18. Chapter 18
Evan
“Why isn’t it done by now?”
Evan pulled the phone away, wincing at the voice barking in their ear. Cecil was loud enough on a good day, let alone when he was angry.
“I’m still fucking with her business.” And looking for clues about Frankie’s character. Evan started to move again when the walk sign lit up and had to sidestep a woman pushing a baby stroller.
“Yeah, well, my contact says the pub still stands. So I suggest you quit screwin’ around and get it done, Evan.”
“Sir, I don’t think … How sure are you that Frankie is the one who—”
“Are you doubting my history with that bitch? Or Jerry, who stood just feet away from her two months ago?”
Evan swallowed. “No, of course not. It’s just—”
“That bitch cop killed Caleb. Get the job done, Evan, or so fucking help me I’ll come out there and kick your ass before offing her myself,” Cecil yelled, and before Evan could get another word in, the call was dropped.
Evan pocketed the phone. “Shit.” Apprehension clawed at their insides.
Cecil showing up was the last thing they wanted.
What was Evan going to do? Nothing about Frankie was how Cecil had described her.
Cold-blooded, unpunished dirty co p. Frankie seemed good.
Mischievous at times, maybe, but she was caring and protective.
And she was very into Evan. But what else could Frankie show them to confirm how wrong Cecil was?
Because he had to be wrong. Perhaps he’d been holding onto the wrong police report all these years.
Why not just ask Frankie over breakfast one morning? Oh yeaaah . They could already imagine how that conversation would go.
“So … did you by chance fall into a fit of rage and shoot my brother seven years ago?”
“What? No, of course not, honey. Now, would you care for more toast?”
Evan smirked. They rounded the corner of Davie St., immediately spotting the European bakery and coffee shop Sloane had mentioned in their text thread earlier that morning.
Stepping inside the building, Evan relaxed a fraction as the gentle warmth and delicious smells enveloped them.
They peeled off their fingerless gloves, glancing around the café for any sign of Sloane and Andy.
Since the staff party the week prior, the three of them had become friends to some degree.
Andy was friendly and charismatic, and honestly, too damn good a person to be hanging with the likes of Evan.
But whatev. It wasn’t as if any of Evan’s new friends were aware of all the shit they got up to when no one was looking.
Once they’d ordered a hot chocolate with whipped cream, Evan found an empty table near the back and took a seat.
From other interactions with Sloane, they knew there was a high chance that she’d be late.
Work seemed to be the only place she wasn’t late.
Andy seemed like the punctual type, but Evan wouldn’t hold their breath.
People in general were usually unreliable.
Evan took a careful sip of the hot chocolate, toying with their wallet resting on the table.
They flipped it open to see the picture they’d stolen from Frankie’s bedroom.
A pretty, teenage girl with auburn hair and freckles stared back at Evan.
The portrait was several years old, with some wear and tear on the edges and a crease down the middle.
Evan had recognized the name Frankie had written on the back the moment they’d spotted it.
After returning to the apartment with the new door handles to install, there hadn’t seemed like a more perfect time to snoop inside Frankie’s personal space.
Evan even wore gloves for the occasion—latex ones they’d taken from the pub kitchen.
And they had been careful, not leaving an inch of Frankie’s bedroom unchecked or after, making sure everything was put back in the right place.
Becoming a con artist like Cecil might have been out of the question, but no one could fault Evan’s attention to detail when they were motivated.
So, who was Emily? That was what Evan wanted to find out.
They wouldn’t stop until they’d discovered everything there was to Frankie, if for nothing else than to have a proper case when it came time to be judge and jury.
When they’d arrived in Vancouver, nothing had seemed more important than killing Frankie and going home.
As awful as Evan’s life had sometimes been before they’d wound up in prison, it was still home.
A place they could lie their head or spend time with their mom when she got out of the psych ward.
