Chapter Ten
Franny sat in the passenger side of Royal’s police cruiser, her nerves strung tight. She clasped her hands together and looked straight ahead.
She didn’t know what to think. She did know it was…terrifying. Because she couldn’t think of any good reason that card should be sitting on her porch. No, not sitting. Tucked under the doormat—but visible enough she would have seen it in the morning. Picked it up and opened it.
Her imagination went in about fifty different directions.
Every single one of them bad.
But the police would handle it. Royal would handle it. He’d come over and handled it when she’d called. It was relief and comfort and some semblance of security all wrapped into one thing keeping her anchored rather than in a full-blown panic.
When he’d first shown up, he’d been wearing what he’d clearly slept it. Low-slung athletic shorts and not much else.
He didn’t just have a tattoo on his arm, he had a plethora of tattoos over the upper half of his body.
Black-and-white and full-blown color. All down both arms, and on parts of his chest and back.
And he was built, which was a ridiculous thing to think about, but it felt safer than her imagination taking her down the road of: someone is out to get you.
“You have a lot of tattoos.” What a truly ridiculous thing to say. “Sorry, I’m tired. I say weird things when I’m tired.” Sure, that’s what it was.
“I do have a lot of tattoos,” he agreed, sounding so calm. But he hadn’t been calm before. Not deep down. He had a…professional restraint she supposed, but she’d seen something in his expression back on her porch that if she put in a book, she’d describe as lethal.
She really didn’t want anything to be lethal right now. Even concerning him.
“No tattoos for you, Franny?”
She shook her head, gripping her hands tighter. Trying not to think about lethal things, and knowing he was trying to keep her distracted. “No, I’m pretty straight and narrow and boring.”
His mouth curved ever so slightly. “We’re riding to the police station in the middle of the night in my cruiser. I don’t think you’re boring.”
She laughed, though it bordered on hysteria. No this wasn’t boring. It was terrible. But she was just overreacting. If she breathed, thought it through, this was just a bunch of odd coincidences.
It had to be.
“So, look, I can’t help but speculate. Occupational hazard.
” Because she needed this to be her imagination and nothing else.
“So please tell me I’m just a writer out of touch with reality.
Because what it feels like is someone involved with the kidnapping figured out who I was, found or made that card, then left it on my porch in a threatening manner—during or after trying to break into my apartment. ” She looked over at Royal.
His gaze flicked to her then back to the road. He said nothing.
Which did not help the tightening anxiety in her chest. “Tell me that’s far-fetched,” she demanded, knowing she sounded a little panicked.
“Okay, it’s far-fetched.”
“Royal.”
“Do you want the truth, or do you want me to say what you want to hear?”
“I want the truth, and I want the truth to be what I want to hear.”
He pulled into the parking lot of the Bent County Sheriff’s Department, parked the car and then looked at her.
“I know you’re scared. You’ve every right to be.” His tone was firm and reassuring. He knew what he was doing and everything was going to be okay.
She could almost believe it.
“That’s why we’re going to go into the station, talk to the sheriff, and maybe Detective Beckett, and decide what to do to make sure you’re safe.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, any calm she’d managed to grab onto evaporating. “Oh, no, don’t call Copeland.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’ll tell Audra. Audra will tell Rosalie. And together they’ll worry and fuss and worry.”
“Okay, I’ll tell him not to tell Audra.”
Franny shook her head. “He won’t be able to lie to Audra.”
“All the cops I know are great at lying.”
“Sure. But not to the fiancée they love. Hopefully.”
His expression was dubious, but she didn’t want to argue about this. She wanted… Oh, God, she didn’t know.
“Come on.” He got out of the car, and she had no choice but to follow. He led her into the station. It wasn’t bustling exactly, but there were more people and more things going on than Franny might have expected for this time of night.
Phones ringing. People talking in low murmured voices.
Royal led her into a room that looked like some kind of break room. “Sit here. Help yourself to some coffee or water or whatever you can scrounge up in the fridge. I’m going to go handle the evidence and make those phone calls and I’ll be right back, okay?”
She nodded, not knowing what else to do. This felt like an utter disaster. So she sat at the table. The room was cold, the chair was cold. Everything felt cold and…out of body.
But Royal crouched down in front of her. “Franny.”
