Lane started to respond when another puff of warm, muggy air breached the air-conditioned atmosphere of her café. Lane looked over Charlie’s shoulders at the man who had entered. She blinked twice to convince herself the disheveled man in a dirty shirt and torn jeans with dark hair pointing in every direction was Miguel.

“I’ll be right back.” Lane came around the counter, but Dottie stepped in front of her.

“I’ll take this one, honey. You go take care of Mr. Good-Looking.”

Miguel’s eyes had a wild look about them as he searched the place. With heavy, unsteady steps, he moved toward the table where Samantha’s family was and her father put a protective hand on his daughter’s back.

Lane started for Miguel.

Dottie reached for Lane’s arm and redirected her steps. “I’ve got him, hon. You take care of your deputy friend,” she whispered in Lane’s ear.

The look in Miguel’s eyes set off an alarm inside her. He was in trouble. Lane wanted to protest, but Dottie used her eyes to send a message to Lane. Lane looked to Charlie, who was standing, his gaze fixed on Miguel and hand flexed near his gun belt. The corners of his eyes creased. Alert and ready.

“Do you need help?” Charlie tipped his head toward Miguel.

“No, no. It’s fine.” Now she knew why Dottie was intervening. “Dottie will take care of him.”

Charlie returned to his stool, his eyes dancing between her and Miguel when a chair screeched along the wooden floor and grabbed their attention.

“Where is it?” Miguel pushed the table back with a growl. Dottie placed her arm on Miguel’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off with enough force that it sent her stumbling backward. A few customers stepped away from the commotion. Charlie stood, but before he could join the others Lane was already pushing her way toward Miguel.

“Miguel.” Lane reached for his arm. He shook her hand off like he had done to Dottie. It was like he didn’t recognize her. “Miguel.”

“Honey, I don’t think it’s safe to be around him right now.” Dottie pulled on Lane’s hand.

“It’s okay. Give me a second.” Lane stepped closer and noticed the layer of powder-like sawdust covering his gray shirt and the pungent smell of something she recognized but couldn’t put her finger on. It wasn’t alcohol . . . was it? “Miguel, it’s Lane. Do you want to go for a walk?”

“Where is it?”

Dottie ushered the customers back to their tables. Some left, including Samantha’s family. From the corner of her eye, Lane saw Charlie coming toward them. She didn’t know how Miguel would react to him.

“Miguel, I don’t know what you’re looking for,” she said, keeping her voice low. “But let’s go for a walk and see if we can find it.”