But something about this guy had Sterling on edge. Maybe it was the way he wore his ball cap over his eyes. Or that his windbreaker was zipped to the chin on a night where the rain had stopped hours ago, and the breeze was barely a ripple across the water.
Sterling slowed his pace, noting the man had his right hand buried in his jacket pocket.
Sterling shifted so he could see the man's eyes, which were twitchy, at best. The man eased closer to the hostess station, his gaze fixated on the register.
Juniper's fingers pressed into Sterling's forearm. "I don't think that man's here to eat," she whispered.
"You might be right about that."
The man's right arm twitched.
"Gun," Juniper said with a low and steady voice.
Less than a second after she said it, Sterling saw it.
Gasps echoed in the lobby. Lucia screamed as the gunman yanked her by the hair and pulled her tight to his chest.
Juniper had stepped slowly away from Sterling's side, guiding a mother and her child to safety.
Sterling raised both hands, slow, palms out. "Hey. We're all right in here. Nobody's a problem to you." Out of the corner of his eye, he watched in horror, shock, and awe, as Juniper helped a few more patrons hide.
He wanted to yell at her to just take cover, but getting everyone else out of the way was good, too.
The gunman held his weapon under Lucia's chin. Lucia stared at Sterling like he was a rope thrown into water to save her.
"Nobody move." The man's voice broke on the word. "I swear to God, I'll shoot her."
Doyle came in at Sterling's shoulder, hands high. "Whatever it is you want, just take it, and let her go. No one here wants to see anyone get hurt. We'll give you whatever you want. I've got a few hundred in my wallet. It's yours."
"Put it on the counter," the gunman said.
"I'm just gonna reach in my pocket real slow like." Doyle moved his hand.
"You pull a gun, she still dies," the gunman said.
"I don't want that." Doyle reached in his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and set it on the counter.
"You're in charge here," Sterling told the gunman. "What do you need?"
"I want all the money in the register and the safe."
"Okay." Sterling nodded. "But you're gonna have to let her go to make that happen."
"No way." The man shuffled back a step and dragged Lucia with him.
Sterling drifted a half step in—not at him, just off his line, just enough to make the man turn his head to keep Sterling in front of him.
The man turned. And turning, his back came around toward the front window, toward the glass and the dark lot beyond it.
Doyle slid wide on the other side and stole a glance at Sterling. His right brow lifted, his lips parted, and he blinked, twice.
An old signal. Fuck yeah. Nothing better than knowing what someone was thinking.
First part of that was telling Sterling to look past the gunman and through the glass.
Slow moving vehicle, no lights, coming down the street. Dawson. Or Chloe. Or one of his men. Didn't matter who. They were here.
The rest of it was when the time was right, and they had successfully closed on this asshole, they were disarming him—just like old times.
