Chapter 19

“Pull a pan of caramel rolls from reach-in cooler at four,” Jules muttered out loud as she read the diner opening checklist. “Leave on bread rack to proof.”

She yanked open the small refrigerator and pulled out the pan of caramel rolls. True to her word, Megan hadn’t made Jules go into the evil walk-in cooler since Vicki had trapped her in there. Relieved that she didn’t have to venture into the claustrophobic space, especially when she was at the diner alone, Jules gave Megan mental thanks and checked the next item on the list.

“Pull chairs off of tables.” Easy enough.

As she slid the chairs from their upside-down position on the tables, there was a flash of light, almost immediately followed by a crack of thunder. She jumped. Although she usually didn’t mind lightning, Jules was still getting used to Colorado’s violent, short-lived thunderstorms that brought buckets of rain and often hail. She was more used to the quieter sort of storm that lingered, sullen and muggy, all day.

A patter of raindrops on the roof turned into a steady drumming. With the front lights off, the diner was dim, and the flicker of lightning lit the interior in eerie, uneven flashes. Her hands shook a little as she reached for another chair, and she forced a laugh at her silly fears.

A thump-thump-thump on the window made her scream. Whirling around, she saw a figure in a raincoat standing close to the plate-glass window.

The bluish cast to the security light drew strange shadows, hiding the person’s face. Jules’s heart hammered in her chest, and she took an uncertain step back, still holding the chair in front of her. A small corner of her mind told her that she must look ridiculous, like she was trying to imitate a lion tamer, but the rest of her brain was frantically trying to figure out what to do.

The figure at the window lifted a hand and waved. The enthusiastic, harmless-looking gesture killed most of Jules’s panic, and she set down the chair. Then the person tipped her head, allowing the security lights to illuminate her face, and the rest of Jules’s concern washed away. She knew this person. It was Sherry Baker, Hugh’s maybe-possibly future girlfriend.

Sherry knocked on the window again, and Jules realized that she was just standing there, staring at the woman as the rain hammered down outside. Jules hurried over to open the door.

“Oh, thank you!” Sherry gushed as she hurried inside. She placed a large bakery box on a table, wiping water from its glossy, white top. “It’s pouring out there. I didn’t think I’d find anywhere that was open. Would you mind if I stayed in here until the rain lightens up a bit?”

“Of course.” Jules closed the door and relocked the dead bolt, feeling a little uncertain. Although she didn’t think Megan would mind that she’d let Sherry inside before they opened, it still felt strange, as if Jules was doing something wrong. “What are you doing out this early?”

“Oh well…” Sherry made a rueful face. “The studio where I do crossfit, Energy?” When Sherry looked at her, Jules nodded. She was pretty sure she’d driven by the small gym on her way to Dee’s school. “I usually go there very early to work out, but I forgot they’re doing remodeling this week, so they’re closed. My battery died, and my car wouldn’t start, so I figured I’d just walk to my friend’s house—he’s just a couple of miles away. Bad idea.” Sherry gave a little laugh. “I didn’t even make it halfway before the rain started pouring down so hard I couldn’t see. That’s when I saw your car here, so I thought I’d see if I could get you to let me in.”

“Make yourself comfortable—well, as comfortable as you can get.”

“Thank you.” Instead of sitting, Sherry wandered around the space. Jules couldn’t help but notice that, even soaking wet and enveloped in a bulky rain jacket, Sherry was gorgeous. No wonder Hugh seemed interested. The woman was so stunning that Jules felt dowdy in her waitress uniform and comfortable, yet very ugly shoes.

Shoving her feelings of inferiority to the back of her mind, Jules resumed pulling chairs off the tables. “So…your friend lives close?”

“Yes. I’m not sure if you know him,” Sherry answered absently as she peered through the blinds covering the glass door, probably at the sheets of rain pouring from the sky. “Gordon Schwartz.”

