He was wearing jeans and a faded Bon Jovi T-shirt that stretched over his beer belly and dipped into his waistband. His gun was on his belt. Not his service weapon, but a revolver. The single-action Ruger Blackhawk chambered a .454 Casull. One shot could literally crack open a bowling ball.
Andrea felt her heart sink as Stilton nervously glanced around.
He wasn’t here to save the day. He was annoyed to find that he wasn’t the only customer in the diner. He was also drunk. She could smell the alcohol from fifteen feet away.
“Look at that doe-eyed fuck.” Nardo scooped the piece of cake off the counter with his hand. “Waitress, I’ll expect a discount.”
Ricky ignored him, asking Stilton, “What do you want, Cheese?”
“A drink.” He said it like a question, the words slightly slurred. Andrea could see his cruiser parked in the street. He was off-duty. He was intoxicated. Compton had said she would call Stilton when Wexler and Nardo were in custody. He clearly had no idea what was going on.
“Fucksakes,” Ricky said. “Can any of you assholes read the giant neon sign in the window? We close at midnight. Sorry, hon. I don’t mean you.”
Andrea didn’t acknowledge the apology. She watched Nardo walk toward Star. The outline of the SIG Sauer was visible under the back of his shirt. He made a loud groan as he sat beside her at the counter. He bit into the cake, eating it with both hands.
Ricky made a disgusted noise before telling Stilton, “Make it fast, Cheese. You want Blue Earl or tap?”
“Whatever’s easy.” Stilton sat at a table with his back to the door. He gave Andrea a wary appraisal. “What are you doing here?”
Nardo said, “Cheese smells a mouse.”
“Shut up, asshole.” Stilton was still turned toward Andrea. “I thought you were supposed to be watching the judge.”
Andrea made her fists unclench. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it against her shirt. “There’s another team guarding her family at the hospital.”
“Come now, deputy pig. That’s not the whole story.” Nardo had finished the cake. He wiped his hands on his shirt, leaving chocolate stripes across his chest. “Cheese, your friendly Marshal was trying to save poor Star. Isn’t that right, Ricky? Star’s mommy wants her back.”
Ricky rolled her eyes as she placed a can of beer on the counter. She asked Andrea, “You mind doing the honors, hon?”
Andrea was grateful for the excuse to go to Stilton. She handed him the beer, but instead of returning to her place, she sat beside him at the table.
“Look at that, Ricky, Cheese has a girlfriend,” Nardo said. “Sorry to burst your bubble, deputy pig, but Cheese curdles at the sight of pussy.”
Ricky laughed as she packed the fruit into containers.
Andrea didn’t care about the woman’s bizarre sense of humor. She glanced down at Stilton’s giant cowboy revolver. The strap across the handle was unsnapped. She tried to get his attention, but he was busy gulping down his beer.
She looked at the clock. 12:05 a.m. Eight more minutes. At least.
Could she take Stilton’s gun off him? Would he struggle? Could Andrea get the revolver in her hands, stand up, line the sights, before Nardo reached behind his back and pulled his own weapon?
Star was the problem. She was sitting directly beside Nardo. Andrea was a good shot at the range, but this was real life. Every nerve in her body was tingling. Her breaths were shallow. Sweat dripped down her back. She wasn’t sure she could hit one without endangering the other.
She looked at the clock: 12:05 a.m. The second hand had barely moved.
“Dammit.” Ricky was looking at the clock, too. “Last orders, people. I have to wake up in six hours to do this shit all over again.”
“Don’t be a party pooper, old girl.” Nardo had spun around on the stool to face Andrea and Stilton. He had an animal instinct that something was off. A sane person would heed the warning and leave. Nardo leaned his back against the counter, elbows resting on the edge. “Waitress, how about one of those beers?”
Andrea tuned out Ricky’s sarcastic response. She waited for Stilton to look at her. Then she glanced down at his gun. He could take Nardo into custody. He could end this right now.
Stilton’s eyes narrowed. The cop part of him was drowning in alcohol, but he had to be picking up on the stress. Andrea couldn’t stop herself from looking at the clock again, begging the hands to move. She stared until the second hand clicked to the next marker.
12:06 a.m.
A phone trilled.
The air turned so thick with tension that Andrea could hardly breathe.