He needed some stuff from his gun belt. And to put some real clothes on. The athletic shorts and unlaced boots combo wasn’t exactly a professional look, but he was hardly going to put on his full clown outfit in the middle of the night.
It was too hot for a hoodie, so he grabbed the first T-shirt his hand landed on and pulled it on. Found some socks and put them on awkwardly as he went to his belt and grabbed it. Rather than fasten it around his waist he just carried it, shoving his gun into the holster.
He jogged back across the street, this time having the presence of mind to lock his own apartment up first, then he kept an eye out for movement or sound.
Nothing. With his free hand, he pulled his phone out of his pocket when it dinged. It was a text from the night shift deputy that he read as he climbed Franny’s stairs again.
Haven’t seen a soul.
Royal inwardly cursed, then pulled up his messages with Franny and told her to open the door.
She did so right away, light from her apartment spilling out. He handed her his gun belt. “Hold that.”
“It’s heavy,” she muttered when she nearly dropped it. But he ignored her. He’d already gotten the gloves out of the belt. He pulled them on, then picked up the piece of paper.
It was actually more like an index card. Folded in half. Royal unfolded it. The print on the card looked like it was from a typewriter. He frowned at the odd conglomeration of codes and words.
There were some numbers and letters in the upper left-hand corner that didn’t make any sense. Then:Perkins, F.M.Underneath it was the phraseDead in the River. Before he could read the rest, Franny spoke.
“It’s a card catalogue card.”
“What’s that?”
“They used to have them in libraries so people could find books and where they were shelved.” Her voice was weird. Kind of flat. “That one’s for my first book.Dead in the River. It’s my book.”
“Oh, so it’s yours? You just dropped it?” He held it out to her.
She shook her head, refused to take it. “I only even know what a card catalogue is because I took a library class in college. I’ve certainly never seen one for my books. They don’t really use them anymore. They’re obsolete.”
“So… This card for your book isn’t yours, but it’s somehow under your doormat? After you heard someone messing with your door? In the middle of the night?”
She audibly swallowed, looking up at him with big green eyes. Fear the predominate emotion there. She nodded.
It wasn’t a threatexactly, but it sure felt like one. “We’re going to have to go into the station.”
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 haveatattoo on his arm, he had aplethoraof 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 wasbuilt, 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…professionalrestraintshe 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?”