The name sounded familiar, but Jules couldn’t put a face to it. “I don’t think I’ve met him yet.” Maybe it came from being a cop, but Theo seemed to know every person in town. If this Gordon was more of a boyfriend than a friend, then Jules was going to have to shelve the matchmaker-type plan she’d hatched featuring Hugh and Sherry. She stifled a laugh. After such a short time of being with Theo, she’d already become one of those people, the ones who wanted to make every person as couple-y and sickeningly happy as she was.

“Understandable. You’re new here, and Gordon likes to keep to himself.” Then, as if Sherry had read her mind, she added, “Speaking of friends, it looked like you and Theo Bosco have progressed past the buddy stage?”

Instantly, Jules’s face flamed hot, and she fumbled with the chair she was moving, dropping it the last few inches to land upright, but with an embarrassingly loud clatter. “I…um…why do you think that?”

Sherry laughed. “Please. If you could’ve seen the pair of you the other day. I don’t think Theo’s ever cuddled anyone like that before in his life.”

“Um…” What do I say to that? Jules thought. It was still so new that it felt odd and awkward to talk about her and Theo. Just thinking about her and Theo was enough to fluster Jules, so discussing it was not going to go well. She decided to change the subject. “What about you and Hugh? You two seem to light up some sparks.”

She laughed again. “Me and Hugh?” Sherry asked. “No. I don’t think I could date a cop. Besides, my dad never wanted that for me.”

Pounding on the window made them both jump.

Jules peered out to see another waterlogged figure. It must be the day for rainy-day refugees, she thought with a small huff of laughter. The person turned his head, and his face was lit by the streetlight. Jules’s chuckle cut off abruptly as she jerked back a step.

“Who is it?” Sherry asked.

“Norman Rounds.” Her heartbeat had taken off at a gallop, and she started breathing quickly—too quickly. Jules reminded herself that she and Sherry were in a locked building. Help would arrive long before Norman could reach them. “I should call Theo.”

“Why?” Sherry sounded surprised. “He’s a little strange, but he’s harmless. Norman’s good friends with Gordon. I’m sure he just wants to get out of the rain. You don’t need to let him in if he worries you, though.”

“He blew up my barn!” The words came out too loud and high-pitched. She needed to stay calm. Jules exhaled a shaky breath, trying to think rationally.

“Norman blew up your barn?”

The pounding resumed, and Norman started yelling something, but the thunder and the clatter of the rain on the roof made it impossible to understand. Jules was a little grateful for that; she didn’t think she wanted to know exactly what her crazed, bomb-happy stalker was shouting.

Eyes wide, Sherry moved back, away from the door.

Jules reached for her phone, but her hand brushed her pocket-less uniform skirt. “Shoot.” The word sounded so insufficient for the situation that she almost laughed. Her phone was in the back, and she didn’t have Theo’s number memorized yet. “I’m going to call 9-1-1 on the diner phone.”

She took a step toward the counter when a loud crack made her spin around. Norman had a brick in his hand, and he was swinging it toward the large window. As it connected, Jules let out a shriek, her gaze locking on the small crack that had formed under the blow. How long could the window hold up against his assault? He hit the glass with the brick again, and the sound snapped Jules out of her paralysis. Whirling around, she ran for the phone.

Grabbing the handset, she started to dial when a smashing sound made her jerk, her fingers mashing too many of the wrong buttons. Her gaze flew to the window, but except for a few cracks, it was in one piece. The shades on the door rattled, and Jules realized with dawning horror that Norman had broken the glass in the door, and he was shoving the shades aside so he could reach for the dead bolt.

She couldn’t look away from that groping hand, rainwater diluting the blood oozing from multiple small cuts and running over his fingers. He gripped the dead bolt, and Jules knew a 9-1-1 call wouldn’t help them. The police couldn’t get there in time.

Dropping the phone, she ran for the kitchen door. “Sherry! This way!”

There was no response, no sound of running feet behind her, and Jules turned. Sherry was unmoving, frozen in place between two diner tables, watching as Norman unlocked the dead bolt. Reversing her steps, Jules ran toward Sherry, intending to grab her and haul the woman into the kitchen and to the back door. It was their only chance to get out of there, to get away from Norman.

