The conversation was absurdly ordinary.
Maya understood that immediately.
This man had not sat down because he wanted to discuss weather.
Frank understood too.
Roy’s right knee began bouncing beneath the table.
Dale glanced toward Maya.
Only once.
Then back to Frank.
“What's your name?”
“Why?”
“Conversation.”
“We're not looking for conversation.”
“Fair.”
Dale picked up one sugar packet.
Turned it between his fingers.
Then said:
“Frank Delinger.”
Frank’s face went blank.
Roy stopped moving.
Dale continued:
“Roy Sutter.”
Maya looked up.
For the first time, real fear appeared on Frank’s face.
Not anger.
Fear.
Dale said:
“You two have attracted enough attention over the years that somebody recognized descriptions.”
This was partly bluff and partly truth.
Dale had texted the basic descriptions to Tom Briggs, who had spent months following regional crime reports after Rachel’s case.
Tom replied that Roy Sutter’s name had appeared in connection with an older interstate investigation.
Enough to tell deputies.
Not enough for Dale to know exactly what Roy had done.
Dale did not pretend otherwise.
Frank said:
“You don't know what you're talking about.”
“Could be.”
Dale shrugged.
“That’s why law enforcement is coming.”
Roy’s head snapped toward him.
Frank said nothing.
Dale leaned back.
“Now we have choices.”
Frank’s voice dropped.
“You threatening us?”
“No.”
“Quite the opposite.”
Dale gestured subtly toward the diner.
“Too many civilians.”
“I don't want anybody doing anything stupid.”
Frank glanced toward the windows.
More riders outside.
None had entered.
No shouting.
No weapons displayed.
Just witnesses.
Dale continued:
“You've got a young woman sitting between you.”
“She hasn't chosen a thing since I walked in.”
Frank said:
“She’s my niece.”
Maya’s stomach turned.
Dale did not look at her.
“What’s her name?”
Frank hesitated.
“Maya.”
Dale’s eyes changed.
The missing-person notices had circulated widely in northern Arizona.
He had seen the name.
Maya Torres.
Twenty.
Phoenix.
Missing eleven days.
He did not react.
“That right?”
Frank said:
“Yes.”
“What’s her last name?”
Another hesitation.
“Delinger.”
Maya felt something inside her sharpen.
Dale looked toward her now.
Not pleading.
Not demanding.
“Miss.”
Frank interrupted.
“She doesn’t need…”
Dale held up one hand.
“I wasn't asking you.”
He kept his voice calm.
“Miss, you okay?”
Every part of Maya’s body screamed not to answer.
Frank’s threat lived inside her head.
Her mother.
Her sister.
Her father’s business.
Dale seemed to understand something.
He did not repeat the question.
Instead, he looked at Frank.
“Let her use the restroom.”
Frank frowned.
“What?”
“Restroom.”
“She doesn't need…”
“You asked her?”
Frank’s jaw tightened.