CHAPTER 1
The ghosts of those we love never leave us. They live on in our hearts but break them too, Lily thought as she flipped the sign on the door of the Higgstown Diner from “Open” to “Closed.” Then she sank wearily onto a stool at the counter, finally at the end of the workday. Now she could let loose the heaviness weighing her down. Hot tears stung her eyes and she let them. It was OK. There was no one around to witness her breakdown. She rested her head in her hands and heaved with sobs.
“Sara, please talk to me. Give me a sign you’re still around,” Lily said to the air. “I miss you so much.” More tears washed down her cheeks. It had been three months since her sister’s death, and there was still no escaping Sara’s ghost. Even the chipped Arborite counter where she now sat, with the wonky red upholstered stool that swiveled just a little too much to the right, brought back memories. Lily could see her older sister as plainly as if she were standing in front of her now, black hair piled high in a bun and that blue eye shadow she was so fond of. Lily smiled through her tears.
Sara had been a whiz at the grill, whipping up orders faster than Lily ever could. God, how long had the diner been a part of their lives? More than twenty-five years, she guessed. They were just kids when their mother, Nancy, bought the place—Lily, seven, and Sara, twelve.
A creak came from the back of the diner. Lily lifted her head to listen. Another small groan of the floorboards. Could Sara be giving her a sign?
“Sara?” Lily slid off the stool.
A tall, dark figure loomed in the doorway.
Lily froze, her heart near exploding. “What do you want?” she choked out in a thin voice.
He stepped nearer. “Open the register.” His voice was a deep whisper.
A balaclava hid his face; the seams of a dark gray coat strained over a thickly muscled physique. He aimed the gun in his right hand at her chest.
Her feet seemed rooted to the floor.
“I said, open the register.”
The man moved close enough for Lily to catch his scent—a mix of sweat and cheap aftershave. He shoved her forward, snapping her from her stupor, and followed as she made her way behind the counter to the cash register.
A glowing red light caught her attention. She hadn’t turned off the coffee maker! In one quick movement, Lily grabbed the pot’s plastic handle and launched the scorching brew at the woolen knit of the intruder’s balaclava. The gun landed with a thud between his booted feet as he clawed at the steaming mask plastered to his face.
Now was her chance. Lily shouldered past him to the front door. Her fingers, thick and clumsy with panic, fumbled as she tried in vain to turn the two deadbolt locks. She ordered herself to calm down. Take a breath. C’mon, you can do this, she told herself, but her heart jack hammered in her chest, and her ears pulsed with the rush of blood behind them.
Suddenly, a face appeared on the other side of the glass front door of the diner, sending Lily backward, nearly tripping over her own feet.
The stranger on the other side of the door took her in. A look of confusion flickered across his face. Then, as if coming back to himself, he yelled, “Hurry. Unlock the door!” The cold night air whipped his dark hair wildly around his face. His pale blue eyes locked on hers.
Panic had hijacked her brain. She didn’t know what to do. He could be an accomplice.
“Turn around,” the stranger yelled and gestured with a twirl of his finger. What else could she do? There was no other option, so she did as he said and moved into a corner, keeping a careful eye on the burglar who, oddly, seemed just as anchored in place as she was.
The sudden crash of shattered glass made Lily turn back around to see the stranger reaching through the broken pane, unlocking the door.
“You OK?” he asked, stepping inside.
Lily nodded, unsure if he was friend or foe. Her wide-eyed gaze turned to the burglar, who was now approaching. He hadn’t fled as she’d hoped.
“Call the cops,” the stranger said.
The men were a few feet from each other. Her rescuer bent to scoop up the gun, but a knee caught him square in the chest, knocking him backward. The other man lunged for the weapon.
Lily grabbed for the metal umbrella stand near the door and upended it, sending a mosaic of unclaimed and forgotten umbrellas crashing to the floor. With one quick heft, she whacked the intruder across the back with ten pounds of brass, making a crack so loud she was amazed to see him still upright. He groaned and threw her a menacing glare. The blow hadn’t been enough to fell him, but it did buy them some time. Her rescuer barreled into the burglar, slamming him to the wall with a skull-cracking thud.
The way to the phone behind the counter was finally clear. Lily punched in 911 with shaky fingers. The operator on the other end began to ask questions she didn’t have time to answer. “Three twenty-six Maple Ridge Drive, Higgstown Diner. Hurry!” was all she said before running back over to help.
“Rope, duct tape, anything?” the stranger asked. He had the burglar in a headlock, and although the man looked unconscious, Lily was afraid he’d come to at any moment.
“In the back.” She was off and returned a moment later with a roll of silver-gray tape.
“Name’s Aiden by the way.” He flashed a dimpled smile, and Lily felt her legs go weak. How was it she was just noticing his good looks? The whole scene was ridiculous, and she had to stifle an urge to laugh. Here was a gorgeous guy, smiling at her, with his arm wrapped like a vice around some thug’s neck.
“Lily,” she replied, coming back to herself.
“Lily, can you manage to wrap some of that tape around his wrists?”
She nodded.
“Then do it, quick.”
