Chapter 2
Vincent’s gaze snapped back toward Martha, the forty-five-year-old waitress whose messy brown hair and light blue diner uniform with white trim suddenly took on a sinister, deliberate significance.
Her shoulders were trembling slightly beneath the light blue fabric, and her fingers clutched a dirty dish rag so tightly that her knuckles had turned completely white.
"You knew he was standing right behind me the entire time, didn't you?" Vincent whispered, his voice dropping an octave as a cold fury began to eclipse his fear.
Martha kept her head bowed toward the stainless steel counter, refusing to lift her eyes as a single tear escaped and rolled slowly down her dust-streaked cheek.
"They watched every single move I made for thirty long years, Vincent," Martha answered softly, her voice barely carrying over the hum of the antique refrigerator.
"They tapped my phone, monitored my bank accounts, and turned this lonely highway stop into a cage disguised as a sanctuary."
She raised her trembling hands slightly from the counter, sliding the heavy brass key and its wooden tag an inch closer toward Vincent’s resting palm.
"I had to wait until you finally asked the exact right question before I could legally hand you that key," Martha continued, her breath hitching in a shaky sob.
"That key opens the past your father died trying to protect, and the future Cole is trying to bury forever."
Director Cole’s smile vanished instantly, replaced by a dark, dangerous scowl as he realized Martha was actively defying three decades of federal surveillance.
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"Martha, you foolish woman, you have no idea what kind of apocalyptic forces you are unleashing tonight," Cole snarled, his hand drifting closer to his tactical holster.
"Step away from the counter right now, or your little roadside diner becomes your final resting place."
