Chapter 2 - FOUR NIGHTS LATER
The bell over the door chimed at exactly 2:15 A.M. It wasn't the man with the baby.
Two men stepped out of the heavy Thursday night rain. They didn't shake off their umbrellas because they didn't have any. They wore tailored wool suits that repelled the water, and their eyes scanned the diner with the cold, mechanical precision of wolves calculating the perimeter of a pen.
Hannah wiped the counter, her heart giving a strange, irregular thump. She kept her eyes down.
They sat at Booth Four. The booth with a clear line of sight to the highway.
"Coffee," the taller one said when Hannah approached with the pot. His accent was East Coast, thick and unbothered by the Midwest chill. "And a question."
"Cream and sugar are on the table," Hannah said evenly. "What's the question?"
The second man slid a photograph across the sticky red vinyl. It was a surveillance still, grainy but unmistakable. It was the man with the baby. The exhaustion was missing from his face in the photo. Instead, he looked lethal, wearing a tuxedo, his eyes flat and merciless.
"He was here Monday night," the tall man said. It wasn't a question. "When is he coming back?"
"I see a lot of faces," Hannah lied, pouring the coffee without shaking. "Can't say I remember that one."
May you like
The shorter man smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. He dropped a crisp hundred-dollar bill onto the table, pressing his thumb hard into the paper receipt Hannah had set down. "If your memory improves, call the number on the back of this card. If you're lying to us... we'll be back to discuss it."
They didn't drink the coffee. They walked out into the rain. Hannah immediately took a pair of serving tongs, pinched the receipt with the man's greasy thumbprint on it, and dropped it into a plastic ziplock bag from the kitchen. She didn't know who the father was, but she knew hunters when she saw them.
