The pain in her head. A shard of glass? She reached up with a shaky hand.
“I wouldn’t. Gonna hurt like hell. Besides, we’ve got places to be,” the woman said, she patted her hip and that’s when Franny realized she had a gun in a holster. “Out of the car now.”
Franny didn’t know what else to do but obey. Royal no doubt had a gun on that belt of his, but she could hardly get to it, get itoutof the belt,andshoot it in any defensive fashion before this woman shot her.
And if the woman shot her, what might she do to Royal?
So Franny got out of the car. Help was coming. Copeland would get help. Everything would be okay if she could keep this all from…escalating.
She winced and tried not to groan in pain, but for as much as she thought she’d managed to not get hurt since she wasn’t unconscious, everything screamed in protest at moving.
Especially her head. Every move, every step sent a searing, slicing pain down the back of her skull. She lifted her hand again but was a little too afraid to try to touch anything. A shard of glassstuckin there sounded…really bad.
The woman—and it had to be the woman Royal had seen poking around Hope Town in the beginning of this. What had he said her name was? Holand something.
So, this was the former FBI agent, somehow connected to Albennie. But why was she after Franny? Why… She swallowed at the lump in her throat as she thought of Royal slumped in that car. He needed medical attention. They needed help.
She hoped and prayed that came across to Copeland.
“We’re just going to get a ways off this road here. So no one sees us before I’m ready. You go on and walk ahead of me. You try to run—well that glass will probably stop you, but a bullet will too.”
Franny took a staggering step forward. She tried to walk softly and slowly as much to delay any possible harm until help got there as because of the pain. But the waves of pain just throbbed through every inch of her until tears were filling her eyes. She couldn’t think straight from all the hurt, except to move forward one excruciating step at a time.
Shefeltthe woman walking behind her. She wasn’t holding the gun. It was just in a holster at her hip. Maybe Franny could run…or fight, but the thought of trying to do either with this horrific pain in her head kept her from actually trying.
She didn’t know how long they walked. Into the trees. Oh, she shouldn’t have come this far. But what else was there to do? The woman had a gun. Royal needed help. What was she supposed todo?
With no warning, something…happened to the back of her head. She screamed out in pain, her hand flying instinctually up to the source. Her hand came away wet with blood. She stared at the woman who now held the bloody shard of glass that had beenin her head.
Holand must have yanked it out.
Franny’s vision wavered and she couldn’t stay upright. She managed not to fully pass out. Just kind of crumpled to her hands and knees, nausea sweeping through her. She breathed raggedly, staring at the ground where tears and blood dripped.
“Yeah, why don’t you pass out?” Holand said. “That’d make this a lot easier on all of us now that we’re here.”
But Franny had to breathe through the pain. Stay awake. It was her only chance. Royal’s only chance.
She could feel the blood dripping down the back of her neck. Oh God, maybe neither of them had any kind of chance.
“Now, we’re going to have to make this look a little bit more…believable.” She cocked her head to one side, studying Franny.“The glass is clearly from the accident, so we need a struggle. Don’t we?”
Then, without any kind of warning, she lifted her foot and kicked hard into Franny’s side so Franny fell over. The shock of the blow elicited another howl of pain, but as the woman was gripping her shirt and tearing it, Franny fought back.
She kicked out herself, she wriggled, she pushed. It was instinct beyond avoiding pain. Not letting this woman hurt her any more than she was already hurt. The screaming agony in her head was a distraction, but it didn’t make herstopfighting back. But there was so little she could do.
She managed to get on her butt and scoot back, but the woman was getting to her feet, brushing the dirt off her clothes.
“There we go. Now we’ve got a struggle.”
Franny looked down at herself. Her shirt was bloody and torn. There were scrapes on her hands. Dirt all over her pants.
“What are you doing? Why?” Franny demanded, because everything just hurt, and she couldn’t tell if the liquid on her cheeks was blood or tears or both. She was so baffled and just hurting.
“Look, you learn a lesson real quick in the real world. You can’t trust a man as far as you can throw him. If there’s any complaint I have about your books, it’s that one.”
“You… Mybooks?”
“Sure, had to do some research on the witness, didn’t I? They’re not half bad. I have some critiques, but they pass an evening all right. Except for the idea that there areheroesin this world, F.M. But I guess that’s why it’s classified fiction.”
