The headlights swept across the diner’s front window, painting the vinyl booths in stark, predatory light. The SUVs slid to a stop, blocking the street. Doors opened, disgorging large men in dark suits Charles’s private security.
“The back,” Kaelan hissed, grabbing Elara’s arm and pulling her toward the kitchen. His movements were stiff, painful, but driven by adrenaline.
Miranda was already moving, her phone to her ear. “I’m calling the police,” she said, her voice crisp. “A disturbance at this address. It will buy us minutes, nothing more.”
“They’ll be in his pocket,” Kaelan shot back, shoving through the swinging kitchen door.
“Not the local patrol. The state troopers. An old boyfriend.” Miranda didn’t smile, but there was a flash of grim satisfaction. “He owes me more than a favor.
