“Don’t look up.”
“Okay.” She didn’t look up, instead becoming eerily still.
I squinted at the window and slid lower in the booth so my head wouldn’t be visible. But I could see the rest of the diner just fine.
“Behind me, a few fellas and a woman just entered.”
“Okay.” She didn’t look up to confirm, instead keeping her attention fixed on me.
“They’re members of the Iron Wraiths.” I counted their number—six total—and tried to add names to faces. Drill was there, his shiny bald head and burly build gave him away. “The woman is Christine St. Claire, the president’s old lady.”
Dammit. I reprimanded myself for my foolishness. I should have called Drill back. Instead of avoiding his calls, I should’ve just told him I wasn’t interested.
“Old lady? She’s his mother?”
“No.” I grinned at Shelly despite the situation. “His woman.”
“Girlfriend?”
I winced, because I saw three of them—at least—were carrying guns. They weren’t holding the guns, just carrying them out in the open over their T-shirts but under their jackets, being real obvious about it.
“Something like that.”
She gave me a face, like she found my response irritating. “These people are a part of your dad’s motorcycle club?”
“Yes.”
“The ones who tried to kidnap your brother and sister?”
“Yeah, but those two guys—the ones who helped Darrell—they’re in prison.” Still tracking the group’s progress in the reflection of the window, I watched as Drill approached the counter, a younger guy with a beard trailing behind him. If I wasn’t mistaken, the younger guy was Isaac Sylvester, Jennifer Sylvester’s brother. He was a recruit, not a full member. But he was also big and tall, muscular, retired Army.
“They must’ve seen my car out front,” I mumbled to myself.
“So these guys, these Wraiths, they don’t like you?”
“Something like that.” My response was distracted, because I needed to extract Shelly from this situation as quickly as possible.
I was under no illusions. This is exactly what Drill had meant in his text. Christine was here to see me, likely to take me someplace of her choosing whether I wanted to go or not.
If they saw Shelly and I together, they’d take us both, because that’s how they operated. They’d use her for leverage to get what they wanted and there was no way in hell I’d let that happen.
“Stop saying ‘something like that.’ Vague statements confuse me. Yes or no, they like you or they don’t.”
“It’s complicated. We need to get you out of here. I’ll distract them and you sneak out the back.”
Drill was moving his head from side to side, scanning the restaurant while the rest of them tried to appear nonchalant, lining up against the diner counter. They blended in about as much as a keg stand at a tea party.
I spotted movement from the entrance to the kitchen—Simone poking her head out—and I heard her say something like, “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Crap.” I reached for my wallet, pulling out a few twenties and dropping them on the table. “Shelly, you need to go.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re here for me. And if they see you, they’ll take you, too.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
My eyes cut to hers and I glared at the obstinate set of her features. “Shelly.”
“No. We leave together.” Her expression and tone were fierce.
“You don’t know them, what they’re like. They’re bad people.”
“Stop wasting time. How do we get out of here together?”
Chewing on the inside of my bottom lip, I considered this stubborn woman and the likelihood that I would be able to talk her into leaving before the shit hit the fan. I decided the probability of success was zero.
“I wish Duane were here.” I thought about quickly sending him a text, but decided against it. My brother was as good as gone. I needed to figure out how to get out of these messes without him.
Shelly’s gaze flickered to a spot behind me, then back to mine. “Why?”
I gave her an apologetic look. “We gotta disappear.”
“Obviously. But what does us disappearing have to do with Duane?” Her voice lowered to a whisper.
“Because we could use a getaway driver and he’s the best.” No need to beat around the bush, especially since I was just about to tell her to make a run for the back door. “Sorry about this.”
Shelly’s eyes widened and she sat up a bit straighter in her seat, angling her chin. “I’ll do it.”
“What?” I was splitting my attention between her and the reflection of the Wraiths in the window.
“I’ll do it. I’ll be our getaway driver.”
“Shelly.” I’m sure my dismay and confusion were apparent, because her eyes narrowed on me in challenge.
“I’m a great driver. I’ve been spending my free time driving the back roads. I like to drive fast around curves and corners. And you have a fast car. Give me your keys.”
Unsure what to do, I licked my lips, my fingers digging into my front pocket for the keys but moving no further.
She must’ve sensed my hesitation, because she gave me a small smile. “Trust me, Beau.”
Shelly placed her hand on the table, palm up, and extended it toward me. Her hand was steady and her expression was as cool and collected as I’ve ever seen her.
But . . . it’s my GTO.
Oh good Lord. Just give the woman your keys.
Fine. But if she wrecks it, I’m buying that Plymouth Fury from the shop.
Heart galloping, I withdrew my keys and placed them in her hand, closing her fingers around them. “This is what we’re going to do. You get up and make like you’re going to the bathroom. The back door is in the same alcove, leave through there. Go around the north side of the building, behind the kitchens, so they don’t see you through the windows. Get to my car, watch for me, and get ready.”
“What are you going to do?”
“There’s no way I can sneak out. They’ll see my hair a mile off.” I scanned the scene in the window. “I’ll have to talk to them and leave through the front door, act like I’m going without complaint. Then I’ll say I need to get something from my car, but I’ll get in the passenger side instead. And then you take off, got it?”
“Got it.” She nodded, the smile still hovering around her lips.
I lifted an eyebrow at her expression. “You look like you’re looking forward to this.”
“I’ve been hoping you’d let me drive your car.” Her lips quirked, giving me a saucy smile.
I shook my head at this crazy—but in the best way—woman as she slid from the booth and strolled to the bathroom alcove, cool as a cucumber.
As soon as she was out of sight, I sent a silent prayer upward that she emerged from this situation unscathed and that Drill didn’t spot her.
If anything happens to her, I swear to God—
Whoa there, feisty britches.
—they won’t find the bodies.
Okay. Settle down. No need to pull the Rambo card.
I gathered a deep breath, counting to five before straightening in my seat to ensure she had enough time to make it around the building.
And then, because I really did love the GTO, I said a quick prayer for my car.