Page 10 of Frankie and the Fed (Untamed Rascals #3)

M y heart raced as I pressed into the narrow alley between buildings, really more of a forgotten strip barely wide enough for me to slide in sideways. Frankie’s soft steps came closer as she rounded the corner. I hadn’t run off soon enough. She must have spotted me.

I took measured breaths, letting the air out of my lungs slow and controlled to calm my racing heart.

I’d been so wrapped up in her voice carrying on the breeze that I hadn’t been careful enough.

Shit.

“I just wish I knew why my skin felt wrong.” Those words stuck in me like a burr.

How many times had I thought the same thing? Like I didn’t belong in my body. I grew up too fast, too tall, too broad, not mormon enough, not pretty enough, just not enough. Ever.

No one had ever understood, but somehow, this woman, who may very well be the criminal I was after, did.

The thought opened a chasm in me between the haze of my life and the brilliant, colorful nebula that was Frankie.

I wanted to go to her and pull her into my arms so I could whisper about all the times I’d felt the same. She wouldn’t have to be alone then.

This was not going according to plan. I wanted to get close to Frankie, but now nausea burned in me at the thought of using her that way. What if she wasn’t the culprit? What if she was?

Her soft footfalls faded, but I still didn’t move. Torn between what I needed to do and the ache that burned in me at the thought of her.

“So, I was thinking,” Frankie said without so much as a hello first thing Monday after I caught her at the park. Of course, she didn’t know that. I could hide better than she could. “Ghost tours.”

“What?” I asked. I must have missed part of what she said. “Ghost tours?”

She stood close to me in one of the halls that branched off the entry hall of the museum. A subtle perfume wafted off her, and she must have worn heels because she seemed taller, closer, than the last time she was so near.

My heart rate kicked up at her proximity, but I kept my breathing even to get it back under control.

“Yes. Supposedly, there’s an awesome one right here in Savannah. So, you up for going?” She moved impossibly nearer, so close I could feel her heat, and I could hardly think straight.

“Going?” I still had no idea what she was talking about.

“With me. On the tour.” She licked her lips, excitement lighting her eyes.

Oh.

“Yes.” I didn’t hesitate to answer. This was the opportunity I needed, and I couldn’t let it pass me by. Never mind the nervous fluttering that has taken root in my chest.

She blushed a pretty shade of pink, and I realized that I might have sounded a little too eager.

“I would like a tour of Savannah since I’m still pretty new here, and what better way than through ghosts with a local?” I tried to play off my earlier enthusiasm as something other than an eagerness to spend time with her—for the assignment.

“Good. Let’s meet here at seven. I’ll make the reservations.”

“Sounds good.” I looked over her shoulder and saw my next tour group loosely gathered by the front desk, and Jane, another tour guide, frantically waving at me. “Shit. I’m running late for my next group. I’ll see you at seven.”

She looked over her shoulder at the waiting guests.

“They look like they are ready to tear the place apart. Best see to them before they chew through the enclosures and become the new exhibits.”

I snorted at her description .

“See you tonight.” I waved—fucking waved—at her as I walked off to meet the group. Dammit.

Keep your shit together , I chided myself. You’re a goddamn undercover agent here to spy on her, not be her friend.

“This is the best part of the tour.” I walked backward toward the side of the windows that opened into the labs. “Here you can see real life archeologists and paleontologists working on the museum’s most puzzling ancient mysteries.”

I waved a hand toward the windows before turning to see who was in there today.

Frankie.

She looked up from her work at exactly the right time and waved to the tour. Her hair was green today, something I barely noticed through my nerves earlier, but could appreciate with heavy glass separating me and my confusing thoughts.

Her green hair, certainly a wig, stood out in a riot of curls, adding height to her small frame. She donned her glasses, the ones with dinosaur figurines hanging from the ornate frames. The effect was amusing—and a bit dazzling. The kids certainly thought so.

One child pressed against the glass. His mother tried to pull him away, chiding him for his lack of restraint. I just laughed. I loved this part of the job. Some days, I loved it so much I wished it were real.

“Maybe if we ask nicely, Dr. Frankie will show us what she is working on.” Two of the little girls in the crowd perked up and moved closer to the glass.