She stared at him. His face was becoming familiar, which was strange.
She’d had coffee with him twice. Talked to him in the street once, well twice if she counted him responding to Albennie’s kidnapping.
No…three times. She’d seen him in passing the first day she’d moved in.
Still, it wasn’t enough to be comforted by someone’s presence.
Except he was a serious, capable police officer. He’d helped her, multiple times. She was in good hands. Everything would be okay, because what other option was there?
Kidnapping. Gruesome murder. Etcetera.
“Franny,” he said again, more sharply this time, like he understood her panic was driving the brain bus.
“The important thing is, even if this was a threat, nothing happened. They didn’t break in, if that’s what they were after.
You called me, just like you should have, and now we’ve got evidence and another step to take.
But most importantly, Franny, you’re safe. ”
She swallowed at the lump in her throat. It didn’t go away. The fear didn’t go away. But it steadied. Because if he could look her in the eye and tell her she was safe, she could almost believe it.
THE FIRST THING Royal did was scrounge up something to keep Franny warm.
The AC in the building ran high in these hot days of summer even when the nights cooled off.
She had to be freezing in her shorts and T-shirt.
He hadn’t been issued a jacket yet since it was summer, but Vicki at the front desk had an extra sweater and let him borrow it.
He brought it to Franny and she thanked him, still looking lost and afraid.
But she didn’t cry. She didn’t demand to leave. She didn’t break down. She just sat there, waiting.
It made him…uncomfortable in ways he didn’t understand. Pretty much everyone he’d known before the age of twenty-one had been through ten times worse than a little kidnap witnessing and subsequent break-in attempt, so why should he feel sorry for her?
But he did.
Still, he focused on what had to be done. He called Copeland, got cussed out for the courtesy. Still, the detective was on his way. So was the sheriff. He got the card logged into evidence.
Royal didn’t let himself worry about Franny. She was holding up. He knew looks could be deceiving, but she just seemed…soft. Not jaded or traumatized by life. And still, she was holding up.
He didn’t know why he felt proud about that. Had nothing to do with him.
Once he’d done everything that needed to be done before anyone else arrived, he went back to the break room to find her. He assumed they’d move to the sheriff’s office to discuss what had happened, but not until the sheriff got here.
She sat at one of the tables, chin resting on her hand. She was doing something on her phone, but every few seconds her eyes would droop, close, then she would blink them open and straighten.
She didn’t look up. So he found himself just standing there…
studying her. The harsh lights made her hair look lighter, almost red, and her skin paler.
Or maybe that was the exhaustion. She just seemed…
delicate. Not fragile. She was dealing with some stuff and she didn’t break, but there was just something…
something about her he couldn’t articulate to himself.
And probably shouldn’t.
“Campbell.”
Royal looked behind him to where his name had been called. Detective Beckett was striding up the hall. Behind him was a pretty woman that Royal knew was the detective’s fiancée. Franny’s cousin. Audra.
Royal straightened, glanced back at Franny. She must have heard his name too, because she was staring at him now. Did he know he’d been watching her?
He shook his head. Didn’t matter. He pointed into the room. “She’s in here,” he told Beckett.
Franny stood as Copeland and Audra entered the room. Her expression fell.
“Oh, Copeland. I wish you wouldn’t have brought her.”
“I know,” the detective replied.
“I’m taking you back to the ranch,” Audra said, crossing to Franny, putting an arm around her shoulders like she was going to march her right out of there. “Right now.”
“I’m afraid that’s going to need to wait,” Royal interrupted. “We’ve got a lot to figure out before Ms. Perkins can leave.”
Audra scowled at him, but thankfully the sheriff arrived. “Beckett. Campbell. My office.” He moved on without saying anything else.
Beckett moved over to his fiancée, put his hand on her back, the touch intimate. “Take her into the detectives’ office. It’s more private.”
Weird, weird, weird to see people who only existed in the context of work just be…real people. But Audra nodded and pulled Franny up from her chair and before they could exit the room, Royal stepped out.
Beckett led the way to the sheriff’s office. Royal knew he should just follow, but he couldn’t resist a glimpse back at Franny and Audra heading the opposite direction. Their gazes met for about one second before Audra dragged Franny around the corner.