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in the far corner. Full trays of food lay in front of them. They were just getting started. The young couple watching the news was a possibility, but they didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave, either.
    The man at the table two over from hers had pushed his plate to one side and was finishing off a bottle of sparkling water. Anika examined his squat frame and broad features. Eastern European descent, most likely.
    He pulled out his handheld and began speaking into it. She leaned forward. Ukrainian. Not her best language, but she could make out that the man was speaking with his wife or maybe girlfriend, asking about the kids, the leaky sink, the estimate from the contractor.
    Family man. Good.
    His voice softened to a sing-song stream of questions and answers, with liberal sprinklings of pryntsesa , or princess. A tender smile tugged at his lips as he promised that Papa would be home soon. His daughter. Even better.
    The trucker who had shouted obscenities at the monitor swiveled around on his chair and pumped his fists in the air. “Go Trojans!” he cried.
    As post-game images streaked across the large screen, the man drained his mug, stood, and glanced around the room, a lopsided grin on his face. He caught Anika’s eye and his grin widened.
    Don’t even think about it.
    She switched her gaze back to the parking lot. The red-haired woman who had been wandering the grounds earlier rested in a squat against the side of the building. A black all-terrain with privacy windows pulled in between two mammoth rigs. The driver door retracted and a man in civilian clothes stepped out.
    Anika froze. Even from this distance, she could make out the scar that ran across his cheek.

Chapter 9
    Anika slid the Glock from under her shirt and tucked it between her legs.
    Salazar moved to the back of his vehicle and paused, scanning the perimeter. No one got out from the passenger side.
    Had he been sent to retrieve her? A one-man team? Not likely.
    She started to stand. And was stopped by a husky frame and beer breath.
    “What’s your hurry, sweetheart?” The trucker leaned in close. One hairy-knuckled hand rested on the table, the other on the back of her seat.
    His bearded friend stood behind him, shifting from one foot to the other, eyes fixed on the floor.
    “You’re in my way.” Anika kept her voice low.
    “Aw, come on, me and my friend just wanna buy you a beer.” The words slurred out of him.
    She darted a look outside.
    Salazar was striding toward the diner.
    “ Move ,” she hissed.
    The trucker’s eyes widened and he pulled back a little.
    She changed her grip on the Glock so that her fingers curled around the barrel. The bridge of his nose hovered within striking distance.
    “Excuse me, lady.” The Ukrainian had left his table. “You okay?”
    The trucker turned his head and snarled, “Private party, pal. Back off.”
    “No trouble.” The Ukrainian lifted his shoulders and spread his hands, but he stayed in place.
    Anika looked outside again. The vagrant woman stepped in Salazar’s path, hand extended, a pleading expression on her face. He shoved her aside and she fell to the ground.
    “Did you see that?” Anika raised her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. The diner grew silent. She jerked her head at the scene outside. “The guy just knocked that woman over.”
    The woman rocked back and forth, her hands clutching her knee. Salazar walked away without a backward glance.
    “Son of a bitch!” the trucker roared. “Let’s get him.”
    All of the truckers stood and started moving toward the door, like a herd of autobots cut loose from their handlers. They surged through the entrance and charged Salazar. The trucker who had called out the command raised an angry fist.
    Two men clamped Salazar’s arms behind his back and the trucker rammed him in the gut.
    Dumb. Go for his eyes or throat or kneecaps. Something that will do some damage.
    Anika ducked low and sprinted outside.
    The Ukrainian bent over