However, those Zealot members must visit town, sooner or later. For groceries, mail, gas. Or…maybe to go to a bar?
She tapped her fingers on the wheel. Being discreet would be essential while making inquiries about the cult.
Obtaining information and coming up with a safer plan might take a while. So…how to keep from sticking out like a sore thumb in the tiny town? The gas station owner had said this was the dead month for tourism. Ski season was over, and the fishing was just starting to pick up.
Not that I resemble a fisherman, anyway. Cooking fish? She was a pro. Catching? No. Absolutely not. Pretending to be a tourist would be her last resort.
She might need to find a job to blend in. If the summer season was starting soon, they’d be hiring, right?
Even weird cult types had to buy food. They’d talk to clerks and salespeople. Being all self-sufficient and stuff, they probably didn’t go to restaurants. Did religious conservative types go to bars? Kit had told her that Obadiah didn’t drink.
She’d better try for salesclerk jobs.
Hmm. What if she ran into Obadiah? Would he recognize her?
She pulled on her lip. Nah, probably not. The only time she’d met him was a moment in the reception line after his and Kit’s wedding ceremony. He’d already been swamped with introductions to all of Kit’s co-workers at the garden nursery. Honestly, why hadn’t Kit seen that as a big red flag—that the guy hadn’t made the effort to meet any of her friends?
No way would Obadiah remember her face.
So, first step, find a place to stay. Tomorrow, get a job. She rolled her eyes. Mannaggia. Damn me, for sure. This so wouldn’t go over well with Mama, who’d thrown a fit about Frankie taking vacation time. “You’re needed to be the liaison with the runway show next week. Some of our girls need your handholding. And who will deal with the fighting backstage? And that new photographer has everyone in tears. How can you just walk off and leave me saddled with all these problems?”
Frankie’s jaw firmed. All those problems could be handled by a perfectly capable staff. No one was indispensable.
And I haven’t had a vacation…well, ever.
It hurt that her mother thought she was being selfish.
Of course, she didn’t know that Frankie was here to help Kit. That Kit was in trouble. She wouldn’t understand. Over the years, Mama had cut Kit to the quick with valid, but tactless comments about her poor taste in men. Kit was sensitive to criticism—and when this was over, she wouldn’t need Mama’s “helpful” remarks reminding her of another mistake.
At least Papà had been supportive of Frankie taking time off and had chided Mama about treating Frankie more like an employee than a daughter. But that was Papà; he had a soft heart. When she was little, she’d wished he’d been home more. But famous photographers traveled.
And took pictures of gorgeous Norwegian models and fell in love. The thought still made Frankie laugh. Two more unsuited people could never be found, yet, somehow, they were still married.
Frankie sighed. It’d be nice to have someone she could talk to about this mess. Someone to cuddle with at night. Someone who might even reassure her that everything would be all right.
Because right now, she was feeling really alone—and drowning in doubt.
What might those people do to Kit if Frankie made too many waves?
Chapter Three
Be the person your dog thinks you are. ~ JW Stephens
Blood singing in his veins, Bull was on the cooling-off portion of his run. This was his favorite place to jog—from his roadhouse, down to the lakeshore, through the town park to Dante’s cabins and back. It was off-season with the number of tourists beginning to pick up.
Dante’s pickup and a sedan had been parked by the four cabins, so the old Okie might have a new renter.
Gorgeous Friday. Under a vivid blue sky, the sun glinted off the bold line of the Kenai Mountains. Bear Mountain and Russian Mountain to the south were spectacular and so white he had to squint his eyes.
The temp was mid-thirties with air crisp enough to crackle—exactly what he needed to clear away the remnants of battle nightmares from the night before.
Pulling his attention from the view, he checked his surroundings again since bears leaving hibernation tended to be irritable as were winter-skinny moose. He’d started wearing his bear spray belt.
Voices near the trail caught his attention.
“Yeah, just bought the damn dog. Bernese mountain and German shepherd mix. Its owner died, and the son didn’t want the mutt, so it was cheap. He said the brute fights like a demon, but, Jesus, look at it cringe. I was robbed.”
Another man spoke. “Good thing you brought him here to test him first, or you would’ve been fucking embarrassed at the fights.”
Two other voices joined in, agreeing.
“Let’s try this again,” one said. “Maybe it’ll do better this time.”
Bull slowed, an ugly feeling crawling up his spine. Fights?
“And go!” Growls and snarls mixed with shouts. “Get him, you fucking mutt. Attack!”
Oh hell, no. Not in my park. Not in my town.
In a slushy clearing, two dogs circled each other while several men watched.
One dog attacked, the other yelped, then the two were fighting for real.
Only four guys. He could probably take them, although it’d be nice to have one of his brothers at his back.
Moving closer, Bull eyed a pile of old buckets someone had forgotten last fall. The melting snow had revealed them—and left them filled them with water. That’ll work.
He picked up a bucket and tossed the icy water at the dogs.
Shocked, the mutts broke apart.
Still pissed off, Bull tossed the second bucket of water at the men.
“What the fuck!” The yells were satisfying. And then all four charged Bull.
Fine. He was warmed up and ready to fight.
He sidestepped the leading man. A hard punch to the guy’s gut folded him over, and he started puking. Jesus.
Retreating to keep from getting splattered, Bull tripped the second one, so he could concentrate on the third. Twisting to take the third’s punch on his shoulder, Bull hit his chin hard.
Laid him out cold.
The second man scrambled to his feet just in time to get Bull’s boot in his gut, leaving him curled up like an armadillo.
Good enough.
The last one was the asshole who’d bought a dog for the sole purpose of fighting it. The one who hadn’t even jumped into the brawl. The man’s eyes widened like he suddenly realized he was the only one standing, and he backpedaled rapidly.
“You wanted a fight,” Bull growled as he advanced. “Try doing it yourself, you cowardly bastard.”
Even as Bull slapped aside the man’s wimpy punch, his buddies abandoned ship, staggering away. One dog followed them. The other stood, paw in the air.
Seeing his friends fleeing, the cowardly owner yelled a protest.
Bull raised his fist and smiled. “Happens we like dogs here. Assholes, not so much.”
“Fuck you.” The guy retreated a step, then sprinted after his friends. Leaving his dog behind.
Rather than following, the dog whimpered, lay down, and watched Bull warily. Obviously, there was no bond between the dog and the owner.