Page 4 of Girl Lost
He pushed past the feeling and crossed the worn linoleum in a few long strides and found Marge cradling a bawling Angie in her arms.
“They shot Stryker! Right in the street! They just ... shot him!” The waitress had her head buried in Marge’s shoulder, muffling her words.
Crying women. He’d never been great with them. Whatever came out of his mouth always made things worse. “Look, they didn’t shoot him. Not with a gun, okay?” He tried to soften his tone. “Taser. It was a Taser. He’ll be fine.”
At least he should be until the kidnappers got Stryker to wherever they were taking him. Then ... well, he didn’t want to chase that rabbit trail. One problem at a time.
Angie lifted her head and shuddered a breath. Dark trails of mascara cut through the tears on her face. “What’d they want with him?”
“I don’t know.” But he’d find out. “Listen, I need to ask you a few quick questions. Anything you can remember could be vital.”
Angie’s hand trembled as she wiped her nose with a palm. “It ... it all happened so ... so fast. I ... I don’t know if I seen anything good or not.”
“That’s normal to feel that way. You might remember more once the adrenaline wears off.”
She sniffed. “Yeah, maybe.”
Marge held her daughter with one arm. Decades of cigarette smoking showed in her sagging skin and nicotine-stained teeth.
The boys in the neighborhood used to steal smokes from her unattended pack on the counter. He’d tried one once. A feeble attempt to impress Luna. To prove he was one of the cool guys. The smoke had caught in his lungs and sent him into a coughing fit. When the tears cleared from his eyes, he’d found Stryker hovering over him, arms folded, shaking his head. That little stunt had earned him a ten-mile beach run with Stryker by his side, lecturing him all the way.
He looked again at the women sitting at a table, hands clasped together, clinging to each other for support. The incident had hit them hard. Not because they’d witnessed the crime. They’d seen their fair share of violence living in Millie Beach. But they knew Stryker. Everyone did. These women loved him because he made the world a better place. A safer place. And now, maybe the world wasn’t so safe after all.
“Either of you notice any unusual people hanging around or strange vehicles parked nearby?”
“I was back in the kitchen.” Marge sounded like she gargled with gravel every morning. “Didn’t see nothing but the backs of yer heads runnin’ out the door. Thought you’d outgrown them dine and dash days, though.”
“Wait.” Angie straightened. Her puffy eyes widened, and she pulsed a finger in his direction. “I remember you. Yeah. You and ... and that girl who was in here. Luna and Corbin. You’re them Warrior kids, right?”
Small towns. You either loved them or hated them, and right now he was leaning heavily toward the latter. In this town, everyone knew everyone else’s business. Or thought they did. It came in handy during investigations. Not so much when your own life was on display for the busybody gossips.
He didn’t want to talk about Luna. Wasn’t sure hecouldtalk about her without betraying the storm of emotions that raged inside.Every question they might ask would be one he’d tortured himself with over the years.
Like why the very thought of her name still sent a jolt through his system.
Forget it. Get the conversation backon track.
“That’s right. I’m Special Agent Corbin King. Police are on the way to take your official statements about the kidnapping. In the meantime, do you have security cameras? Any surveillance I can take a look at?”
“That one there.” Marge nodded toward a dome camera perched above the register. “Plus, we got one out back to keep an eye on deliveries.”
“Nothing out front?”
“Nope.” Marge pulled a napkin out of the dispenser and dabbed at a dark streak on Angie’s cheek. “We ain’t that tech savvy.”
Of course not. That would be too easy. They’d have to check the other businesses lining the street. Find witnesses. “The register camera. Does it cover the dining area?”
“Lil bit.” Marge shrugged. “Not out to the street, though.”
“Okay, I’ll still need access to it.”
Angie leaned to her left, craning to see around him. Through the massive plate glass windows dominating the front of the diner, he saw the police cruisers. A green and white Silverado with the Broward County Sherrif’s logo on the side pulled up, and the driver’s door swung open. Detective Blade St. James unfolded himself from the vehicle.
“Hang tight. I’ll be right back,” he said, heading up front.
Blade towered over the uniformed officers gathered around him. He motioned up and down the street, issuing rapid-fire commands. No doubt ordering them to secure the area, pull video, and interview witnesses.
The door chimed, and Blade filled the doorway.
