Diva (The Flappers) - By Jillian Larkin Page 0,86

then approached him and Ruby slowly. Lorraine recognized one of them as Forrest Hamilton—rich, dark, and handsome. How was it that he wasn’t married?

Lorraine’s eyes widened at the other man. What was Hank doing here? Though she’d preferred the casual vests and trousers he’d worn as a bartender, his pressed black suit didn’t look too bad. Men dressed just like Hank followed him.

Hank and Forrest both held up their hands. “Violence won’t get you out of this jam, Callum. How about you just let the girl go and save yourself the murder charge?”

But the hard-boiled character—Callum—turned to Forrest. “You were going to hand me over to the bulls just so you could run away with this floozy!” He tightened his bulky arm around Ruby’s neck, pressing the gun harder into her temple. “That is not how a son honors his father.”

Ruby blinked, and mascara-blackened tears dribbled onto her cheeks.

Lorraine heard glasses and silverware clatter to the ground as guests stood from their tables or ducked for cover. Men and women both cried out for help, and many pressed up against the back wall of the court, as far from Callum and his gun as they could get. There was a jumble of people by the stairwell, which was clogged with people trying to get away. The room filled with tense whispers.

“First the bride’s a con woman and now someone’s holding a guest at gunpoint?” a woman in a red dress complained to her husband under a nearby table. “I told you I didn’t like your friends.”

The rest of the crowd stood and watched, as motionless as Lorraine and Melvin. Lorraine could hardly believe this Callum was Forrest Hamilton’s father. All the good genes must’ve come from his mother.

“You’re right,” Forrest said. His voice was shaky and he seemed much more like a boy than a man. “But don’t blame her—blame me. Hold me hostage instead of her!”

“You’re not worth anything,” Callum spat. “They’ll just shoot the both of us.”

Callum gestured to Hank with the gun for a split second—but that was all Forrest needed to attack.

Suddenly he was in the air, soaring into his father. Ruby cried out and ducked to the ground with her hands over her head, out of Callum’s hold and out of Forrest’s way.

Forrest pummeled into the older man’s chest with such force that Callum toppled over, hitting the floor with a sickening smack.

The pistol fell to the floor.

Forrest reached for it, his limbs tangled with his father’s. Ruby jumped up and tried to help Forrest, grabbing Callum’s coat and attempting to yank him away.

But before Ruby could do any damage, Hank was by her side, pulling her to safety.

A few FBI agents attempted to separate Forrest and his father, but Callum was rushing after the pistol and then it was difficult to see what was going on—there were FBI men everywhere, screaming things, and guests hovering in fear underneath the tables, praying for help.

There was something silver sliding across the floor—the pistol? A hand grabbed it, but in all the commotion, Lorraine couldn’t see who the hand belonged to. She tried to lean forward, but Melvin stood firmly in front of her.

Lorraine heard someone—Ruby?—cry, “Forrest!” and then there was another gunshot.

Melvin dove to the ground, pulling Lorraine along with him by her arm. She hit the floor on her elbows and flinched at the impact, the carpet scraping her skin as she slid forward. As soon as Lorraine was down, Melvin covered her body with his. She could feel him breathing hard and fast.

She and Melvin weren’t the only ones with this idea—the sound of glass breaking and chairs falling filled the room as guests dove for cover. In mere seconds, everyone in the room was lying or kneeling on the plush burgundy carpet in fear.

Callum was the first to rise, making a quick run for the lobby. But Hank took him down in a flying tackle before he even reached the doorway.

“I did always love the way that man moved.” Lorraine glanced at Melvin over her shoulder. “You should have seen him behind a bar.”

Melvin rose to his feet and offered her his hand. “You don’t think anyone got hit by that second shot, do you?”

A crowd was gathering around the front of the court, near the arched entrance, where the struggle had taken place. The room was noisy, but not as loud as it should’ve been. The guests could only speak in hushed, terrified whispers. People gasped, and Lorraine saw an older woman