Lena Diaz - Secret Stalker

His mourning was done in private, when he’d planted some white lilies in Mrs. Kane’s garden as a tribute to her. They’d always been her favorite, and he’d planted a new lily in her yard every Mother’s Day for the past ten years.

“It sure was nice running into you, Detective.” Mable’s gnarled hand gripped his with surprising strength. “Hope to see you at the town picnic next weekend. I’m making some of my famous sweet potato pie.”

“I wouldn’t miss it, ma’am.” He gently extricated his hand and returned her wave as she pushed her cart to the exit.

The young brunette at the cash register scanned Max’s sandwich and handed it back to him.

“You want to make that a meal deal with chips and a drink? I can have someone run to the deli and—”

“Just the sandwich, thanks.” He quickly paid and let out a breath of relief that he was finally about to get out of purgatory. He wasn’t even hungry anymore. All he wanted to do was return to the police station, immerse himself in work and try to forget all about Bexley Kane.

“Everybody do what we say and no one gets hurt!”

Max jerked his head toward the entrance. Five masked gunmen with assault rifles had just run in through the front door and were pointing their guns toward the handful of customers at the other register.

The cashier beside him started screaming. One of the gunmen swung his rifle her way. Max dived over the counter, pulling the girl to the floor seconds before the countertop above them exploded in a hail of gunfire.

Chapter Two

Bex flattened herself against a cereal box endcap, pressing both of her hands against her mouth to keep from crying out.

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

Bam! Bam!

She dropped to the floor, her breaths coming out in short pants. What in the world was happening? Who would fire guns inside a Piggly Wiggly? The answer, of course, was obvious. Someone was holding up the place. But she still couldn’t believe it was happening. Not here. Not in the tiny town of Destiny.

Thank God Max had plenty of time to have left before the gunman or gunmen had shown up.

And wasn’t that a crazy thought, being glad the police officer was out of harm’s way when he was the one person who might have been able to help her and any others trapped inside?

A scream sounded from the front of the store. Someone else shouted. Footsteps pounded down an aisle not too far from where Bex lay on the floor. If someone was holding up the store, wouldn’t they have forced the manager to open the safe in the front office? They wouldn’t be running down aisles and still shooting minutes later, would they?

Bam! Bam!

That sounded like a pistol.

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat.

Automatic gunfire.

She pressed a hand to her throat. Was that a gunfight? Whoever had the pistol was at a serious disadvantage.

Another shout sounded. More footsteps.

Bam!

“Where is she?” a man yelled. “She wasn’t with the ones who locked themselves in the cooler.”

“How the hell should I know? Reggie said she was ready to check out. She should have been up front when we got here.”

“Find her. And find that stupid cop. He’s screwing everything up and I’m gonna blow his brains out.”

Oh, no. Please, God, don’t be talking about Max.

But in her gut, she knew they were. He was the only policeman she’d seen in the store just a few minutes before the gunmen came in. No one else could have gotten here this fast. He either hadn’t left when she’d thought he had, or he’d run back into the store when he saw the gunmen go inside.

Footsteps sounded again, much closer this time. If they turned down the back aisle that ran the width of the store, they’d see her. She had to move, hide. Or better yet, find Max and get them both out of the store.

Right, like she was GI Jane or something. The only danger she faced on a typical day was whether she might get a splinter in her finger from one of the pieces of furniture that she sold at her antique store.

Move, Bex. Hurry!

She sent up a quick, silent prayer then pulled herself forward in an army crawl.

* * *

MAX CROUCHED DOWN, his pistol out in front of him while he whispered into his cell phone and made his way down aisle five toward the front of the store again.

“Searching for remaining three gunmen. What’s your ETA?” he asked his SWAT team lead, Dillon Gray.

He reached the end of the aisle and looked left, then right, before crouching by the endcap. He paused, listening for sounds that might indicate where the gunmen were hiding.

“Roger that,” he whispered in answer to the instructions over the phone. “I’ve got five customers and four employees locked in the cooler from the inside with good cover. There are coats in there, so they’re okay for now. Searching for additional customers. You guys need to get in here ASAP, full SWAT gear. These yahoos may be stupid and disorganized. But that makes them unpredictable and dangerous.”

A noise sounded from the east end of the store. He looked down the next aisle. Clear. He jogged to another endcap, heading east.

“Negative,” he whispered in response to Dillon’s next question. “No clue what they want. As soon as the cashier screamed, they started shooting. Erratic though, as if they don’t know how to handle those M16s they’re waving around. Thankfully no one’s been hit yet except the one gunman I took out.”

With his fellow SWAT team members apprised of the situation, he put his cell phone away so he could focus on finding the one customer he knew was unaccounted for.

Bex.

* * *

AS PLANS WENT, hiding behind a waist-high clothing rack of “I Dig the Pig” Piggly Wiggly T-shirts probably wasn’t the best one Bex could have made. But when she’d seen the end of a rifle emerging from one of the side aisles, she’d dived behind the closest cover she could find. Unfortunately, the T-shirts were apparently good sellers. There were barely enough left to conceal her.

She held her breath as the gunman crept past her hiding space. He was dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt and was wearing sunglasses. She supposed that was his idea of a disguise, but he clearly was young—probably barely out of high school. The other gunman she’d seen a few minutes ago had a black ski mask over his face and the build of someone older, maybe late twenties. Both of them were carrying wicked-looking rifles.

The guy in sunglasses turned down the aisle she’d left just a minute earlier. She let out a shaky breath, then crept to the side of the display, ready to zip down another aisle to get to the front of the store. That’s where she’d last heard the sound of a pistol. And she was betting that pistol belonged to Max.

She leaned forward, looked left, right, then—oomph! A hand clamped over her mouth and she was yanked backward behind the shirts.

Chapter Three

Bex struggled against her captor, twisting and writhing in his grasp.

He pressed his cheek against hers and held her so tight she could barely move.

“Be still, Bex. It’s me, Max.”

She froze, then went limp with relief.

He slowly lifted his hand from her mouth, as if he didn’t quite trust her not to cry out. She half turned to look at him, nodding to let him know she wasn’t going to sob hysterically and give away their position. Or at least she didn’t think she was. Cowering from gunmen was an entirely new experience for her. She could very well start screaming like a madwoman any second.

Apparently Max had more faith in her than she did. He loosened his arm around her waist and let her go. She was about to ask him what she should do when he edged to the right of the display. His whole body was tense, alert, as he ducked lower and slid his pistol into the holster at his waist. What was he doing?