Milo’s was an old-fashioned diner with stools at the counter and booths lining the walls. There was even an opening where one could see into the kitchen. The aroma of bacon and breakfast goods greeted her along with the familiar clanking of dishes and the chatter of conversation by the customers of the nearly full eatery. Bethany found an empty booth with a clear view of the kitchen and strained her head to try to see inside. She saw people, bodies, but no faces.
A pretty middle-aged woman with an apron and notebook approached her table and wiped it down. “Welcome to Milo’s, hon. What can I getcha?”
“Just coffee, please,” she stated, scanning the area behind the counter for a familiar face.
“We have a great breakfast special. Steak and eggs for only $5.99. Sure you’re not hungry?”
“No, thank you. Just the coffee.”
Laughter caught her attention and she gazed past the waitress and through the window into the kitchen. She knew that deep baritone voice. She’d heard it before, reveled in it. Her breath caught and a moment later her world shattered when she spotted the familiar strong jaw, green eyes and wide, bright smile through the opening.
Tears threatened her. He was alive. It was true. It was really true. Marcus Allen was alive. Then, as suddenly as that emotion had hit her, it morphed into anger. Marcus Allen was alive and working as a fry cook in a diner in Texas.
“Are you okay, honey?” the waitress asked. “You look kinda pale. Can I get you some water?”
“No, I’m fine. I was just caught off guard by the laughter. It sounded like someone I used to know.”
The waitress turned and glanced into the kitchen. “You know Marcus?”
Ah, that was the real question, wasn’t it? “I used to know him a long time ago.”
The woman whose name badge read Marie turned and hollered toward the kitchen. “Marcus! This girl claims she knows you. Get out here and say hello.”
Bethany’s heart jerked as the man peered through the open window then waved. She pressed her arm against the gun under the jacket as she debated her own reaction. Her first instinct was to run to him, pull him into her arms and praise God for his safe return. She checked that. After all, she hardly recognized the man approaching her table.
Dressed in jeans, a T-shirt and cowboy boots, he wore a long apron over his clothes and tossed a dish towel over his shoulder as he approached her. His eyes narrowed as he neared and he cocked his head as if trying to place her. Bethany felt herself go on alert. It was him! It was Marcus Allen walking and talking and cooking fried food.
She sucked in a breath and tried to get hold of her tangled emotions. If Marcus was alive, that meant...that meant he’d lied to the entire world. And now he was walking toward her as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He acted as if he didn’t even know her and that made her mad all over again. She gritted her teeth, fury rushing through her. How could he not remember her? And if she shot him, could she really be charged with a crime?
After all, to the rest of the world, Marcus Allen had died two years ago in Afghanistan.
* * *
Excitement burst through Marcus as he approached the table where his boss and Milo’s co-owner, Marie, stood with a pretty brunette. His adrenaline had started pumping the moment she’d called out to say someone knew him. He’d hoped to recognize the woman, but he didn’t. Nothing registered.
He pushed back the disappointment. It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t even know himself these days, much less the beautiful woman with the long, dark hair and riveting blue eyes. He only knew his name was Marcus because the Afghani villagers who rescued him had called him that. He didn’t even know for certain it was his name, but this woman knew. This woman knew him.
He sucked in a breath. Her gaze was hard as he approached, but he didn’t stop. If she really knew who he was and this wasn’t just a case of mistaken identity, then she had answers...answers he’d spent the past two years seeking.
The lovely stranger didn’t flinch as he slid across from her in the booth and removed the wet towel from his shoulder. He eyed her, bracing himself for the unescapable moment when she would declare, “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
“Hi,” he said, his voice shaky with excitement. “Marie said you recognized me? I’m sorry, I don’t recall your name.”
Her eyes blazed at his words and he could see it made her mad that he didn’t remember. What were the chances that he finally had contact with someone who could give him answers and she turned out to be an angry ex-girlfriend? Was he that kind of guy? The love-’em-and-leave-’em type? He. Just. Didn’t. Know.
“Bethany,” she stated through clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry I can’t place you, Bethany. Something happened to me and I’ve been having a difficult time remembering things. Can I ask how you know me?”
She leaned forward and stared into his eyes, her gaze probing. He let her and didn’t look away. It had to be weird having someone you knew not recognize you.
“Really, Marcus? You’re really going to pretend to have amnesia?”
“I’m not pretending. Why would I make up something like that?”
“Because you’re in a heap of trouble, that’s why.” She pulled out her wallet and opened it, revealing a federal identification badge.
“What does the CIA want with me?” he asked, feeling sweat break out on his forehead. This was what he’d been most afraid of, that if and when he finally discovered the truth about himself, he wouldn’t like it very much. The villagers who’d cared for his wounds in Afghanistan had told him the CIA was hunting him. Her presence cemented that fear.
Just then his ears grabbed onto a familiar sound. He recognized the high-pitched whistling immediately and reacted. “Get down!” he hollered as something exploded through the window above their heads and the air filled with glass and a rush of stifling heat. Marcus hit the floor as bullets whizzed past him and slammed into the metal doors that led into the kitchen. Someone screamed and the panic-stricken patrons started running for the door. Marcus glanced at Bethany. She was crouched beside the table, her gun drawn and ready to return fire.
“Get down! Stay away from the windows!” Bethany screamed at the crowd as the bullets continued flying. She appeared ready to fight back, but it seemed awfully convenient that on the day she’d found him, someone was firing into the crowded diner.
The front doors were shoved open and several people spilled out onto the sidewalk. The shooter didn’t target them as they fled, but who was to say he wouldn’t start? Marcus thought the guy’s intent was probably to create pandemonium and, if it was, he’d been successful.
Moving to the metal doors already riddled with bullet holes, Marcus motioned for the rest of the crowd to rush toward the back. He noticed fear on their faces, yet he remained oddly calm under fire. How had he known that that sound had meant a bullet was headed their way? And why did this all seem second nature to him?
“Stay low and you’ll be safe,” he assured everyone as they began to filter back. Marcus spotted Milo huddled under the counter with Marie. He nodded at them. “Get those people into the freezer.” The large walk-in was solidly built and would withstand the gunfire. He glanced back at the holes in the door and knew instinctively that this wasn’t a random shooting. He was the target.
Milo kept a rifle under the counter in case of trouble. Marcus tore off his apron, crawled across the floor and reached to the back, his hand grabbing metal. He checked the weapon, glad to see it was loaded. Thank you, Milo.
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