she rattled on, Scooner started to shift out of the booth. Lana glanced at him and shook her head, encouraging him not to come to her rescue. Scooner hesitated on the edge of his seat.
“Anna, how about some tea?” she called across the restaurant, then redirected her attention to the kid. “Or do you prefer soda? They make the best cream sodas, my personal kryptonite. I could drink them for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And gain ten pounds in a week. Not good for someone who’s barely five-three.” She tapped on the table with her fingertips. “Come on, sit down.”
The kid took a step toward the table, clutching the knife. Garrett’s hand tingled with the need to draw his firearm.
“Don’t you like pancakes?” she asked with innocent eyes.
“I don’t have any money,” the kid croaked.
“No problem. I’ve got a little extra tonight. We had a really good week on my tour boat. I take people over to Salish Island. Do you live around here? I’m a lifer but I don’t remember meeting you. Sorry, I was probably your babysitter or something, right?” she joked.
“I’m not from here.” The kid closed the knife and shoved it in his pocket.
Scooner stood.
“Sit down,” Lana said.
The kid joined her in the booth, figuring she was talking to him.
“You, too, Scooner,” she ordered, not breaking eye contact with the teenager.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
He shrugged.
“Well, besides having the best blueberry pancakes in the state of Washington, our state park has awesome trails if you like hiking, and sailing on Puget Sound is a blast. You ever been sailing?”
Was it just Garrett, or was she being incredibly trusting? Either that or he should hire her for his team.
The kid seemed to have calmed down, but Garrett couldn’t be sure he’d stay that way. As Garrett swung his leg out of the booth, the front door opened. Deputy Finnegan stepped into the restaurant and approached Lana’s table.
“Everything okay here?” he asked.
“Great. We’re about to have pancakes, right?” She eyed the teen.
“Yeah.” His shoulders slumped. He took out the knife and placed it on the table.
Deputy Finnegan motioned Lana out of the booth. She took a few steps toward the counter, but she wasn’t far enough away for Garrett’s taste.
“Anything else in your pockets?” Finnegan asked the kid.
The teen pulled his pockets inside out. They were empty. Finnegan pocketed the knife.
“You’d better come with me.”
The kid stood, head hung low, and Finnegan cuffed him.
“Wait, I didn’t get your name,” Lana said.
The kid glanced at her through long bangs. “Michael.”
“Nice to meet you, Michael. I’ll bring pancakes by the police station.” She turned her attention to the deputy. “Is that okay, Scott?”
Garrett leaned back in his booth, his jaw dropping in disbelief.
“Sure,” Deputy Finnegan said, shaking his head.
“Cool. I’ll see you later, okay, Michael?”
Michael glanced over his shoulder, and that’s when Garrett saw the tears streaming down the kid’s face.
“You have something you want to say to Lana?” Finnegan asked.
“Thanks,” he choked.
“Something else?” the cop prompted.
“Sorry.”
“I forgive you,” Lana said.
The deputy led Michael out of the restaurant.
Dead silence filled the restaurant. Lana glanced at the customers. “What?”
“What were you thinking?” Scooner challenged.
“I was thinking you were going to freak the kid out with your macho karate moves, and kick me in the head by mistake.” One of the other guys at the table chuckled.
“Lana, I can’t believe you did that.” Anna darted around the counter and gave her a hug.
The young couple packed up their baby and left cash on the table, the teenagers burst into a frenzied discussion about what just happened, and the man at the counter pulled a small flask from his jacket and poured something into his coffee. Garrett couldn’t blame him.
Nor could he take his eyes off Lana Burns. She went to her table and leaned back against the booth.
Why did she put herself at risk like that?
Anna suddenly blocked his line of vision. “Did you need cream and sugar?” she asked him.
“Sure,” he said, then caught himself. “I mean, no, thanks. I take it black.”
“It’s gonna be a few minutes for the pancakes because of the distraction, but it’ll be worth the wait.”
“Thanks.” A distraction? Is that what they called it?
Garrett got out of his booth and started for Lana’s table, but Scooner and his friends beat him to it. Garrett wished he’d gotten there first. Scooner shifted next to her in the booth.
“I’m fine, go on.” She shoved at Scooner’s shoulder. “Stop hovering.”
“I’ll escort you home.”
“Thanks, but I haven’t eaten my pancakes yet and you guys are done with your meal.”
“I’ve got this,” Garrett said, shifting into the booth across from her. “I need to ask Miss Burns a few more questions anyway.”
He held her gaze, trying to figure out if she was relieved or more irritated that yet another man was strong-arming his way into her protective services.
“And who are you?” one of Scooner’s friends asked.
“He’s the FBI agent I told you about,” Scooner explained to his friend. “Agent Drake, this is Anderson Greene and Bill Roarke.”
Garrett shook hands with the men.
Anderson wore wire-framed glasses and leaned on a cane, and Bill had jet-black hair, trimmed short, and a mustache and had a notebook tucked under his arm.
“If there’s anything we can do to help with the case…”