She was only ten feet from Sherry when the door opened and Norman stepped inside. His jacket hood shadowed his features, turning him into a nightmarish figure, and Jules couldn’t hold back a cry.

Finally, Sherry moved. Lifting her right arm, she aimed a black pistol at Norman and pulled the trigger.

The blast was loud, so loud that all the other sounds went quiet for a moment. Jules skidded to a stop, turning her head from Sherry to Norman’s form sprawled on the floor. Shock kept her brain from understanding for several seconds. When comprehension finally started seeping in, she was torn between checking on whether Norman was dead and running just in case he wasn’t.

Running won.

“Sherry,” Jules said, her voice echoing strangely in her head. “Let’s go. We need to get help.”

Sherry finally turned, arm still outstretched. Staring at the gun that was now pointed directly at her, Jules stopped breathing. “No. We don’t. Norman’s been a pain in my ass since he came to town, always butting into other people’s business. I thought planting explosives in your barn and pinning it on him would finally get him out of my hair, but here he is again.” She shot his crumpled form a quick, disgusted glare. “Interfering bastard.”

“What?” It was a stupid thing to say, but it was the only word Jules could force past her lips. Sherry’s words weren’t making any sense. Nothing was making any sense. Sherry blew up their barn to frame Norman? What was happening?

“Please close the blinds.” Sherry smiled, a friendly, completely nonhomicidal smile that made everything even more disorientating.

Jules could only stare at her. It was hard to believe it was real. In fact, it was hard to believe the whole morning was real, that she was standing inside a cozy diner with the rain pattering on the roof and a possibly dead guy lying on the floor and a woman she was starting to think of as a potential friend pointing a gun—a gun!—at her. It seemed more like a dream. Jules waited to be woken by one of the kids or a sound or just her own fear, but nothing changed.

She was still standing in the diner, Norman still bleeding by the door, and Sherry still had her gun.

“Didn’t you hear me?” It was strange. Even though Sherry was holding a deadly weapon, her voice stayed sweet and even. It was Jules whose thoughts were verging on the hysterical, while Sherry sounded perfectly reasonable. “Please close the blinds.”

Perfectly sane.

Numbly, with hands that shook, Jules walked to the window and dropped the blinds, turning the slats so they completely covered the window. She considered trying to leave them partially open, so someone could see in if they happened to be walking by at four thirty in the morning, but there was no way to conceal it from Sherry, who was watching her intently from just a few feet away.

So she closed the blinds, hiding the two of them from the outside world.

“Thank you,” Sherry said, and the small part of Jules’s brain that wasn’t screaming with fear marveled at how polite her captor was. “Now come this way, please.” She gestured toward the back.

Jules’s knees wanted to fold, to soften and place her on the floor, but she stiffened, forcing her legs to carry her as she walked in front of Sherry toward the counter. It was harder not being able to see Sherry, just knowing that she was right behind her, holding a gun pointed at Jules’s back. Her skin felt itchy with nerves, her body knowing that something very bad could happen at any second, but she couldn’t brace herself for it.

“What do you want?” she asked, more so Sherry would speak than wanting to know. Having the silent, menacing presence behind her was too nerve-racking. She needed Sherry to talk, to make some sort of sound.

At first, it seemed Jules’s plan wasn’t going to work, but then Sherry finally answered, “I’m never going to get what I want.”

That was unhelpfully cryptic, Jules thought semihysterically. She frantically searched her brain for words, for the right statement or question or argument to make Sherry see Jules as a person, as someone with a right to her life.

If she died, what would happen to Sam and Ty and Tio and Dee? It wasn’t just fear that was circling inside of Jules, twisting like a cyclone. There was also rage. How dare Sherry threaten to take Jules away from her family? How dare she hold a gun on her? Just a jerk of her finger, and Jules would be gone, leaving her sister and brothers to suffer…again. And Theo—

She sharply cut off that train of potential grief.

