She approached a waitress. “Hi, did Brandon Burns just come in?”
“Yeah, he went to the office to call his brother.” The waitress saw Kyle behind her. “Hey Kyle, Brandon’s looking for you. I didn’t think you were coming in today.”
“We have a gas leak,” Kyle said. “Can you quietly tell the customers and have them leave? Don’t collect any money, we just need everyone to leave the restaurant. Including staff.”
She furrowed her brow. “A gas leak? Is it dangerous?”
Kyle shook his head. “Just a precaution. Liability.” The waitress left and Kyle whispered to Carina “The safe is in my office.”
Carina nodded. The office was adjacent to the kitchen. “How much?”
“Saturday night’s take. Over three thousand. I-I went home with Maggie instead of the bank. No one knows.”
“Except Brandon.”
Kyle nodded soberly.
“Help get everyone out,” she began when Kyle’s phone rang.
He glanced at the caller ID. “It’s the Shack number.”
Brandon, most likely calling from the office. Carina moved Kyle over to the front door, where she could watch the staff and keep an eye on Kyle while listening to the conversation. She nodded for him to answer.
“Hi,” Kyle said into the receiver.
“It’s me,” Brandon said.
“What’s up?”
“I’m sorry, Kyle.”
“Sorry about what?”
“You’ll know when you get to work tomorrow. I just wanted to say good-bye.”
“Good-bye? Where are you going?”
“I can’t tell you. But…” he paused, his voice low. “I think Dad is around. I’m going to find him.”
“What?”
Carina put her finger to her lips. Shhh.
“Why are you mad?” Brandon asked Kyle.
“Why do you think he’s in San Diego?”
“Because the police were asking about him.”
“Don’t go looking for him, Brandon. Why don’t you come over to my house? We can kick back, talk about Dad.”
“No. You don’t like him. You never have. You’re just going to try to tell me to forget about him like you always do.”
“That’s not true.”
“What?” Brandon’s voice was muffled and in the background of the phone Carina heard a female voice murmuring.
Then Brandon hung up.
THIRTY-FOUR
BRANDON STARED AT THE WAITRESS. Denise.
“Kyle’s here?” he repeated.
“He just walked in with that detective who was asking all those questions about Angie’s murder.”
Al, the weekend cook, called out an order. “Denise! Pickup.”
“Got to get that. See you later.” She grabbed the food from under the heat lamps and started for the swinging doors.
Kyle was here in the restaurant. With a cop. Brandon replayed his conversation with Kyle on the phone.
Come over to my place.
Kyle’s cell phone had caller ID. He knew Brandon was calling from the Shack. He didn’t say anything about being here, too.
Another waitress popped her head into the kitchen as Denise exited. “Watch it, Sherry. You almost knocked over my tray.”
“Put it down, Kyle says there’s a gas leak and we have to get out.”
“Gas leak?” Al said, quickly shutting off all the burners. “Are you sure?”
Sherry shrugged. “That’s what he said.”
Brandon stayed in Kyle’s small office so Sherry couldn’t see him. Heart pounding, he watched as Al and Denise exited the kitchen.
Why was Kyle with that cop? Why didn’t he tell Brandon he was here? Had the police figured something out? But he’d covered his tracks so well. Hadn’t he?
He was alone in the kitchen. Being alone was dangerous, he realized. He left the office and glanced through the half-open blinds next to the storage room. A cop stood half behind a tree with his eyes trained on the kitchen door.
Brandon quickly got out of sight.
Being alone was definitely dangerous. He should have called Denise back. Something.
He fingered the gun in his windbreaker pocket as he crossed the kitchen and peered through the swinging door window into the hallway. Beyond the hall he saw customers leaving the the restaurant. Food still on the tables. Everyone leaving at once.
Kyle had betrayed him.
He didn’t know how the police had figured everything out, but somehow Kyle was part of it. His own brother. Of all people who should have understood, but instead he was one of them.
Movement in the hall caught his eye. Someone was coming out of the restrooms.
Without hesitating, Brandon pushed the kitchen door a foot open. A boy of about eight or nine was walking back to his table.
“Hey,” he said.
The boy slowed. Slowed enough for Brandon to grab him and pull him into the kitchen.
The kid drew in a breath to scream. Brandon didn’t want to hurt him. Instead, he covered his mouth with one hand and showed him the gun.
“See this?”
The boy nodded.
“I’ll kill your mother if you say a word.”
Carina had to get everyone out as quickly as possible. Now.
The waitstaff had done a good job while Kyle was on the phone with Brandon. More than half the restaurant had been cleared. She watched as two waitresses and the cook came out of the kitchen. She approached Sherry.
“Is the kitchen empty?”
“Yes,” she said.
The other waitress said, “No, I think Brandon is still in the office on the phone or something. I’ll go get him.”
“No, I will,” Carina said. “Just leave.”
She started toward the kitchen, flipping her radio on and discreetly talking into the mic. “Suspect may be alone in the kitchen.” She spotted a woman still sitting at a table making no move to get up. There were two sodas on the table.
“Ma’am, do you have a guest with you?” Carina asked.
“My son is in the bathroom.”
“I need to ask you to leave. There’s a possible gas leak.”
“I’ll wait for my son.”
“How long has he been gone?”
“Just a few minutes.”
Carina had been in the restaurant for six minutes. She hadn’t seen the boy pass her to get to the restrooms, which were off the hall that connected the kitchen-and the rear office-with the main restaurant.
“I’ll get him for you.”
“No, I’ll get him. He’s my son. I don’t know you.”
Carina discreetly flashed her badge. “You can’t go back there.”
“What happened? What’s wrong?”
The panic in her voice caught the attention of the remaining patrons.
“Nothing is wrong. Gas leak. We don’t want anyone getting hurt. I promise, I will get your son.”
The mother was clearly torn. She bit her lip. Carina motioned a waitress over. “What’s your son’s name?”
“Josh. He’s only eight.”
“I will bring him to you. Trust me.”
Without waiting for an answer, Carina nodded for the waitress to escort the mother out.
Carina spoke into her mic. “All units. Potential hostage situation, minor child. Am checking status.”
She glanced back to the front, where she’d left Kyle. He was nowhere to be seen.
Had she made a mistake to trust him?
She stood outside the swinging kitchen doors, back against the wall. She heard a voice in the kitchen, but couldn’t make out the words.
Carina looked into the kitchen through the windows in the doors. Where was Brandon? Where was Kyle?
First, get the boy out. Then secure the suspect. She ran down the short hall to the men’s restroom and entered. “Josh?” she called quietly. “Josh?”
No answer. She looked in the two stalls. The bathroom was empty.
Heart pounding, she checked the women’s room next. Empty. She swallowed her panic.
Her hand on her gun, she left the bathroom and walked right into Brandon. A boy stood in front of him, shaking.
“Josh,” she said.
She was only four feet away from the boy, but she didn’t dare rush him. Carina listened to what Brandon heard. Silence. Distant voices. Ocean waves. Then in the distance, sirens.