Since getting to know Frankie and wanting her in ways they shouldn’t, Evan wasn’t so sure they’d been tasked with the right job. Maybe they weren’t the revenge type. Caleb had always said that Evan thought too much, felt too much. Maybe he’d been right.
“If you frown and think any harder, smoke’s gonna come outta yer ears, b’y.” Evan blinked, Andy’s face coming into focus as he pulled up a chair. He shrugged out of his insulated parka and nodded to Evan’s exposed wallet. “Who’s that?”
“No one,” Evan hurried to say, swiping up the wallet and tucking it into the back pocket of their jeans.
One of the new pairs Frankie had purchased.
Evan had paired them with one of the long-sleeved shirts under their leather jacket.
Frankie noticed that morning as she passed by to the bathroom.
Her eyes had lingered a few seconds longer than was polite, but Evan had warmed to her gaze.
Lust was a confusing emotion. Since they’d shoved Frankie off and ran out of the room, Frankie had been a lot more subdued in her attraction.
In fact, besides the two times she had tried to sit and talk things over with Evan—which were equally annoying and repentant—they had mostly tiptoed around each other.
“Where’s Sloane?”
“Up front, ordering.” Andy pulled off his winter beanie and ruffled the curly mop that was his hair, then shot Evan a smirk. “Occasionally, the cheap ass gets generous with her money and offers to buy. I think she’s getting you a muffin or something too.”
“She’s cheap because she doesn’t pay for your food?” Surely, Evan didn’t hear that right. Their eyes narrowed at their new friend, but Andy only laughed.
“No, she’s cheap cuz she usually bums money off me and says she doesn’t have enough. It’s whatev though, honest. I love that girl, no matter how many lattes she owes me.”
Evan thought back to the night of the staff party, the image of Sloane taking money from Frankie’s safe as clear as day in their mind.
There was a lot about her that didn’t add up in Evan’s eyes.
They turned toward the front counter, spotting Sloane in the lineup right away.
Her hair was thrown up into a high ponytail with its pink tips acting as a personal marker.
She had her head down in her phone and purse slung over one shoulder, and not one ounce of sexual or romantic feelings stirred in Evan. We’re better off as friends anyway .
Late that evening, Evan wiped the sweat off their forehead with the back of their hand, secured the dishwasher hose, and said loud enough to get Rain and Dakota’s attention, “Hey, gotta piss. I’ll be right back.”
They were in the middle of a rush, and as Evan had anticipated, Rain waved them off and kept cooking.
Evan hurried from the kitchen to the hallway, making the short trip to the restrooms. Chatter and music from karaoke night were in full swing, which meant the front of house staff would all be too busy to worry about Evan’s whereabouts for ten minutes.
Evan knew well enough by now that Frankie never left the bar when it was busy, which was perfect for what they had in mind.
After quickly using the washroom, Evan crossed the few steps to Frankie’s office.
They removed a lock pick from their jeans, checking once more that the hallway was empty, and got to work on the office door.
There was just one deadbolt on top of the lock on the door handle.
“She needs better security,” Evan muttered after granting access almost immediately.
The door opened with a soft click , and Evan slipped easily inside and closed it over again.
Breaking into the office had been their plan all along, but since getting a peek inside the safe the night of the party, they hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.
What other secrets lie inside that steel box?
What about her laptop, or the filing cabinet?
Surely there was evidence somewhere of her past as a cop.
She seemed the type to carry around a file of someone she’d killed. If she did kill Caleb.
Without turning on the light, Evan swapped the lock pick for the small flashlight in their jacket. Judging by the time illuminating from the desk clock, five minutes had already passed since they’d left the kitchen. Evan took a deep breath, expelling it slowly. Let’s do this.
Breaking into the safe would have been significantly trickier than the average door Evan had picked lately, especially considering this safe came with a keypad as well as a keyhole.
It would involve a coat hanger and more time than Evan could spare.
Thanks to Sloane and her sloppy “cover your eyes” scheme, Evan knew the code.