Terms Of Engagement. Kylie Brant
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with the size and build of a twelve-year-old boy, cast a sympathetic if harried glance Lindsay’s way as she entered the kitchen.
“Man’s got a silver tongue,” she acknowledged wryly, stowing her purse beneath one of the stainless-steel counters. She waved hello to Bobby, the teenager manning the dishwashers, and scanned the fluttering tickets in the order window. She gave a mental sigh. Any thoughts of getting out before closing abruptly dissipated.
“Sorry.” Song expertly dumped a fry basket and refilled it. “I know you were looking forward to a day off. But if I had to spend the rest of my shift with him in here screaming at me, I’d have murdered him with a santoku knife.”
“Lindsay!” a familiar bellow sounded.
“Hold that thought,” Lindsay muttered. The chest-high swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the dining area bounced open, and Bill Neldstrom’s beefy frame filled them.
“You took your time getting here.” The man’s florid complexion looked ruddier than usual. Lindsay had long thought he was one tantrum away from a heart attack. “Take over the grill. Song has managed to burn every damn thing she’s put on it waiting for you.” The man’s words had anger flushing Song’s cheeks, although the woman kept her eyes downcast. “Place is full out there. Every mother’s sister musta decided to do some Christmas shopping today.” His words abruptly halted as he stared at Lindsay’s face. “What the hell happened to you?”
It took a moment for Lindsay to follow his transition. Then she remembered her cheek. The cover-up she’d used hadn’t done much to hide the bruise. “Walked into a door,” she lied blandly.
He gave a short laugh. “Good one. Told ya that mouth of yours would get you in trouble someday.” He abruptly shifted back to business. “See that you stay caught up in here. I don’t want people bitching about waiting for their food. I’ll try to come in and help out when I have time.”
“You have enough to do out there,” Lindsay told him, crossing to the order window to snatch a handful of tickets. “Song and I can handle the kitchen.”
“Make sure you do.”
The man was a bundle of charm. Turning, he exited the room again and Lindsay heard Song’s audible sigh of relief.
“You always manage him better than the rest of us.”
“Considering that I’m here on my day off, that isn’t saying much.” And considering that Bill Neldstrom was little more than a workplace bully, he was hardly a challenge. After consulting the tickets she’d grabbed, Lindsay said, “Can you handle the salads and the fryers?”
“Sure.”
Lindsay placed the orders where both of them could see them and crossed to the walk in-freezer. “Heard there was some trouble this morning.”
“Where’d you hear about that?” Song’s voice sounded behind her. Without waiting for an answer, the other woman went on, “It was over-the-top, even for Bill. He dumped a full breakfast special on Mitch Engels and told him to never come back. Chang was furious. He had to fill the order all over again.”
Selecting a couple of chicken breasts and a pound of bacon, Lindsay swiftly made her way back to the grill. Piper’s breakfast menu was available until two, but lunch orders were filled all day. She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting a chicken sandwich before ten in the morning, but her job was filling the orders, not offering nutritional advice. “I don’t imagine Mitch was any too pleased about it, either,” she said dryly, as she dropped the two chicken breasts on the grill.
A shrug sounded in Song’s voice. “Well, he had been fired, after all. And he should have known there was no use coming back and appealing to Bill. It’s not like he’s ever going to change his mind.”
Lindsay had told Mitch much the same thing last night, although the man obviously hadn’t listened. For a moment she entertained the idea of dumping potatoes and gravy on Bill’s slicked-back dark hair the day she turned in her resignation. The visual image was tempting. But timing was everything. She’d have to resign immediately after collecting her pay, or she could kiss her last payment goodbye. As Mitch had already discovered, Bill wasn’t the forgiving sort.
A few hours later the breakfast rush had segued into the lunch crowd with no noticeable lag in between. Lindsay’s cheek was throbbing, but she hadn’t had time to take the pain reliever she’d tucked into her purse. For that matter, she hadn’t had time to use the cell phone she’d slipped into her jeans pocket, either. She flicked a glance at the clock. Five hours until Jack was supposed to pick her up. She needed to make the call to cancel, and soon.
“What the hell?”
There was a crash behind her. Lindsay whirled, saw the broken dishes lying at Bobby’s feet. The question on her lips died as she followed the direction of the boy’s gaze.
“Everyone head into the dining area. Now.”
Her brain seemed frozen. The voice belonged to Mitch Engels. But the man standing before her could have been a stranger. In faded camouflage fatigues and a bright orange hunting cap, he looked like Elmer Fudd ready to wage war on a flock of ducks.
But there was nothing comical about the shotgun strapped across his chest. Or the handgun he was holding.
“Mitch!”
His face, when he saw her, was as dismayed as Lindsay’s voice had been. “I told you not to come here. I told you!”
She couldn’t look away from the gun in his hand. It was still easy to recall the feel of a cold barrel pressed against her temple. Still all too easy to hear that voice in her ear, menacing. Amused.
Does this bullet have your name on it? Should we find out?
“Bill called me in for Chang,” she said inanely. “Mitch…” She swallowed hard, tasted fear. “You don’t want to do this. This isn’t the way.”
“It’s the only way.” With a jerk of his head, he told them, “All of you, into the dining area.”
Lindsay looked at Song and Bobby. They seemed frozen in place, their gazes glued on the gun Mitch was wielding. She hesitated, a thousand scenarios fast-forward-ing through her mind. There were three of them. If they all rushed him at once…or if she distracted him, would Song and Bobby react quickly enough to head for the exit?
But the other two workers were already moving to obey, leaving Lindsay remaining to face him. “You don’t want to mess with me, Lindsay,” Mitch warned. “You really don’t. Out there with them. Now.”
He blocked her path to the exit. She paused infinitesimally. A person knowledgeable about firearms was deadly. An armed person without that knowledge, even more so.
She turned, following closely behind Song and Bobby.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” She heard Neldstrom’s voice. “Are you the one who dropped the dishes in the kitchen? Because I’m taking them out of your pay, you butter-fingered little freak. I’m not made of—” His voice broke off as Song and Lindsay appeared before him. “What’s going on? Lindsay, you better not be staging a…”
Lindsay could tell the exact moment Neldstrom saw Mitch behind her. His eyes bulged and his face went a darker shade of red. “Engels, what do I have to do to keep you out of here?”
Mitch nudged Lindsay aside. “I think you’ve already done plenty, you spineless bastard.”
The color abruptly leached from the owner’s face when he saw the gun the man was holding. “Are you crazy? The place is full of people.”
“I didn’t come for them. I came for you.”
Mitch swung the gun to aim for Neldstrom, who stumbled back several steps. A woman in the nearest booth spotted the weapon and let out a window-rattling shriek. Neldstrom took the opportunity to run for the door, slamming into Bobby and knocking