As she shuffled forward, trying to move as slowly as possible without getting shot, Jules welcomed the anger. It ate away the fear and sharpened her mind. She needed to be smart, to get through this so she could stay alive and give her siblings that chance at a new life she’d promised them. And as crazy as it was, she wanted to give this thing with Theo a chance to survive.

“Do you have a reason for doing this?” she asked out loud. Jules was proud that she sounded so strong, so undaunted. “Or are you just flat-out bat-shit crazy?”

From the hissing inhale behind her, it seemed Jules had struck a nerve. “I’m not crazy.”

“So what’s your justification?” Jules demanded, righteous anger flowing through her and giving her courage. “What’s so important that you can blow up our barn and shoot Norman and risk my life for it? Risk my brothers’ and sister’s lives? What?”

“He took him from me!” Just like that, the politeness, the calm, was gone, and Sherry was full-out yelling. The fear returned as Jules imagined the gun swinging with Sherry’s hand as she gestured wildly. It would be so easy for Sherry’s finger to jerk back, sending a bullet tearing through Jules, through her back, her spine, her lungs, her heart…

“Who did?” Jules came to a stop as she tried to make her tone even, but it was hard with anger and fear warring inside of her. “Who took him?” And what does that have to do with me?

“Theo.” She spat out the name, punctuating it with a jab of the gun barrel in Jules’s back. “Theodore Bosco.”

Jules cried out, as much from the surprise of the sudden, violent contact as from pain, stumbling forward a step to escape the pressure on her spine. “Theo?” she repeated, panting, once she was able to speak again. “Who took Theo from you?”

“No!” Sherry shouted, making Jules’s whole body contract in anticipation of the shot. Sherry didn’t fire, though…not yet. “Theo is not the good guy. Everyone thinks he’s a hero, but he’s not. He’s not.”

Even though Jules knew she should try to pander to the woman pointing a gun at her back, she just couldn’t say it, couldn’t agree with her. “Theo is a hero. He saved me, my sister, my brother, and Hugh from that gunman.”

“You were never in any danger,” Sherry scoffed. “No civilians were. And Hugh was supposed to die.”

All the air left Jules’s lungs in a whoosh. “What?” she finally managed to croak as realization began to seep into her brain. “You know who the shooter is?”

“Keep moving.” Sherry’s words, accompanied by another jab of the gun to her spine, made Jules realize she’d come to a halt again in front of the entrance to the kitchen. Jules pushed through the door as her thoughts bounced wildly with escape plans. Images of her shoving the swinging door back in Sherry’s startled face or cracking her over the head with a sheet pan ran through her brain in the half second it took to pass through into the kitchen. The proximity of the gun—and the blatant scariness of the gun—kept her docile, though, at least externally.

“Who was the shooter?” Jules asked. She knew on some level that Sherry was sharing too much with her, that every new fact Jules learned lessened her chance of survival, but she still needed to ask, needed to know who had tried to kill her and Dee and Sam and Theo. “Why did he want to kill Hugh?”

“I didn’t want to kill Hugh,” Sherry snapped back, and Jules’s eyes widened. Sherry was the shooter? Then she realized the silliness of her surprise. After all, Sherry was currently holding her at gunpoint, proving she had access to guns and was willing to use them. “I had to.”

“Why? Why did you shoot him?” Jules winced inwardly at her confrontational tone, but it was sinking in that this was the person who had endangered all of their lives. The memory of Dee, looking bewildered as someone shot at her—shot bullets at a little girl!—rose in her mind, and rage started to take hold again.

“He needs to know.” The words were so soft that Jules, straining to hear, started to turn toward the other woman. The pressure of the gun barrel against her back made her freeze. She hoped the conversation would distract Sherry, keep her from realizing that they were just standing there. Jules wasn’t sure where Sherry was taking her, but she knew it wasn’t good. If Jules could delay it, she would. “He needs to know what it’s like to lose someone he loves.”

