Barb Han - Sudden Setup

Time to move on, he thought with a heavy sigh. He hadn’t thought about the murders he’d been accused of for two days while he was with Ella. The initials, HA, hadn’t haunted him. He’d discovered them etched into the bottom of a chair leg at his father’s place—the chair where his father had been tortured and killed.

Holden shook off the bad memory. He was no closer to figuring out what had happened then he’d been two years ago.

The restaurant was a typical off-the-highway food stop and seemed like the place frequented mostly by truck drivers. Holden had befriended more than his fair share while crossing the country, making his way to Texas. The diner was shaped like a train car. There was one row of booths behind him matched by a long counter with bar stools for single travelers. Two families were in the booths, no doubt stopping off for a quick meal while on a road trip.

There was only one truck driver in the building. Bathrooms were to Holden’s left, near the end of the counter where the cash register was located. There was one cook in the kitchen and only one waitress on duty. The cook was significantly shorter than Holden, bald, with thick arms. He bench-pressed. The man was in his early fifties with a cook’s belly. Holden dismissed him as a threat. He fell into the same category as the dads. One drove a minivan, the other a Suburban. Holden could tell they were from the suburbs based on their clothing—one was in jeans and a polo shirt, the other wore warm-ups and a T-shirt. They had that haggard look that came with long road trips with young kids.

The truck driver was substantial in size, mostly fat from spending his days seated. He looked strong, though. Holden could see his arms in the sleeveless flannel shirt he wore. The man couldn’t be ignored as a threat. If Holden assigned levels, five being the highest, the dads were ones and the truck driver was a two and a half, maybe three.

There were exactly two exits in the building: the front door he’d come through and the one in the kitchen. Holden was used to memorizing every detail, looking for every possible escape route. Doing so had kept him alive. Was he really living?

Holden dismissed the thought as going too long without human companionship. His brief run-in with Ella Butler reminded him of everything he didn’t have. He’d been alone for a very long time, focused on staying alive, staying one step ahead of the men who were after him. They were good. He was the best. And that was precisely the reason he was still breathing.

The waitress approached. Her metal-plated name tag read Deena.

“Make up your mind?” Deena asked, motioning toward the menu. She was in her late thirties and had early wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Her neck was the biggest giveaway of her age.

“Chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy, carrots. More coffee when you have a chance,” he said.

She wrote down his order on the ticket with a smile, a nod and a wink. “Sam makes the best.”

“I’m counting on it,” Holden said, returning the smile. He excused himself to the restroom. He wanted to splash water on his face and wash his hands before he ate. He didn’t sleep much while he’d been taking care of Ella.

As he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, he was shocked at the stranger looking back at him. Furry face. Dark circles under his eyes. His thoughts snapped to Ella Butler and her initial reaction to seeing him. No wonder she’d been so afraid when she’d first opened her eyes. Hell, he would be, too.

He pushed those unproductive thoughts aside.

Holden splashed cold water on his face before washing his hands. Maybe it was time to shave the overgrowth. He hardly recognized himself anymore, and he certainly looked more animal than man. It was easy to do while he’d been mostly living off the land. And yet his reflection had caught him off guard.

Walking out of the restroom, he scanned the room. The situation was the same. The threat potential was low. He reclaimed his bar stool and did his level best not to look at the TV mounted in the corner of the room. A cursory glance revealed the channel was set to local news.

Holden picked up his fresh cup of coffee, ignoring the screen. He didn’t treat himself to a restaurant meal often. This was a delicacy he had every intention of enjoying.

And then he made the mistake of looking up.

There was a picture of the Butler ranch on the TV screen. The story was about an heiress’s life being in danger. Holden gripped the cup and waited...

Another attempt had been made on Ella’s life. A witness had seen a man trap a woman between two vehicles on a residential street one block from the sheriff’s office. The woman managed to fight off her attacker before slipping around an SUV and disappearing between two houses as at least one shot was fired. The witness, who would only agree to speak anonymously, recognized Ella Butler but was too frightened to get close enough to get a description of the heiress’s attacker. There was a lot of blood at the scene and a manhunt was underway for a gunman wearing a ski mask. He was considered dangerous and authorities cautioned people to keep a distance and call law enforcement immediately if he was spotted.

Holden could think of a few other things he’d like to do to the guy besides turn him in.

He released a string of curses under his breath. It was his fault for taking her to town in the first place. He’d left her there without transportation or a way to escape. Damn it. This was on him.

Anger roared through him along with an overdose of guilt.

He listened for any other news about Ella and sighed sharply when he learned she was missing and believed to be injured.

“I need my check,” he said to Deena.

Chapter Four

Ella rolled onto her side, ignoring the pain shouting at her. She could feel her pulse pound in her thigh where she’d been shot and pain gripped her in between the temples. She was losing blood, which was not a good sign. At least she’d managed to fight off her attacker and run. She’d poked her fingers through the ski mask he wore and had managed to knock him off balance. Then she’d bolted. It had all happened so fast. The blast. The cold, wet feeling spreading through her thigh.

Who would want to hurt her?

The stranger’s warning hadn’t been an overreaction. Her life was in danger. She’d been in such a fog earlier that she hadn’t even thought to ask any of the right questions. Could Blue Eyes have identified the rock thrower?

She crawled into the front landscaping of the modest home on Sixth Street, gasping. How long could she stay there unnoticed? A few minutes? Hours? The night?

It was getting late. She’d barely escaped the gunman. If only she’d been able to get a look at his face. And now she was hiding, on the run from someone determined to get her out of the way. She searched her mind for a name, anyone who would want her gone. Could this be related to her father’s death? Or was the timing a coincidence?

Her father had enemies and plenty of people didn’t like him, but it was as if he’d been made of Teflon and she could scarcely believe that someone had managed to get to him. Her heart fisted and grief shrouded her, weighing down her limbs. Her larger-than-life father was gone. She was hiding in someone’s landscaping and she had nowhere to go.

A sob released before she had time to force it back. Tears brimmed but she couldn’t allow herself to cry. Not now. Let that dam break and the flood might just leave a trail big enough for her attacker to find her. Start crying and she might not be able to stop.

A branch snapped. She glanced around, afraid to breathe in case the gunman was closing in on her.

Hope that the noise could’ve been the sheriff or one of his deputies—anyone who could help—fizzled when she saw the bobcat winding through the front landscaping. He was fairly small and definitely not a threat. But it reminded her that there would be others. Soon.