No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

minutes ago — and now she’d returned through the restrooms.
Beyond him, Sandi napped on the bench, her legs hunched, her
paperback covering her face.
“Find a cell signal?” Ed asked.
Darby didn’t answer. She looked ahead, past Espresso
Peak, at the front door. That was where Ashley stood, his
broad shoulders blocking her exit. He was staring at her. The
flinching, nervous asthmatic she’d spoken to just an hour ago
was gone, just a discarded act. This new Ashley was still and
solid, with deep, observant eyes. He looked her up and down
— she had snow on her knees, her cheeks were flushed red,
her skin sticky with sweat, her Honda keys clasped in her fist
— and then he glanced at the center table, as if ordering her to
take a seat.
She stared back at him, gritting her teeth and trying to
appear fearless. Defiant. Like a courageous hero encircled by
evil forces.
Instead, she almost cried.
She was certain now — she’d die tonight.
“Hey.” Ed leaned between them, straining to remember
her name. “Are … are you okay, Dara?”
For Christ’s sake, it’s Darby.
She swallowed, her voice mouse-like. “I’m fine.”
She wasn’t. She felt sobs trapped in her chest, shuddery
spasms struggling to escape. Her spine ached where she’d
landed on the toilet. She wanted to jump forward, grab Ed by
the shoulders, to scream at this nice old veterinarian and his
sleeping cousin: Run. For the love of God, run right now. But
where?
Ashley nodded again at the table, harder.
At her chair.
She noticed a brown object neatly placed on the center of
her seat, and recognized her brown napkin. The same napkin