“What?” Anger for Theo was building, adding to the existing blaze. “How can you say that? He’s suffered so much already. I assure you, he knows perfectly well what it’s like to lose someone he loves.”

“Bullshit!” That hysterical edge was back in Sherry’s voice, but Jules was almost too riled up to care. “I’m the one who lost my dad. I’m the one who’s hurting, not him!”

The mention of her dad’s death softened Jules slightly. Although Jules’s father hadn’t died, she understood what it was like to lose a father. After all, everything that had made him her dad had already slipped away. His Alzheimer’s had slowly, painfully stolen him from her. “I’m sorry about your dad, but Theo—”

Sherry interrupted before she could finish. “He knew! He had to have known. They were together all of the time!”

“What?” Jules halted again. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or adrenaline making it hard to understand Sherry, but she felt like she’d just been knocked into the deep end of the pool. “I don’t understand. Who knew what?”

“Theo knew.” Every time Sherry said his name, she spit it out, like it tasted bad. “All those months, when Dad’s depression was getting so bad, Theo must’ve known something was wrong. He knew, and he didn’t do anything!”

Although Jules opened her mouth, nothing came out. Her brain was too busy absorbing the new information to be able to form sentences.

Sherry didn’t have that problem. The words came rushing out, like a newly cleared drainpipe. “You think he loves you, but just wait. You’ll be hurting, and he’ll just ignore it, pretend you’re fine, until you’re dead.”

“I don’t… Why are you blaming Theo?” Jules finally pulled it together enough to ask. “Why not you or your mom or the other cops? Couldn’t someone else have recognized your dad’s depression and tried to get him help? Why is Theo the only one you’re blaming?”

Judging by the angry silence behind her, it had been the wrong thing to ask. Again, Jules braced herself for the shot, but it still didn’t come. “Because”—Sherry’s voice was too quiet, and a nervous shiver ran through Jules, leaving prickling goose bumps in its wake—“Dad was never around. I couldn’t have seen it. Mom couldn’t have seen it. He was always with his precious partner, Theo. He got all of Dad’s time, all of his attention, so he was the one who knew Dad the best. He should’ve seen it. I shouldn’t have had to walk in on that, to see Dad’s body after he ate his gun. Why did he get all the good times with Dad, and I only got that?”

Despite the gun, despite the shooting, despite her bone-deep anger, Jules felt a tiny spark of sympathy for Sherry—but that was quickly extinguished by another jab of the gun barrel into her back. Jules started walking again.

“In there.”

The heavy door of the walk-in cooler loomed in front of her. Jules bit down on the inside of her lip hard enough to draw blood. Her whole body felt numb, unfamiliar, as if it wasn’t her own. Her feet were glued to the floor, refusing to move forward.

“Go. Now!”

The pressure of the gun between her shoulder blades reminded Jules that there were scarier things than going into the walk-in cooler, although her clammy palms and racing heart disagreed. Feeling like she was moving through sludge, Jules moved forward. Her hand shook as she closed it around the handle, and it took another prod with the gun barrel before she was able to yank open the heavy door. The dark space yawned in front of her, reminding her to turn on the light, and she fumbled for the exterior switch. Even with the tiny room lit, however, she couldn’t keep herself from stopping just inside the door. Sherry’s hard shove propelled her forward until she was as far in the cooler as she could get, wedged in the L of two shelves filled with cases of eggs and milk and bacon.

“Hands behind your back.”

As she grudgingly complied, Jules made a last-ditch effort at talking Sherry out of whatever she was about to do. “I don’t understand what locking me in the cooler has to do with your revenge on Theo.”

“I told you.” Sherry sounded impatient as cold metal circled Jules’s wrist. Handcuffs, she thought, her mind flooding with panic at the idea of being cuffed. Every muscle in her body tensed. “It’s too easy just to die. He needs to live and suffer. Killing Hugh would’ve done that, but that didn’t go as planned. Your death will be even better, though, because it’ll be his fault.”

