Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [108]
He wanted to tell her Jess was fine, that everything would be fine, but they were in the weeds and there wasn’t time.
Just as he opened his mouth to start barking orders, there was a commotion at the back of the kitchen. A scuffle, a short scream that sounded like Violet at her pastry board by the back door, and Adam thought, Christ Almighty, what now?
From the moment he glanced over his shoulder, irritated at the new disruption, everything moved into slow motion. His vision sharpened, colors brightened, sounds magnified by a thousand.
There was a guy waving a gun around Adam’s kitchen.
Oh, hell no.
TWENTY-SIX
Somebody screamed and Miranda’s blood turned to ice water.
Robin Meeks had returned to Market. And he had a gun.
His sharp, thin face was damp with sweat or tears, his eyes were wide and rolling. He looked deranged, his grip on the gun none too steady.
“Hey, I’m here to talk,” Rob said loudly.
“Fucking hell,” Frankie swore.
Adam immediately thrust out an arm and pulled Miranda behind him, but she still had a good view of Frankie making a dash for the swinging door that led to the front of house.
Coward, she thought, genuinely shocked but at the same time darkly pleased to have her bad opinion of him confirmed.
It didn’t work anyway, because Rob swung toward Frankie and managed to bring his gun to bear. Wavering only slightly, he slurred out, “Not so fast, Frankie boy. This concerns you, too.”
Frankie froze a few strides from the pass, putting his hands in the air. But even with a gun trained on him, held by a shaky hand, he couldn’t seem to focus on Rob. Miranda saw the glances he kept casting out to the dining room. She couldn’t decipher the look on his face; it was more than simple fear.
It was hard to tell if the diners even knew what was happening; the kitchen was open, but there was music out there, the noise of plates and silverware, servers circling. She closed her eyes and prayed that someone had noticed, had used a cell phone to call the police. She sent up a further, fervent prayer that Jess hadn’t noticed, that he’d stay out there where it was relatively safe.
She didn’t have long to contemplate it, however, because in the next moment Adam said, “Come on, man. Be cool. You don’t need that gun to get us to talk to you. Why don’t you put it on the ground, and you and I’ll go down to the office and have a long chat? Whatever you want to talk about.”
Miranda reached out and clutched the back of Adam’s chef jacket in her fist. She did not want him going off alone with Rob, gun or no gun. The guy was obviously on something.
“Shut up!” Rob lurched in their direction, bumping Milo, who cursed and stepped out of the way quickly. Rob turned on him clumsily, and stood blinking in confusion at the man standing next to Milo.
“Who are you?” Rob asked.
“Murphy,” the new cook said, eyes never leaving Rob’s limp gun hand. “Wes Murphy. Just started tonight.”
Rob started to laugh, sending a visible shock through the room. “Oh, shit, that’s funny. You’re the new me.”
“Say what?” Wes Murphy said, his tone icy enough to make Miranda nervous.
“The new extern, right? From the Academy?”
“That’s right.” The guy’s eyes snapped.
Rob’s harsh laugh sounded like a sob, and she wasn’t surprised when he brought up a hand to swipe at his cheeks with his sleeve. It was the hand holding the gun. Everyone in the kitchen jumped and gasped as the barrel flailed wildly in Rob’s loose grip. Every muscle in Miranda’s body tightened at once.
“You can go, if you want,” Rob said. He seemed distracted, tired of talking to Wes, or maybe as if he were coming down a little from whatever he’d taken. “You weren’t part of this. Didn’t do nothing to me. You are me. We’re the same. So you can leave.”
“No, thanks,” Wes said, disdain in every syllable. Miranda caught her breath, wondering what the hell he was playing at.
She wasn’t the only one. Rob stared, arrested. “No? Ooooh, I get it. You think if you stay, it’ll make them like you. Think they’ll respect