Chapter Three
Three Weeks Later
Franny felt like she’d settled in quite well. She had a routine—one that got her out of the house most mornings for a walk, a coffee—except on Mondays, and soaking up the whole ambience of the town. Then she’d be home late morning, make some lunch and get to work…or trying to work anyway.
On Mondays, since the town businesses were mostly closed, she went to either the library in Sunrise or Bent to do some research, then swung by Audra’s or Rosalie’s for dinner—or they all met in town and ate out, sometimes with Vi and her kids.
Vi was Audra and Rosalie’s cousin on their dad’s side who lived in Bent with her husband and kids. Her husband who was a detective at Bent County with Copeland.
Those little ties always made Franny smile. Back in Washington, her life had always been so…small. They didn’t have family, and while she’d had friends, it wasn’t like her life here.
Which was good. She was feeling really positive about it…
or tried to be, since she didn’t have much to show for three weeks of work.
She didn’t usually get hung up on research when she was writing, preferring to focus on character and emotional arcs.
The mystery when she got toward the end and had to figure out the bad guy, but she’d learned over the years that no book was the same and apparently this one was going to be difficult in the beginning.
That was fine. She had time.
She told herself that while lying in bed one morning, up far too early, but her mind turning in circles.
She’d found out so little about Hope Town, aside from its early history as a frontier town. But it’s new history? Basically nothing. And when she asked a few of the residents, she’d been met with a lot of changes in subject.
Maybe that’s all she needed, she told herself as she got out of bed, giving up on sleeping to a normal hour. A mysterious town. She could make up the mystery. She didn’t need to discover Hope Town’s.
“But I want to,” she muttered to herself. Which wasn’t a way to get things accomplished, meet her deadlines or make herself happy, but she just felt…stuck in this need to know.
Well, feeling stuck was for people who didn’t have to make a living. Today she was writing that first chapter come hell or high water.
But first she needed coffee and, with any luck, a cinnamon roll the size of her face.
She went to the window in her bedroom. It looked out over the parking lot behind the bakery.
If Albennie’s or Lia’s cars were there, she’d head downstairs and beg for some before-hours service.
If it was empty, she’d have to make do with the healthy food she’d been foolish enough to stock her place with, thinking living above a bakery meant she shouldn’t have snacks on hand.
She glanced out the window, did a little celebratory butt shake when she saw a car in the lot, but stopped and frowned when she saw it was a big SUV.
None of the women who worked at the bakery had a big car like that. She’d never seen a car like that…anywhere in Hope Town.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered to herself. Just because she’d lived here a few weeks didn’t mean she knew every car, even if it was a small town without a lot of residents. She didn’t care about cars. Why would she know if there were cars around like that?
Then why did it stick out? Why did it feel—
She heard something. A faint crash? Her heartbeat kicked up as she strained to hear, but she only heard the thump, thump, thump of her own pulse.
She moved closer to the window, looked down at the car. Knowing she was being ridiculous, she picked up the pen and notepad she kept on her nightstand and jotted down the license number she saw, and some details about the car.
Paranoid, paranoid, paranoid.
Before she could set down the notepad, she saw a figure. No, two shadowy figures come out the back door of the bakery. Muffled sounds. Sounds of distress?
It was too dark to see, but it would be easier as they moved toward the streetlight that dimly illuminated the SUV.
“This is an absolute overreaction,” she told herself, out loud, but she moved closer to the window, squinting through the dark. Two figures, one much larger than the other. They were moving in kind of fits and starts.
She couldn’t make out the smaller figure. It was like they had a hat or a hood completely over their head, but Franny got the impression it was a woman.
“Oh God.” The smaller figure was definitely fighting back while the larger figure—a man—pulled her along.
Franny dropped the pad and pen and made a grab for her cell phone sitting on the nightstand. She cursed when she fumbled it, and it fell to the ground. She picked it back up and ran, dialing 911 as she did so.
She didn’t own a gun. She didn’t have a weapon, but Rosalie had left her a baseball bat by the door and Franny grabbed the bat and ran. Her exit was just the stairs to the alley, so she’d have to run down the stairs then around to the back of the building.
“911. What’s your emergency?” a competent-sounding voice answered.
Franny rattled off her address as she flicked off the security system and jerked her door open. “Send the police please. Someone’s being…kidnapped, I guess? Forced out of the building and she’s fighting back.”
“Who? Can you give me a name?”
“No, I don’t know who. It’s too dark, but she’s fighting him.” Franny made it to the bottom of the stairs. “They’re in the parking lot behind the bakery, the address I gave you.”
“And where are you?”
“I saw it through my apartment window. I ran downstairs—”
“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to remain inside. I’m dispatching a deputy to the address. You need to stay inside—do you understand?”
But Hope Town was so isolated. How long would it take for a deputy to get here? The woman was being dragged to the car now.
Franny looked down at her bat, the woman in her ear just a buzzing now. She clicked End on the call. She didn’t want to do anything stupid, but how could she just let someone be taken against their will?
Resolutely, Franny crept forward, trying to keep her breathing even. She wouldn’t run forward. She would be smart about this. She would help if she could. She’d called for help, and now she would help if she could.
At the corner of the building she could hear the scuffle. A grunt, a hushed word. But it was just…male sounding. Like the woman wasn’t making any sound now.
