Page 8 of Unexpected Trouble

Chuck had been watching us, and Maggie settled herself back against the counter, peering up at him. “You are that lady, right? The one that writes about love and stuff in the paper?”

“Yes,” she said softly and then lifted her chin. “You know I do more than just write advice columns; I write real news too. I could write an article about you two, tell your side of the story.”

“Could you?” Chuck asked excitedly.

Len raised his arm and shot into the ceiling again. Everyone jumped, a few screamed, and Maggie slipped closer to me. “Shut up! Just shut the fuck up, all of you!”

He smacked Chuck on the back of the head. “She ain’t gonna write a story on us, you dork. She’s lying to you.”

“No, she’s not. I know she’s in the paper.” Chuck looked around. “Hey, anyone have today’s paper?”

The frazzled woman raised her hand and then pointed at the table where she’d been sitting. Chuck made a beeline for it and then started flipping pages.

“Section two, page two,” Maggie said, and Len rolled his head toward her, his eyes spitting venom.

Chuck found the page and handed it to Len. “See, it’s her. You can tell by the picture.”

“Well, look at that, we have a reporter in our midst,” Len said as he looked back at Maggie. The way he stared at her made the hair rise on the back of my neck. “Nice to have you with us, Maggie Valor; maybe you might be of use to us.”

“Oh, shit,” she murmured under her breath.

Chapter Four

Maggie

I’d been really thankful that the police had shown up when they had, and the two guys had forgotten about me—at least for the moment. The last thing I wanted was to have their attention. Instead, I preferred to remain unnoticed so that I could note everything that they did. I had every intention of hitting my editor up and asking for front-page space. How could he deny me that? This story would most definitely be front-page news, and who better to report it than someone present at the scene.

So I watched, and I prayed that Len wouldn’t do anything stupid, like put a bullet into Greg’s head. Was he crazy—Greg, not Len. We all knew the bad guy was crazy. Greg had lifted his face directly to the guy, rested his forehead right against the gun, and smiled. Okay, so maybe he didn’t outright smile, but I swear there was a little hint of a grin on his face. I remember that Greg had always been outgoing and daring when he was a teenager, but had he gone nuts after his years in the service? He had to have because no sane person would have done what he did.

I felt for the pregnant woman, and I’m glad that they let her at least use the restroom, although, with the way she was moving, I was beginning to wonder if the stress of this situation might send her into labor right here in the coffee shop. Now that was a story to tell the kid when he got older.

Yep, I was hankering for a shot of espresso and ended up getting held hostage instead. You were born right there on the dirty floor of Cocoa’s Coffee Café with twenty or so people there to witness your entry into this world. It wasn’t nerve-racking in the least that two men were waving guns around and the kind man that had tried to help me had gotten shot for doing so. I named you Greg after him.

I cringed when Chuck asked me again, “You are that lady, right? The one that writes about love and stuff in the paper?”

“Yes,” I replied meekly. Maybe if I told them I was also a serious journalist, they would make sure I lived to tell their story. “You know, I do more than just write advice columns; I write real news too. I could write an article about you two, tell your side of the story.”

His blue eyes sparkled. “Could you?”

I screamed when Len fired another shot into the ceiling and cowered behind Greg. “Shut up! Just shut the fuck up, all of you!”

I was hoping that was the end of it, but no, Chuck just had to push and prove it was me. When they located a paper, I volunteered the location and earned a glare for my trouble. Why did I even bother?

Chuck pointed at the picture, tapping his finger on it. “See, it’s her. You can tell by the picture.”

“Well, look at that, we have a reporter in our midst.” Len turned to me, and I would have had to be blind to miss the scary joy in his gaze. “Nice to have you with us, Maggie Valor; maybe you might be of use to us.”

“Oh, shit,” I mumbled and didn’t miss the stiffening of Greg’s back beside me.

Len glanced around the room. “I have an idea. Everyone, take your wallets out.”

No one moved, and then he shouted the command and waved the gun around. Most of the people began to rummage around in their pockets or purses, including me. Greg didn’t move.

One woman began to cry. “I don’t have a wallet. I just brought enough cash with me to get my coffee. I work in an office building across the street.” Len grunted at her.

“Everyone take out your licenses. I want to see them.” He turned to Chuck. “Collect them from everyone, and if they don’t have one, I want to know.”

His eyes cut around the room, and I leaned toward Greg and whispered, “Get your ID out.”

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