She moved nimbly, her hands not as shaky now that Aiden was with her. Lily made quick work of securing the man’s wrists, noticing how thick they were and the fact his hands were rough and calloused. Next, she moved to his ankles, wrapping the tape around his legs above the tops of his well-worn leather hiking boots until the roll was almost used up. Finally, she smacked a rectangle of tape over his mouth, which wasn’t easy to do since he’d screwed his face into a grimace, and all the while stared at her through hooded eyes. She’d brushed the reddish stubble on his cheek, making her cringe and reflexively wipe her hand on her apron.
Aiden released the man, who slumped bonelessly to the floor. His eyes were open now, and he wriggled and grunted in an effort to free himself. With a swift kick, Aiden sent the gun sailing across the dingy gray linoleum to the far end of the diner.
“He’ll be fine till the cops get here.” Aiden’s voice and demeanor were as calm as if he rescued damsels in distress every day. With a gentle hand on her elbow, he led Lily to a booth at the front of the diner. “Why don’t we wait here?”
She sat, shivering as the cold night air streamed in through the open door. All she had on was her short-sleeved uniform, and gooseflesh pricked her skin. Aiden took off his jacket and wrapped it around her.
She took him in as he sat opposite her. “Thanks.”
He was big, at least as tall as the burglar, and broader, with hair the color of rich dark earth and pale blue eyes that shone like robin’s eggs against his olive complexion. And he had a dimple, just one, in his right cheek. Despite the danger no more than ten feet away, Lily had never felt safer.
“I guess the sheriff’s on his way,” she said, eyeing the writhing intruder. “You sure the tape will hold?”
“Yup. You did a great job. Almost like you’ve done this before.” A brow shot up in mock accusation.
Despite the chill, a flush rose to her cheeks and she looked away.
He suddenly seemed contrite. “Are you all right? I mean you just went through quite an ordeal.”
“I…I’m OK.” She wanted to say more, but he was a stranger. How could she tell him her problems? How could she say this bungled burglary was the least of her worries?
He looked around. “This your place?”
Everything’s mine now that my sister and mother are dead, she was tempted to say, but what came out was simply, “Yeah, it’s all mine.” Lily got up and went over to a cupboard behind the counter and grabbed a bottle of Scotch and two glasses.
“I’m sorry, but I really need this.” A flicker of a smile came and went as she poured an inch of the amber liquid with a trembling hand and sat. Aiden took the bottle from her and finished pouring his own drink.
She downed hers, coughed, and covered her mouth with the back of her hand.
Aiden knocked back his Scotch, then poured another for each of them.
The liquor warmed her, and soon sweet abandon swept her away. Cares drifted, and even the bound man on the floor was no longer a concern.
A red, pulsing glow filled the diner with large swooping circles.
“Sheriff’s here.” Lily rose and held onto the back of the seat for support. Then shrugged off the jacket and handed it back to Aiden. The cool air was refreshing now that she was warmed by liquor.
He followed her to the door and stood close behind. She had the feeling he wanted to wrap an arm protectively around her shoulder, and part of her wished he would.
Sheriff Royce Wilkins, a slender, drooping black man, ducked through the empty door frame, his lips pressed into a grim line as he threw a nod at Lily.
With arms crossed tightly over her chest, she nodded back.
Wilkins eyed the man on the floor, who now lay still. An eyebrow shot up in a question mark as he turned his attention to Aiden.
“This is Aiden. He helped me,” Lily said.
Aiden held out a hand. “Aiden O’Rourke.”
Wilkins shook it. “Mr. O’Rourke, looks like you were in the right place at the right time.”
“Yes, he was,” Lily answered for him.
“You OK, Lily?” The sheriff bent down beside the intruder and ripped the duct tape from his mouth with one quick flick.
“Fine.”
The man groaned and whipped his head from side to side, as if trying to wipe away the pain. A rectangle of angry, red flesh glowed where the tape had been.
The sheriff plucked the coffee-soaked balaclava from the floor and pulled a plastic baggie from his jacket pocket. After dropping the mask inside, he sealed it. “Looks like someone got a face full of steaming hot coffee. That your doing, Lily?”
She nodded but didn’t say anything.
Wilkins turned to Aiden. “Mind givin’ me a hand?” He tipped his head toward the intruder. Wilkins grabbed an arm, and Aiden was quick to follow. Together, they heaved the burglar to his feet.
“Gun’s over there,” Aiden said, nodding toward the back of the diner as the sheriff began his pat down.
Wilkins pulled a knife from the man’s jacket. Holding it between a gloved thumb and forefinger, he deposited it into another baggie. “No wallet? No ID? Looks like you were up to no good.”
The man kept silent, his lips pressed into a line of discontent.
Deputy Antonio Deluca ducked through the broken pane of the door and surveyed the scene. Short, in his mid-thirties with a wispy black moustache, he wore the look of a man who’d rather be on the couch watching the game than doing his job.
“Fetch the gun. It’s at the back,” the sheriff said to his deputy without taking his eyes from his charge. “You gotta name?”
“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ till I see a lawyer.”
“Thought as much.” Wilkins pushed up the sleeves of the man’s jacket before unclipping his handcuffs from his belt and slapping them onto the burglar’s wrists. Then he pulled a penknife from his pocket and sliced through the duct tape.
Antonio was back with the gun. “Bag that and take this nice young man to the station and book him,” the sheriff said.