12. Chapter 12
Evan
“Bullshit. What’s so complicated about loving someone?”
Evan held their breath, straining their ears to hear Frankie’s voice from the front seat.
Despite the late December chill, it was hot and stuffy where they hid.
Learning the location of wherever Frankie slipped off to twice a week had become an obsession for Evan over the last couple of weeks, ever since Sloane had dropped the hint in conversation.
How could she have worked for Frankie for years and never bothered to ask or dig up the information on her own?
It was suspicious as hell that Frankie didn’t tell anyone, and something someone who was into illegal things would do.
Evan was determined to find out, if for nothing else than the peace of mind of knowing that Frankie was exactly the kind of person their stepfather had described.
That she was exactly like them, and the only thing that had kept her out of prison was the badge she’d worn at the time.
Even if she made you breakfast.
“It’s who you loved, Frankie. The who is what makes it complicated. Em was—”
Evan’s eyes narrowed as they heard the deep baritone of Frankie’s cousin. They’d uncovered Danny’s name while digging for information on O’Rourke’s Pub weeks ago. Evan hadn’t found much, just that he now lived in B.C.’s wine country with a wife and kids. Kids Frankie apparently wasn’t attached to.
“Not blood related, so Auntie B’s full of crap. It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”
The tightness in Frankie’s voice had Evan holding their breath for more.
That was genuine, unmasked hurt, and it filled Evan with questions.
Who had Frankie loved that was so wrong in her aunt’s eyes?
Another cousin? No, she only had Danny, and besides, the O’Rourkes were blood relatives of Frankie’s.
Why was Evan getting so caught up in this? Who cares who she loved? I loved Caleb, and she took him away.
“I’ve gotta go now, Danny. Talk soon, okay?”
The call disconnected, and the car filled with silence once more. Somehow, it made the darkness inside the trunk ten degrees more stifling, and let’s face it, it was a damn good thing Evan wasn’t claustrophobic.
“Fucking Danny,” they heard Frankie mutter, and if Evan wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of tears with that statement. Rather than it being a welcome sound, Evan scrunched up their nose. Was mentioning an old relationship all it took for someone as evil as Frankie O’Rourke to cry?
That didn’t fit her personality at all.
The moment the car came to a stop, Frankie got out, slamming the door behind her.
Evan popped open the interior latch to the trunk but held on to the strap so that the lid didn’t blow open.
They waited a full minute before inching the lid open bit by bit, making sure no one was near the car to see them.
Shit! Panic stole Evan’s breath as they spotted a woman getting out of her car beside Frankie’s.
They inched the trunk lid down silently, listening intently for the sound of the woman’s footsteps on the asphalt.
It took another minute or so before it came, and yet another for Evan to calm their racing heart enough to try again.
A slick, clammy sweat had formed on their forehead and neck, but it was hard to know if it was from the stuffiness in the trunk or the fact they were under duress.
Hey, at least you can tell the old man you made the switch into illegal territory again , Evan thought with an eye roll.
They took another deep breath and inched the trunk lid up once more, relief flooding them when they saw the coast was clear.
Quietly, they opened it far enough to climb out onto the cold, slushy pavement, clicking it shut a final time.
The car was parked in a backstreet, alleyway entrance of some kind of strip mall.
Evan spotted a set of apartment complexes looming far above them on the opposite side of a divider fence and gulped.
They were still far too out in the open. Who knew who might have seen them?
Quickly getting to their feet lest anyone spot them lurking near Frankie’s car, Evan very casually made their way to the end of the alley, then further to the street corner.
The neighborhood was one they hadn’t seen before, but with a little effort, Evan made out the street sign.
Fishing out their phone, they pulled up the map app and said into the microphone, “Brunswick and Broadway, Vancouver to Davie.”
“That checks out,” Evan said when the nine-minute route popped up on their screen.
It’d been about twelve, but Frankie had hit several red lights on the way.
