully, he was hardly a challenge. After consulting the tickets she’d grabbed, Lindsay said, “Can you handle the salads and the fryers?”

“Sure.”

Lindsay placed the orders where both of them could see them and crossed to the walk in-freezer. “Heard there was some trouble this morning.”

“Where’d you hear about that?” Song’s voice sounded behind her. Without waiting for an answer, the other woman went on, “It was over-the-top, even for Bill. He dumped a full breakfast special on Mitch Engels and told him to never come back. Chang was furious. He had to fill the order all over again.”

Selecting a couple of chicken breasts and a pound of bacon, Lindsay swiftly made her way back to the grill. Piper’s breakfast menu was available until two, but lunch orders were filled all day. She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting a chicken sandwich before ten in the morning, but her job was filling the orders, not offering nutritional advice. “I don’t imagine Mitch was any too pleased about it, either,” she said dryly, as she dropped the two chicken breasts on the grill.

A shrug sounded in Song’s voice. “Well, he had been fired, after all. And he should have known there was no use coming back and appealing to Bill. It’s not like he’s ever going to change his mind.”

Lindsay had told Mitch much the same thing last night, although the man obviously hadn’t listened. For a moment she entertained the idea of dumping potatoes and gravy on Bill’s slicked-back dark hair the day she turned in her resignation. The visual image was tempting. But timing was everything. She’d have to resign immediately after collecting her pay, or she could kiss her last payment goodbye. As Mitch had already discovered, Bill wasn’t the forgiving sort.

A few hours later the breakfast rush had segued into the lunch crowd with no noticeable lag in between. Lindsay’s cheek was throbbing, but she hadn’t had time to take the pain reliever she’d tucked into her purse. For that matter, she hadn’t had time to use the cell phone she’d slipped into her jeans pocket, either. She flicked a glance at the clock. Five hours until Jack was supposed to pick her up. She needed to make the call to cancel, and soon.

“What the hell?”

There was a crash behind her. Lindsay whirled, saw the broken dishes lying at Bobby’s feet. The question on her lips died as she followed the direction of the boy’s gaze.

“Everyone head into the dining area. Now.”

Her brain seemed frozen. The voice belonged to Mitch Engels. But the man standing before her could have been a stranger. In faded camouflage fatigues and a bright orange hunting cap, he looked like Elmer Fudd ready to wage war on a flock of ducks.

But there was nothing comical about the shotgun strapped across his chest. Or the handgun he was holding.

“Mitch!”

His face, when he saw her, was as dismayed as Lindsay’s voice had been. “I told you not to come here. I told you!”

She couldn’t look away from the gun in his hand. It was still easy to recall the feel of a cold barrel pressed against her temple. Still all too easy to hear that voice in her ear, menacing. Amused.

Does this bullet have your name on it? Should we find out?

“Bill called me in for Chang,” she said inanely. “Mitch…” She swallowed hard, tasted fear. “You don’t want to do this. This isn’t the way.”

“It’s the only way.” With a jerk of his head, he told them, “All of you, into the dining area.”

Lindsay looked at Song and Bobby. They seemed frozen in place, their gazes glued on the gun Mitch was wielding. She hesitated, a thousand scenarios fast-forward-ing through her mind. There were three of them. If they all rushed him at once…or if she distracted him, would Song and Bobby react quickly enough to head for the exit?

But the other two workers were already moving to obey, leaving Lindsay remaining to face him. “You don’t want to mess with me, Lindsay,” Mitch warned. “You really don’t. Out there with them. Now.”

He blocked her path to the exit. She paused infinitesimally. A person knowledgeable about firearms was deadly. An armed person without that knowledge, even more so.

She turned, following closely behind Song and Bobby.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” She heard Neldstrom’s voice. “Are you the one who dropped the dishes in the kitchen? Because I’m taking them out of your pay, you butter-fingered little freak. I’m not made of—” His voice broke off as Song and Lindsay appeared before him. “What’s going on? Lindsay, you better not be staging a…”

Lindsay could tell the exact moment Neldstrom saw Mitch behind her. His eyes bulged and his face went a darker shade of red. “Engels, what do I have to do to keep you out of here?”

