He took the corner, then slowed. He looked around, as if he was expecting someone to meet him. I paused at the edge of a high-end fashion boutique and watched him for a moment. I still hadn’t drawn my pistol, to avoid attracting attention.
Finally, the truck driver decided his ride wasn’t here and started down the street again. He looked over his shoulder one time as he approached a packed diner, and surprised me by slipping inside.
I looked in the window as I came to the door of the diner. Every patron and server was glued to the TV in the corner of the room. News of the attack was mesmerizing. The room was silent as the news had just broken—the same TV parade footage was on loop as the newscaster started repeating the information he was receiving. No conversation, no clinking of silverware, nothing.
I immediately stepped to the cashier by the front door, held up my badge, and said in a low voice, “NYPD. Did you see where the man who just came in here went?”
The dark-haired you
ng woman shook her head. She mumbled, “I didn’t notice anyone.” Then she turned and looked back at the TV.
Even though the attack had happened only a couple blocks away, a few minutes ago, watching it on TV made it feel like it was in another country.
I saw the hallway that led past the kitchen. There was a sign that said RESTROOM, so I presumed a back door was that way as well. So I hustled, squeezing past several tables crowded with extra patrons. Today was a big day for New York eateries.
Just as I started to pick up my pace, I heard something behind me and turned. The man I’d been chasing was lowering himself from an awkward position above the door. What the hell? It looked like it was out of the movies.
When he dropped to the floor and faced me, I realized he had led me into a trap.
Chapter 5
The truck driver and I stared at each other for a moment. He had taken off the scarf, having used it to trick me. Pretty sharp.
He was about thirty, with neat, dark hair and blue eyes.
I reached for my pistol.
He reacted instantly and blocked my arm. That was from training. That’s not a natural move. Then he head-butted me. Hard. My brain rattled and vision blurred.
I stumbled back and kept reaching for my pistol. Just as I pulled it from under my Giants windbreaker, the man swatted it out of my hand. I heard it clatter onto the hard, wooden floor—then the man kicked it.
The gun spun as it slid across the floor and under a radiator.
The man nodded to me and sprinted away. He didn’t want to fight, he just wanted to escape.
I couldn’t let that happen.
I was dazed and unable to reach my pistol, but I had to do something. I just put one foot in front of the other and followed the man.
My head started to clear.
A moment later, I found myself in the kitchen. The cooks and busboys weren’t paying any attention to us. They were watching the news, just like everyone else, but on one of their smartphones. The back door wasn’t at the end of the hall, like I had expected, but through the kitchen.
The man was almost to the back door when he turned and saw me. He looked annoyed, and he turned his full attention on me and charged forward.
I picked up a bottle of cooking wine and smashed it across his face just before he reached me.
The driver teetered back. Blood poured out of a gash on his cheek. Just as I was about to subdue him so I could call for backup, his foot flew up and connected with my chin.
That was the second time this asshole had made me see stars.
This time he took the opportunity and ran. He was out the door in a flash.
Chapter 6
It took a minute to get my legs under me. One of the cooks made the connection between the events at the parade and the fight in his kitchen. He helped me stumble out onto the street, but I saw no sign of the terrorist. He had fled back into the chaos he’d created and there was no telling where he was headed.
After retrieving my gun, I’d made my first phone call to dispatch, telling them where I was and what had happened. Now I was talking to a heavyset patrol sergeant and two Intel detectives.