What’s she doing here? It was time to find out.
Evan pocketed their phone again and adjusted their beanie so that it covered their ears.
Unfortunately, they lacked body heat on the warmest of days, so they all but froze in the winter.
They continued to the Broadway entrances of the strip mall, noting the various businesses as they passed.
A sushi restaurant, an acupuncture clinic, Pilates …
unless there was a back-room poker game in one of the businesses, it didn’t make sense for Frankie to be there.
Not to mention, they were all closed except for the restaurants.
“Not all,” Evan corrected themself as they stopped in front of a martial arts academy.
There was no open sign lit up, but the lights were on and noise coming from within.
Evan tilted their head in consideration.
Frankie was an ex-cop. It made sense she’d know how to take care of herself.
Evan recalled how confident she’d looked the first night they’d officially met.
She’d snatched the glass from that guy without a second thought, kicking him out as if she could take him down if necessary.
So unless she’d parked in a random alley and hoofed it elsewhere, chances were, the academy was Frankie’s great big secret.
But why?
Knowing the risk, Evan said the hell with it. Impulsively jumping into the back seat of Frankie’s late model Audi and crawling through to the trunk had gotten them this far. It was too late to turn back now. They took another deep breath and pulled open the door.
Hours later, tucked snugly under the heavy duvet in Frankie’s guest bedroom, Evan stared at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep.
They were tired enough, but every time they closed their eyes, images of Frankie in loose joggers and a ribbed tank top tortured them senseless.
Her big secret wasn’t nefarious at all. It was good, too good for a person as supposedly evil as she was.
Frankie dedicated her time to vulnerable people, abused women and the like, and taught them how to protect themselves in a fight.
And she was incredible , deadly even, at least in the takedown moves she’d shown as an example with her sparring partner.
What level of fucked up was Evan to find that attractive?
It wasn’t as if Frankie couldn’t still be a horrible human yet put on a charade where she helped people. Many powerful people did that, looked good in public and were the worst of the worst in private.
Still, why hadn’t Evan known about this beforehand?
They needed to backtrack, go over the information Cecil had given them.
It included a printout copy of the police report he’d paid some clerk off for, as well as anything and everything about the femme’s personal life—as Frankie, but also when she’d gone by Katheryn.
Maybe rereading the report of Caleb’s murder would help ground them again.
Knowing they wouldn’t be falling asleep anytime soon, Evan flicked on the lamp and got out of bed.
They’d arrived by cab long before Frankie returned, yet had done nothing productive in the free time they’d had in the apartment.
Breaking into Frankie’s personal space had been the first thing to come to mind when Evan moved in the night before, but besides helping themself to a beer earlier, they’d been huddled inside the bedroom.
The things Evan had learned about Frankie that evening didn’t sit well with them.
When they opened the bedroom door, Evan almost tripped over the shopping bags blocking the entrance into the hall.
“What …” Frowning, Evan crouched to peer inside the closest bag.
A brand-new faded pair of denims caught their eye.
In addition, there were two crew neck T-shirts, one black and one white, and a pullover hoodie, all with the tags on them.
Surprise filled Evan, and they quickly glanced inside the two other bags.
One held a set of pajamas, new boxers and socks, and the other toiletries.
Suspiciously, the exact same brand Evan had been running out of in their toiletry bag.
All they’d bought for the trip were travel size bottles of shampoo and body wash.
Frankie must have spotted them sitting on the counter in the pub washroom the day before.
Dumbfounded, Evan picked up the gift bags and carried them to the leather bench in front of their bed.
They glanced down at the clothes they’d put back on after their shower, the same clothes they’d worn for the better part of two weeks.
They had alternated between a few extra pairs of underwear, but only had room in their backpack for another T-shirt and their hoodie when it got too hot indoors.
As for their duffel bag, it’d been stolen the second night on the streets.
“I wasn’t sure about your size.” Frankie’s low voice rang out from the open doorway.