Mitch nudged Lindsay aside. “I think you’ve already done plenty, you spineless bastard.”

The color abruptly leached from the owner’s face when he saw the gun the man was holding. “Are you crazy? The place is full of people.”

“I didn’t come for them. I came for you.”

Mitch swung the gun to aim for Neldstrom, who stumbled back several steps. A woman in the nearest booth spotted the weapon and let out a window-rattling shriek. Neldstrom took the opportunity to run for the door, slamming into Bobby and knocking him to the floor.

“You aren’t going anywhere!” As Lindsay watched in horror, Mitch fired a shot, striking Neldstrom in the back. “I’m in charge here now! I’m in charge!”

Neldstrom dropped heavily to the floor, landing almost on top of Bobby. The teenager yelped, scrambling to his feet, his eyes dark pools of shock in his pale face. A baby wailed, women screamed and several patrons got to their feet and rushed for the exits.

Lindsay finally found her voice. “Mitch…”

“Everyone freeze!” Mitch raised the gun and fired two more shots in quick succession. The tableau inside the restaurant stilled, as if a movie had been paused midscene. “Bobby, lock the front door and close the shades on the windows. Now!”

The boy didn’t move. “But…but…Bill…”

“He doesn’t look like he’s up to it,” Mitch said callously. The owner hadn’t moved. Blood was pooling between his shoulder blades. Mitch raised his voice. “Everyone sit back down. Go on. Get back in your booths. No one will get hurt if you do exactly as I say.”

Lindsay studied him closely. The transformation that had come over the man was as fascinating as it was frightening. Gone was the cowed, victimized man from the bar last night. It was as if by donning that ridiculous hunter’s uniform and picking up a weapon, he’d become someone she didn’t know.

And that meant she wasn’t at all sure how to approach him.

“Mitch.” It took effort to keep her voice steady, her manner matter-of-fact. “Someone passing by is sure to report the shots fired in here.” The location of the windows made it doubtful anyone had witnessed Bill’s shooting. “You need to get away before the police come.” She was hyperaware of the body lying motionless on the floor, of the blood seeping too rapidly from it. If she could convince Mitch that he was her primary concern, maybe they could avoid any more bloodshed.

“I’m not going without Alex,” he said grimly, his eyes scanning the crowd as they returned to their seats. “Where is he?”

“I…I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. She hadn’t been outside the kitchen since arriving this morning. “But you have to leave now, Mitch. You don’t have much time.” From the corner of her eye she could see that Bobby had secured the front door and rolled down the blinds to cover the bank of front windows

“Everyone keep your hands on the tables,” Mitch called to the patrons. “And don’t worry. The only ones dying today are the ones who deserve it. And if you don’t do anything stupid…well, then you won’t deserve to die, will you?”

“You could slip out the kitchen entrance the same way you came in,” Lindsay told him, desperation tingeing her tone. Did the man intend a siege here? A sense of impending doom lodged in the pit of her belly. “If you leave now…”

Mitch reached out and grabbed Song, who seemed shellshocked. Wrapping an arm around her throat, he told Lindsay, “Go lock the kitchen door. Then the back exit. I trust you, Lindsay. Don’t screw me over.” He placed the muzzle of the gun against the woman’s temple, and panic filled her expression. “Or the next one that dies will be on your conscience.”

Lindsay’s gaze locked with Song’s. The woman’s eyes were wide with terror and a silent plea that was impossible to ignore. A kaleidoscope of possibilities raced through her mind, but in the end she knew there was only one choice.

Jerkily, she nodded. “All right. Don’t hurt her. Mitch?” She waited for him to look at her. “Promise you won’t hurt anyone else.”

For a moment there was a flicker in his eyes and she saw the man she’d once thought she’d known. “I won’t hurt Song. As long as you do what I say.”

As Lindsay pushed through the swinging doors to the kitchen, it occurred to her that he hadn’t exactly given the promise she’d asked for. Casting a look over her shoulder, she saw Mitch’s attention fixed on her.

