Or worse, he determined as the man came up to them: federal agent.
Copeland cursed and Gard looked frustrated, like they both knew the guy and weren’t too happy to see him. He ducked under the police tape like he’d been doing it his whole life. Maybe he was in some kind of undercover unit Royal hadn’t been introduced to?
But something danced along the back of his neck, reminded him of his old life, and what it looked like when the FBI waltzed into something.
“Zach Simmons,” the man said, holding out a hand to Royal, and only Royal. He didn’t use the wordagent. He didn’t offer any identification, so he couldn’t be FBI.
Royal took his hand and shook. “Deputy Campbell.”
Zach nodded, then looked from Royal to Copeland. “Bad news. This is going to be out of your jurisdiction pretty quick.”
Copeland groaned. “You didn’t.”
“I had to.”
“Had to what?” Royal demanded.
“He’s bringing in the FBI,” Copeland muttered disgustedly. “Once the Feds get here, this all goes to hell.”
“If it makes you feel better, it had already gone to hell,” Simmons said.
Chapter Four
Franny sat at the bottom of her outside stairs and watched as the police officers did their work. She tried to focus on that—pretend like she was observing for research—rather than deal with the actual thing that had happened. The officer who wore long sleeves even in this heat drew her attention at times. She wasn’t sure why. He held himself…differently than everyone else.
Sometimes she could distract herself wondering what it was. Just discomfort in this heat? Was he a secret criminal hiding behind a badge? Did he carry some horrible inner pain—watching his partner die?
But she could only distract herself with that for a few minutes at a time before the reality poked at her brain.
Albennie had been kidnapped.
Franny didn’t know the woman that well. They were friendly though. Albennie had quickly learned Franny’s preferred coffee order. They smiled and chatted in the mornings when Franny hung out at the bakery, but no one at the bakery encouraged…getting to know one another on any kind of deeper level. There was an odd…distance, that was unlike the stoic Wyoming rancher personality she was used to. Not natural quietness or loner characteristics. There was something far morecarefulabout it.
There was something under the surface in Hope Town and Franny had a feeling she’d stumbled into the deep end—but no one wanted to tell her what that deep end was.
Frustrating, and Franny liked the frustration over the fear, so she nursed it.
She surveyed the scene. Cops everywhere. Worried people everywhere. But no answers. She’d written down that license plate, described the kidnapper, and still it had been hours with no answers.
And then some guys in suits had showed up. Franny didn’t think it was her impressive imagination that the guys screamedfederal agents. They flashed badges to the cops and looked very, very,veryserious.
When the deputy in long sleeves pointed to her, one of the agents made their way over to where she sat.
His questions were not really all that different than any of the police officers she had talked to. She had to go through the whole thing again. Why she’d been awake. Why she’d looked out the window. Why she’d thought to write down the license plate number.
Why, why, why.
She was about to tell the agent about the driver seeing her, but he was hailed over to another part of the parking lot and excused himself.
Franny sighed and went back to observing the scene. She should probably eat or drink something, maybe get a hat or move into the shade, but she couldn’t bring herself to move.
A little while later when Copeland approached, Franny tried not to grimace. She didn’t want to have to answer the same questions she’d already answeredagain, even to someone she knew.
Though she had started to piece together that the federal agents had different questions for the people who really knew Albennie than the local officers had. She’d filed that away to consider later. Sitting here had allowed her to eavesdrop onquite a few questioning conversations, and she was getting a picture of two very different investigations.
“Franny.”
She smiled at Copeland, then wondered why she was trying to be polite when what she really wanted to do was cry.
