A little boy was hanging off the arm of the big couch, his eyes on the TV, but he glanced over at them briefly.
“I’m not scared.” The boy’s eyes were wide and serious. He didn’tlookscared, but the statement spoke of concern.
“Wow. You must be brave like your daddy,” Franny offered.
The boy flashed a grin, then his gaze went back to the movie.
“I keep waiting for him to grow out of the dino phase. Hasn’t happened yet. Look, I’ve got some things in my office I’d like to show you, Royal, but…”
“I can take her. Watch him,” Franny offered, holding her arms out for the baby. “I’m the aunt babysitter in my family. Lots of practice.” Besides, kids were simple. They didn’t make her heart ache like Royal’s serious blue eyes did.
“Well, she’s kind of particular,” Mr. Simmons said, but he handed the baby over. Then he watched the baby, who looked up at Franny with serious eyes like her father. But she didn’t express negative feelings.
“Huh,” Mr. Simmons said.
Franny smiled at him, made a face at the baby. “I’m a natural. I’ll keep an eye on things here. You go show Royal whatever you need to.”
Mr. Simmons waited a few more seconds, watching the baby for signs of distress, then shrugged. “All right, Campbell. Follow me.”
ROYAL WASNOTweirded out by Franny holding a baby. That off feeling in his gut, like when Brooke talked about her own baby plans and futures and families, was a product of spending an entire childhood not being able to trust the future.
It wasn’t aboutbabies, in particular, it was just like this looming future. That he somehow had to believe in and yet struggled to get past the idea that death or evil was always just waiting in the wings to destroy any kind of happiness or real life.
That his failures meant…whatever waited him on the other side of the Sons wasn’t anythinggood.
Except the Sons were gone, and he was acop, and maybe he had to take Brooke’s example and start building on…faith.
Franny had tapped his badge and told him he’d earned it. Had he?
Thinking about it left an uncomfortable tightness in his chest, and an itch behind his shoulder blades he couldn’t reach. He was almost grateful he didn’t have the time to parse it.
Simmons led him into a big office-type room and Royal was glad to have work to focus on over homey living rooms and cute kids.
And pretty brunettes with big green eyes.
Royal relayed the information Zeke had found to Simmons. “This woman’s real name is Holand Meyer. She’s got a few aliases, but Zeke couldn’t connect any of them to Wyoming over the past month. She was an FBI agent stationed in Michigan for about six months five years ago, and then she disappears, more or less. He can make the connection to the aliases, but not much else. He’ll keep digging, but the FBI connection is a problem.”
“Yeah, it is.” Simmons tapped his fingers on his desk. He had at least three computers, and all looked far more complicated than Royal could ever hope to understand. “There’s got to be a leak somewhere. Someone who knows about Hope Town in the FBI knows Holand Meyer and fed her that information. Purposefully or not.”
“I agree.”
“But what’s the connection? What connects a kidnapper, a former FBI agent and Albennie Ward?”
“You know,” Royal said, tired of people beating around the bush. “Maybe you don’t fully know, but you know what Albennie Ward is mixed up in. Or was. You have enough information from your FBI contacts and whatever you do for these women when they come to Hope Town. She’s back. She’s safe. Now we need to make sure Franny is safe before the sheriff pulls the entire police department. I’ve got a damn week.”
Simmons studied him intently for a few seconds. “You know, I was skeptical about some rookie cop handling this, but Iagreed because I figured I could push him around if he was bad at his job.”
Royal said nothing. He’d swallow a lot for a chance to succeed at this job, but he’d be damned if he was going to be pushed around by some ex–FBI agent when it came to keeping Franny safe.
“You’re not bad at your job, Campbell. I can’t disclose Albennie Ward’s case, for a lot of reasons. But now that I’ve got a name, I can look through what I know about it and see if there’s any connection to Holand Meyer.”
“All right.” It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. “And you’ll send me the list of people arrested if you get it before the sheriff’s department?”
“Right away.” Simmons studied him. “What are your next steps?”
“I don’t know. Wait I guess.”
“You any good at waiting?” Simmons asked.