So she turned her gaze forward again and kept her movements stealthy as she reached under her apron on the way to the door. Pulled the cell phone from her jeans pocket. Sending a silent prayer to a frequently absent God, she rang Jack Langley’s number.

“This is total bullshit!” Unable to remain silent any longer, Jack surged to his feet, paced Captain Telsom’s office. “Fallon’s threatening to bring charges against me?”

“You broke his nose and a couple of his ribs,” Telsom reminded him from behind his scarred oak desk. “He’s screaming brutality, which is going to bring IA breathing down our necks. You’re sure we’re solid on that attempted rape charge against him?”

“It’s solid.” Sheila Jennings had sworn out a complaint last night while Fallon had spent the night in the hospital. There was definitely something backassed about that turn of events. He hadn’t had time to look at the report this morning, since he and his partner had been called out to check on an alleged burglary. After a couple hours at the scene, the elderly home owner had discovered his coin collection had been moved by his housekeeper. “And I’m not the one who broke his nose. That was the woman who witnessed him trying to rape Sheila Jennings last night.” In short, succinct terms he relayed Lindsay’s part in the incident, ending with, “This is just a preemptive strike on Fallon’s part. He figures a complaint is going to be sworn out against him and he’s trying to keep his ass out of jail.”

Some of the tension eased from Telsom’s craggy face. “Bradford’s statement will back up Jennings’s?”

Jack halted, folding his arms across his chest. “Yes,” he said, with more certainty than he was feeling. His persuasive powers had been singularly ineffective with Lindsay last night. But surely she’d be thinking more clearly today.

“Then bring her in here and get the paperwork done. Let’s clean this up before it gets messy, Langley.” His protruding brow and deep-set eyes were even more noticeable when he was wearing a scowl. “I don’t like messes.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Jack walked out of the office, glancing at his watch. Three-ten. If he was going to get Lindsay in here for a statement today, he didn’t have much time.

When he got back to his desk and reached into his suit jacket for his cell, however, he saw he’d already missed a call from Lindsay. No message. Something inside him lightened. He knew better than to believe that she’d come to her senses and rethought her decision about the statement. More than likely she was calling to cancel their date tonight.

He pressed the redial button and held the cell to his ear, sinking into his desk chair, a sense of anticipation clenching in his gut at the thought of speaking to her again.

But the phone merely rang, and rang, and rang before switching to her voice mail.

Lindsay felt the phone vibrate in her apron pocket and thanked God she’d thought to mute it before locking the door and facing Mitch again. Because he wasn’t the same man she’d felt sorry for last night. Something had snapped inside him and he’d spiraled rapidly out of control.

Like the rest of the people inside the restaurant, her attention was glued on the scene unfolding between Mitch and Alex Gardner, who had been discovered hiding below the order counter.

“I said crawl over here, you piece of crap!”

There was a shrill ring to Mitch’s voice that had Lindsay considering him carefully. The unusual veneer of control he’d worn when he’d entered the kitchen was definitely thinning. She scanned the occupants of the restaurant, counting heads. Thirty-seven people, including the help. The customers were predominantly women, with five children and three men. And everyone wore similar expressions of dazed terror.

“Not laughing anymore, are you, funny guy?” Alex was on his knees in front of Mitch, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Mitch had the revolver pressed against the center of his forehead. “What’s the matter? This isn’t as funny as watching Bill pour juice over my head? Something’s wrong with your sense of humor, pal. This is funny as hell.”

Alex’s face crumpled. Silent tears ran down his face.

Lindsay sidled away until the hostess’s lectern was between her and the two men. Leaning against the wall, she reached one hand into the wide front pocket of her apron, in search of the still-vibrating phone. If she could just open it, Jack would be able to hear everything going on, wouldn’t he? And then maybe he could understand enough to send the help necessary to…

“Lindsay!”

Her heart stuttered to a stop in her chest, her fingers releasing the phone and slipping out of the pocket again. Mitch was staring at her, frowning. “What?” With a sense of despair she realized the cell had ceased vibrating.

“Bring me a glass of orange juice. No, bring me a whole damn pitcher. Let’s see how funny boy likes it when it’s dumped over his head.”