“I’ve got footage of her on my body cam.”
“If you send me that or a still of the woman, I’ll look into it. But you’d have to trust me to do that.”
Royal wondered why he did. What had changed. He supposed everything this man had said in the sheriff’s office this morning. And how he’d handled Franny’s security now. “All that stuff up there, you claim only the sheriff and I have access to it.”
“I don’t just claim. It’s true. Professional guarantee. Not saying I don’t have the skills to hack into anything if I had a mind to, but CD Corp is on the up and up. You could hire an unbiased third party to make sure of it, but it’d take time and I sure as hell hope this is done soon.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Look, Deputy, I get the suspicion. Respect it even. Law enforcement requires a certain level of it. I know that from experience. But my entire goal is to bring Albennie Ward back home without anyone getting hurt.”
Royal’s gaze tracked up to Franny’s apartment. “Yeah, mine too. I’ll send you that picture.”
Chapter Thirteen
Franny did sleep. It wasn’t a great, restful sleep but it was sleep nonetheless. She couldn’t seem to drag herself out of bed until late afternoon—half dozing and half worrying the day away. Then she tried to read, to write, to watch a movie on her computer, but her mind kept wandering to the cameras surveilling her apartment.
Eventually, her stomach demanded sustenance, cameras be damned. It was nearly seven by the time she felt presentable enough to beconstantly video monitoredand shuffled out into the living area.
She needed to make herself a decent dinner, not just do what she wanted to do and eat chips and maybe a block of cheese. She opened her pantry and then refrigerator, surveying the contents.
“Spaghetti it is,” she said out loud, then nearly groaned remembering she was onsurveillanceand anyone who watched or listened would in factobserveher talking to herself.Fantastic.
Irritated and jumpy, she set about making dinner. She wanted to turn some music on, or the TV, anything to drown out the sound of her own thoughts screaming:you are being recorded, but what if someone came up the stairs? What if another threat came?
What if, God forbid, she starteddancing and singing alongto something?
And even if she didn’t need to be listening for a threat or constantly monitoring her own behavior, Royal would be coming whenever his shift was done. Which should be soon, shouldn’t it? Maybe she should make enough spaghetti for him.
She stared at the boiling water, debating her choices. She stopped herself from sayingto hell with itout loud and dumped the entire contents of the box in the water. If she had enough leftover spaghetti for a week, so be it.
Theleastshe could do was offer him some food when he came by. So she focused on putting together a decent dinner. Made some garlic toast with what pieces of bread she had left. Her only vegetable option was a can of green beans that didn’t exactly go with the rest, but hey, it was green.
She was just straining the pasta when her text notification went off. She glanced at the screen. From Royal.
On my way up.
She looked at the text, then at the door. There was no reason to be nervous. Or feel weird. She was going to eat dinner. He could join if he wanted while they discussed strategy, or he could watch her eat while they did.
Either way, this was her life now. She crossed to the door, disengaged the alarm, then opened it.
He’d changed into a T-shirt and shorts. His hair was damp like he’d run through the shower before he’d come over. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, then he gestured toward the door, a nonverbalset the alarm again.
She did, even though it felt a bit like being injail, but that was the price to pay for safety and she was determined to be reasonable about that.
“I was just finishing up making dinner. Spaghetti. If you’re hungry, you can…have some. There’s plenty.”
“Oh—” He glanced at the kitchen, and she couldn’t quite read the expression on his face, but she was worried it was discomfort. Like he feltbadfor her and wouldpityaccept.
“But you don’t have to. Just extra, if you want. If you’re hungry. I’m going to eat, because I’m hungry.” Jeez, she was a mess.
“Well, sure. I…haven’t eaten yet.”
“Great,” she replied, no doubt soundingfartoo cheerful. She walked back to the kitchen, finished up preparations then handed him a plate. “Help yourself. What would you like to drink? I’ve got water. A variety of zero-calorie pops. And milk that expired three days ago.”
He chuckled a little at that. “Water’s fine.”
It was very awkward to share the tiny kitchen space with someone so…big. He smelled like soap and she was having a hard time not cataloguing all the tattoos on his arm when what she needed to do was get him a glass of water and get her own dinner sorted.