A speaker allowed us to talk to the scientists, if they were to type to want to talk to guests. I pushed the button, knowing by now that Frankie loved to entertain the kids, and asked if she would show us her work.

“Of course!” She clapped her hands once in exaggerated excitement and then pulled the microscope over and turned on the monitor behind her.

“This is the claw of a Therizinosaurus. Has anyone heard of that?

None of the kids raised their hands. Not surprising, this is the first I’ve heard of it, and I do this tour several times a day.

“Well, the Therizinosaurus was thought to be the most fearsome and aggressive dinosaur.” She mock snarled and raised her hands as if they were claws.

“Even more than the T-Rex?” A kid shouted in excitement. Frankie was good at this, whatever else she may be, good with children was definitely part of it.

She looked at me, and I realized she couldn’t hear what he said.

“He wants to know if it was more aggressive than the T-Rex,” I said into the speaker.

“Definitely. See how long the claw is?” She pulled the camera back so they could see it in its entirety. Now, all the kids in the group were pressed against the glass and each other to get a good look at the claws of the most fearsome dinosaur.

The rest of her presentation flew by, and we moved onto the rest of the dinosaur exhibit, also known as the museum’s Crown Jewel. From what I’ve heard, that is entirely thanks to Frankie and her family’s generous donation to the museum.

Whatever the reason, it was a pretty cool exhibit.

It coiled through three floors, starting in the basement.

Each floor showed a different era: Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous.

Running through the middle, behind a shallow waterfall, an ocean exhibit dominated the space, causing the whole area to glow a faint, pleasant blue.

I stood back when we got to the top of the exhibit and watched as a young child, probably three or four, ran up and hugged the various dinosaur statues we had for the little ones to play with.

“I love this T-Rex!” he shouted as he climbed on the Brontosaurus.

“They’re adorable,” a soft, feminine voice said from behind me.

I smiled.

“Until you have to be the one to wipe their ass.” I turned to Frankie. She wasn’t wearing the over-the-top glasses anymore. “Why do you only wear those when we come around on a tour?”

“What?”

“Your glasses. You only wear them when I bring a tour group around.” I gestured toward her face, stopping just short of brushing her cheek. I clenched my fist and brought it back to my side.

“Oh. Yeah. They’re fun, right? When I was a kid, I thought all scientists wore glasses.

Like it was a requirement for the job. So, I wear them for the kids.

Just in case they too think all scientists have to wear glasses.

Plus, I think it helps the kids who feel different to be a little more relaxed. ”

A small smile played on her lips. The kind that only comes from genuine happiness. It lit up her face and softened her features into something so innocent I couldn’t imagine her ever doing wrong.

“Oh.” My heart gave a little squeeze at her words. “You really do like kids, don’t you?”

“Definitely. In a different life, I would have loved to be a mom.” Her voice was soft and wistful.

“Why not in this life?” I shoved my clenched fist in my pocket so I wouldn’t try to touch her.

“Who has the time? Besides, I am nearly thirty-two and single. Raising a kid by myself isn’t exactly what I had in mind for my life.” She waved her hand in dismissal of the idea, but her tone was a little too airy and forced to be genuine.

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. So, of course, I landed on the worst response ever: making it about myself.

“I used to want kids. I was raised mormon, so it was all I was taught I was good for, and I believed that for a long time.” I swallowed around the lump in my throat that always crept up when I talked about my past. I probably should have made something up, a past for Jamie the Tour Guide that wasn’t the same as Jamie the Agent, but I just couldn’t lie that well.

“When I first left the church, I couldn’t even think about it. You know?”

She nodded along, her kind eyes on me as if she did, in fact, know, but how could she?

How could anyone who hadn’t experienced it understand the unique blend of guilt, religious oppression, forced happiness, and genuine belief that there was only one correct choice all while feeling as if that choice wasn’t right at all?

“So, I needed time to figure out myself after leaving the church, and I don’t know.

Sometimes, I think it would be nice to have kids.

They are adorable, but…” I couldn’t quite get the words out.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and pushed on.

“But everything I know about being a parent, I learned in the worst setting possible. And being a mom, that comes with so much weight and trauma. I just don’t know if I ever could. ”

It broke my heart to even think about it. Most of the time I didn’t feel like a whole person, how could I possibly raise a child when all I knew was pain?