Metal touched, cold and smooth, against her other wrist, and a realization hit Jules—Sherry was using both hands to put the handcuffs on her. That meant she couldn’t be holding the gun. A thrill of possible escape ran through her. Without thinking, she threw her head back, cracking Sherry in the face with her skull.

It hurt. In the movies, head-butts looked effortless, but the reality sent shock waves of pain through her head. Sherry yelled, a nasally sound of pain, and her grip on the handcuffs loosened. Whirling around, Jules ripped free of her grip and confronted a bloody-faced Sherry. Without hesitating, Jules charged forward, hands locked behind her back, toward the cooler door and freedom. Her shoulder bumped hard against Sherry’s side, sending them both off balance. Jules collided painfully with the edge of a shelf before scrambling forward, desperately hoping to escape before Sherry recovered.

Don’t fall, don’t fall! She repeated the mantra in her head, knowing it would be next to impossible to get up quickly with her hands secured. Using her sore shoulder—the one she’d just used to take Sherry out like a linebacker—she pushed the cooler door open and half ran, half stumbled out of the tiny, cold room.

She heard Sherry swearing until the door closed behind her, cutting off the other woman’s tirade. Jules took a precious few seconds and forced her brain to think, to come up with the best plan. There was no lock on the cooler door, and no way to keep it closed without holding it shut like Vicki had. Nothing except lightweight carts were close by, so she couldn’t even block the door. With the cuffs restraining her hands, it would be time-consuming at best and impossible at worst to dial either the diner landline or her own cell. Norman Rounds’s possibly dead body was sprawled by the front door, blocking it, so that was out.

After a moment of sheer, I’m-not-going-to-make-it panic, she remembered the back kitchen door and headed as fast as she could to the rear exit. It had a simple, emergency-exit bar that she could push open with her body. Once she was outside, she could run the half mile to the gas station down the street.

Dodging around counters and workstations, she worked her way through the kitchen, her gaze fixed on her goal—the door. Her elbow clipped a speed rack, sending it rolling sideways and forcing her off-balance. She scrambled several sideways steps, the hard, tiled floor looming in her peripheral, reminding her that, if she fell, she was done.

As soon as she managed to get her feet under control again, she darted for the door. It got closer and closer, blocked only by a large, wheeled garbage bin. With her side, she shoved the bin, but its grocery-cart-style wheels didn’t want to move sideways, grudgingly rotating a quarter circle instead. Jules twisted to fit between the bin and the wall, and she was there, the wide emergency-release bar hard and cold against her arm as she pushed.

“This was not part of my plan.”

Sherry’s voice came from right behind her, and Jules automatically snapped her head around to stare. A dark blur swung at her face. She tried to duck, but it was too late.

Everything went dark.

* * *

“You never listen to me.” Hugh scowled, shifting uncomfortably on his kitchen chair. Although Hugh would never admit it, Theo could tell his partner’s leg was killing him. “No one ever listens to me. Then bad things happen, because you didn’t listen, and do I say ‘I told you so’? No. I let you cry on my shoulder, and then you feel better and go back to never listening to me.”

Otto glanced up from the eggs he was scrambling. “Why are you sounding more like our grandma than usual?”

From his spot leaning against Hugh’s kitchen counter—where he’d been since he’d given up trying to find something edible to go with the eggs Otto had brought—Theo laughed.

“And why is Theo laughing?” Otto asked.

Hugh’s frown deepened exponentially. “Exactly.”

“No,” Otto said, pouring the eggs into a pan. “I’m really asking. Why is Theo laughing?”

“Theo,” Hugh said in a pointed tone, “would you like to explain to the class why you’re laughing?”

Theo shrugged, trying to stop smiling. It wasn’t working. “Otto’s funny.”

Hugh imitated an obnoxious buzzer sound. “Wrong! You’re laughing because you didn’t listen to me.”

“I’m confused,” Otto muttered at the eggs. “And why couldn’t we go to the diner this morning like usual? There’s no food here.”

“There are eggs.”

