He supposed he’d been lucky to inherit the editorship of the Downhome, Tennessee Gazette after his father’s death and mother’s disability. Nevertheless, he chafed at the tedium of covering city council meetings and town squabbles.
Although the residents generally accepted him, he still caught suspicious glances, and even the town’s new, fair-minded police chief had declined to reopen the case. The only people who believed in him were his mother and his sister, Karen, director of the local nursing home.
Barry would never truly fit into his hometown. He was moody and sharp-edged in a community full of cozy characters, the scar on his forehead a visible reminder of those years in hell. And no matter how his sister urged reconciliation, he refused to forgive the man whose testimony had sent him there, the man who’d once been his best friend.
Sonya gave the impression that, at some level, she’d undergone a devastating experience of her own. Not prison, surely. But for the first time in quite a while, he felt neither impatient nor caustic with a woman.
Curious, rather. And a little protective.
He stuck to her tail all the way to the fast-food hangout. From her irritated expression as she exited the car, she didn’t appreciate the interference.
An unaccustomed impishness propelled Barry to shout, “Hey! Thanks for showing me where to eat.”
Glaring toward his window, she snapped, “There are laws against stalking.”
He feigned innocence. “A guy’s gotta have dinner.”
“Use the drive-through lane. Stay away from me.” Her frown didn’t waver. “You set one foot inside that restaurant and I’m calling the cops. At a guess, that’s the kind of trouble you don’t need, right, Mr. Ex-Con?”
The rebuke stung. “Have it your way.”
Barry drove past, disappointed and angry that his well-intended gesture had met with such revulsion. Yet why was he so wound up about a woman he’d barely met?
He joined the drive-through line. In addition to burgers, the menu board listed several odd entries that some California maniac must have invented, like fish tacos with guacamole. For the heck of it, he ordered one.
While waiting, he reviewed the stories planned for next week’s Gazette. Via e-mail, he’d already filed an article about the Anaheim newspaper conference to his assistant, Brent Wichita. Today’s interview with a family who’d moved from Downhome to Fullerton remained on his tape recorder and camera. He planned to write it tonight at the hotel room.
The car ahead departed and Barry rolled to the cashier’s window. The opening gave a clear view of the restaurant’s interior, with orange booths crowded at this dinner hour.
“That’ll be three seventy-one,” said the cashier.
Barry handed over a five. Inside, he spotted Sonya at the counter. The sculpted eyebrows gave character to her heart-shaped face, and her full mouth pursed with worry.
Why did she care so much about Gina? They didn’t appear to be related, as he’d first assumed. Of course, a baby’s life might be at stake, and despite the girl’s bravado, she was young and confused.
He of all people ought to empathize. But Sonya had made it plain this was not Barry’s concern.
Good. He had enough problems without adding to them.
The cashier was handing him the order when, through the window, he saw three men in gang clothing enter the restaurant. One of them was Frankie.
Beside Sonya, Frankie leaned down and said something Barry couldn’t hear. Her face a frozen mask, Sonya shook her head.
The men left. Relieved, Barry collected his food and moved forward.
In the front lot, two of the men piled into a jalopy while Frankie strolled off. The vehicle backed into a slot right beside Sonya’s compact, easily identifiable by the hospital parking sticker.
Their actions gave Barry a bad feeling. Frankie had made tracks, probably because he already faced arrest for the earlier attempted robbery, leaving his buddies to wait.
What did they plan to do? Presumably, they’d already asked about Duke’s whereabouts. More alarmingly, they might assume Sonya had identified Frankie to the police. As he’d learned in prison, guys like this tended to exact revenge for the slightest offense.
He considered calling 911. The men hadn’t committed a crime yet, though, nor had Barry forgotten Sonya’s threat to report him for stalking.
He parked at one side and tried the fish taco, which wasn’t bad. He finished it in a few bites, although his ribs ached with every swallow.
Cars came and went. Busy joint for a Monday night. Barry kept hoping a cruiser might arrive unbidden and scare the guys off, but no such luck.
Sonya emerged at last. The two gangbangers eased out of the car.
As Barry weighed his response, an SUV blocked his view. Rap music pounded from the speakers, obliterating other sounds.
At last the SUV departed. In the spotty illumination, he saw Sonya struggling as the two men hauled her toward their vehicle. Despite the earlier activity, there was no one else around. Not a single witness except him.
Barry put the sedan into gear. Hitting both the gas and the horn, he screeched to within inches of the men’s bumper.
Startled, they released Sonya. As they reached inside their jackets, probably for weapons, he flicked up the car’s locks.
She grabbed for the door. Saw him, and hesitated.
“Get in!” he bellowed.
She had the sense to obey. Kept her head low, too. Smart lady.
Barry stomped the accelerator. “Hang on.”
They peeled out. Behind them, one thug stood waving a gun indecisively as the other dived into the jalopy.
“Phone the cops.” Barry zoomed onto a side street.
“Not until we find Gina.”
“You’ve got to be kidding! Those guys tried to kidnap you.”
“We can’t afford to delay.” She peered into the side mirror. “No sign of them.”
Although he suspected the men had been too disorganized to catch up, he took nothing for granted. “They could be planning to cut us off. You know the town. Tell me where to go.”
She guided him through a series of turns. Finally, it became clear they really weren’t being pursued.
Barry’s pulse still pounded with a mixture of excitement and fear. Beside him, he felt Sonya trembling.
“Cold? Rentals don’t come equipped with blankets, I’m afraid.” But most likely her shivers had another source. “That must have been a traumatic experience, two men grabbing you.”
“I’m
