Page 21 of Shadow

Hunting knife. Six-inch blade.

“Register! Now!” The male’s voice cracked high and desperate. “Everyone—phones and wallets on the counter! Now! Do it!”

“Hey now—” said an elderly man, who started to rise from his booth.

Sit down, buddy.

The female screamed incoherent sounds. She lunged toward him, and his wife screamed. “Sit down, Frank!”

He sat.

Millie stood behind the counter with her hands up, face gone pale. The truck driver at a back table was reaching for something. Please let it not be a weapon. The last thing they needed was Mr. Skinny losing it and firing off shots.

The cook ducked down behind the order window.

Daphne’s tactical assessment ran in three seconds. Two threats, both armed, both unstable. Gun was primary—distance weapon, already aimed in Millie’s general direction, finger on trigger. Knife was secondary but mobile, dangerously near the elderly couple.

Five civilians plus staff. Limited space. Counter provided some cover. Kitchen exit behind Millie. Her position was third stool from the end, maybe ten feet from the gun, fifteen from the knife.

She was still calculating when Morrison launched off his stool.

Fast. Controlled.

He closed the distance to Gun Kid in less than two seconds, his hand shooting out to grab the weapon and redirect the barrel toward the ceiling. His other hand struck—controlled and precise—at the kid’s throat.

He disarmed the attacker in a second, and then just like that, tucked away the gun and took him down.

Bam.

Ten seconds, maybe less. His knee found the small of the kid’s back, and his hand wrenched the arm behind. Professional restraint hold.

Knife Girl screamed. She swung wildly at Asher, and the knife found purchase, a slice across his forearm. He didn’t even flinch.

Daphne moved. Three long strides and she’d grabbed Knife Girl’s wrist mid-swing, her fingers finding the pressure point and squeezing. The girl tried to hold on, but her fingers spasmed open, the knife dropping to clatter on the floor.

Daphne swept the girl’s leg out from under her and rode her down. The girl’s face hit tile with a crack that would leave bruises. Daphne’s knee found her back, pinning her in place. Her weapon was in her hand—when had she drawn it?—the Glock steady as she covered both threats.

Time elapsed: twenty-eight seconds.

Her eyes met Morrison’s across the diner floor.

He knelt on Gun Kid with his phone already out, calling 911.

Their eyes locked.

No, his eyes drilled into her. A sort of look that had her turning hot even as he spoke into the phone. “Off-duty officer. Two suspects disarmed and detained at 1234 Main Street, Millie’s Diner. Scene secure. Send units and EMS.”

Then he hung up. Blood dripped down his arm. “Nice moves.”

Oh, he was talking to her.

“You too.” Her voice came out flat despite the adrenaline singing through her veins.

“Law enforcement?”

“Something like that. You?”

His mouth closed, and he gave a nod.