Otto gave Hugh a flat stare. “I brought the eggs. Last time we came here, there was no food, so I brought eggs this time. Good thing, since”—he paused meaningfully—“there is no food here.”

“Well, your place is too far out, and Theo’s is a closet disguised as a house, so it has to be here.”

“Or the diner,” Theo said. “I agree with Otto. Why couldn’t we go to the diner like usual?”

With a glower directed at Theo, Hugh said, “Of course you want to go to the diner. That’s why we had to meet here for breakfast, instead. This is an intervention.”

As Theo groaned, Otto admitted, “I’m confused again.”

“Is this about Jules?” Of course it was. Now that he thought about it, Theo was surprised Hugh, the stubborn bastard, hadn’t pushed the issue sooner.

Looking back and forth between them, Otto asked, “Jules? The new diner waitress?”

“Yes,” Hugh said. “This is about Jules.”

“What’s the problem with her?” Otto put some eggs onto the only two plates Hugh owned, and then started eating his portion directly from the pan. “She seems nice. Jumpy, but nice. I’m guessing there was an asshole husband or boyfriend back wherever she came from.”

Hugh grabbed one of the plates and stabbed his fork into the eggs more violently than was really required. “That’s the problem. We don’t know where she came from or why she’s running or even who she really is. And head-in-the-sand Theo here isn’t even bothering to look.”

“She’ll tell me when she’s ready,” Theo said, pushing away from the counter so he could grab the last plate of eggs. “But I agree with you, Otto, about your asshole-ex theory. One of her brothers shows signs of abuse, too.”

Now it was Otto stabbing his eggs with unnecessary force. That information had poked him right in his soft spot for kids and animals.

“Nan just hired him to help at the kennels, so you’ll be seeing him around there.” Theo took a bite of his eggs. “Are you still working with that rescue Malinois?”

“Yeah.” The question didn’t seem to cheer him up. “She’s going to take some patience.”

Theo grinned at him. “Good thing you have plenty of that.”

“We’re off track,” Hugh said grumpily. “And, Otto, you know I hate my eggs scrambled. You couldn’t have gone over easy?”

Otto put the pan down on the counter with a thunk. “You could’ve had your eggs any way you wanted if we’d gone to the diner.”

“They’re not even open yet. Besides, we need to talk about—” Otto’s and Theo’s radios chirped at the same time, and Theo hurried to turn his off before there was feedback. At the same time that the dispatcher’s voice sounded, Theo’s cell phone rang.

As he answered, he tried to listen to the call coming in on the radio with half an ear, but Lieutenant Blessard quickly took all of his attention.

“Bosco!” he barked. “You fix that dog of yours yet?”

Irritation warred with concern. “He’s coming along, but I don’t think he’s ready for the field yet. Why?”

“Officer Lopez responded to a shots-fired call and found Norman Rounds with a bullet hole in him. Med picked him up, and he’s holding on, but he’s not in any shape yet to tell us anything. Not sure who shot him, but he’s ass-deep in that militia group, so I want the place checked out before our crime scene people start crawling around. I requested help from the bomb squad in Denver. They’re at another incident right now, so it’ll be an hour—minimum—before they can respond. Mind taking a walk around with your dog, see if he alerts to anything?”

Putting aside the startling news that someone had shot Rounds, Theo considered his lieutenant’s request. After their progress at Schwartz’s truck, Theo was feeling optimistic that Viggy could come back to his former self. This might be the perfect, low-stress opportunity to try a search. If Viggy wasn’t up for it, they’d just withdraw and wait outside in the safe zone for the Denver bomb squad. It wouldn’t have the confidence-destroying consequence like the attempted search of Gordon’s compound.

“Yeah,” he said. “That sounds like a good plan. Thanks, LT.”

There was a pause before Blessard cleared his throat. “Right. Well, you’re…welcome, I guess.”

Theo held back a laugh. If he’d known that thanking his lieutenant would bewilder the man so much, he’d have done it earlier. “What’s the address?”

“It’s the Monroe Diner.”