Heart in her throat, Franny leaned forward so she could see around the corner. She saw the SUV, and a big, hulking figure all but toss the smaller figure in the back seat. It didn’t seem like the woman moved.
Oh, no.
The man was in the driver’s seat now. His hat had fallen off in the struggle and Franny could see him clearly in the dome light of the car. White, bald, but a short brown beard. A mark on his neck—not a tattoo, maybe a birthmark or injury? She couldn’t tell from her vantage point.
She could hear sirens now, blue and red lights flashing somewhere in the distance. She looked toward the sound, willing it to hurry.
When she looked back at the SUV, it was rolling away, but the driver had looked toward the lights too.
And her.
Their gazes met. She couldn’t tell the color of his eyes from this far away, but she could make out their shape—narrow, wide set.
She held her breath, frozen with fear, then demanded herself be brave. She made a step forward, lifting the bat. She’d…throw it at the windshield. She’d…
But the tires squealed into acceleration and sped off before she could do anything.
They were gone.
ROYAL WAS FIRST on the scene. He’d just gotten on duty when the call had come out. Potential kidnapping in Hope Town.
He pulled up to the parking lot behind the bakery and saw the woman from a few weeks ago standing in the glow of the parking lot light. She was in pajamas, barefoot, and held a baseball bat.
Dawn was a hint on the horizon, and nothing about the bakery or the parking lot looked particularly amiss, but he parked his patrol car and got out.
The woman rushed forward. “You have to follow them,” she shouted at him. “You have to find her. They went that way.”
“Who is they?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. It was an SUV. She didn’t want to go with him. She was fighting him. She… You have to go after them.”
“We will. What kind of SUV?”
She blinked up at him, eyes lost and panicked. “I… I wrote down a description of the car, the plate. It’s upstairs.”
“Good. Good. Let’s go.” He took her gently by the arm, nudged her toward the side of the building and the stairs. Once she took the nudge, she seemed to get a hold of herself and then she rushed—jogging up the stairs two at a time, so Royal followed.
Into the apartment, through a tidy living area that included the bookcase from a few weeks ago, now full of books. She went into a room, a bedroom and straight for the bed. She bent down, picked up a notepad from the ground and then shoved it at him.
She had neat, printed handwriting. A clear description and license plate number. “This is good,” he told her reassuringly. He radioed the detailed description of the SUV, the plate number so dispatch could get it sent out. Stop the car wherever it was headed.
“I—I couldn’t see who it was, but if he pulled her from the bakery at this hour it had to be Albennie or Lia. They always work the morning shift. Albennie Ward and Lia Blair. Lia owns the bakery, or maybe she rents it from Mr. Simmons. I’m not sure, but she runs the bakery.”
“That’s all good information. Let’s go back downstairs. You can show me exactly what you saw.”
She led him through it. She was shaky, sometimes rambling a bit, but she recounted the crime with enough clarity Royal could see exactly how it had played out.
Gard was the second officer to come to the scene, and he helped Royal cordon off the area.
Day was breaking and some of the townspeople were coming out, asking questions.
Royal got relegated to keeping people out of the way.
Occasionally, he caught a glimpse of his witness.
She just sat, by herself, at the bottom of her staircase watching the goings-on and looking miserable.
He felt an odd wave of sympathy for her, but didn’t have time to really deal with it.
When the detective showed up, Royal and Gard walked over to his car to fill him in. The fact it was Copeland Beckett had Royal remembering the moving truck. Still, he focused on the case. That was the job.
Bringing home the woman who’d been kidnapped.
“I’ve done a welfare check on both the names the witness gave me,” Royal said to Copeland.
“It seems most likely our victim is Albennie Ward. She works morning shift at the bakery. Unknown assailant, but the witness gave us a description of the suspect and the car he drove away in. Dispatch has radioed out car and descriptions. You have those?”
Copeland nodded.
“I guess you know the witness.”
Copeland’s gaze moved from the parking lot to Royal. “Yeah, Franny’s my fiancée’s cousin.”
“You always help your fiancée’s cousin move house?”
Copeland gave him an odd look, confusion laced with distrust. No guilt. “When my fiancée asks me to.”
Which left Royal a little confused himself, like maybe he’d somehow…
misjudged? Before he could determine how he felt about that, another car pulled up.
Not a police vehicle, at least not marked and not one Royal recognized.
He also didn’t recognize the man who got out—but that gait, that grim expression. To Royal that read all cop.
Or worse, he determined as the man came up to them: federal agent.
Copeland cursed and Gard looked frustrated, like they both knew the guy and weren’t too happy to see him. He ducked under the police tape like he’d been doing it his whole life. Maybe he was in some kind of undercover unit Royal hadn’t been introduced to?
But something danced along the back of his neck, reminded him of his old life, and what it looked like when the FBI waltzed into something.
“Zach Simmons,” the man said, holding out a hand to Royal, and only Royal. He didn’t use the word agent. He didn’t offer any identification, so he couldn’t be FBI.
Royal took his hand and shook. “Deputy Campbell.”
Zach nodded, then looked from Royal to Copeland. “Bad news. This is going to be out of your jurisdiction pretty quick.”
Copeland groaned. “You didn’t.”
“I had to.”
“Had to what?” Royal demanded.
“He’s bringing in the FBI,” Copeland muttered disgustedly. “Once the Feds get here, this all goes to hell.”
“If it makes you feel better, it had already gone to hell,” Simmons said.