Page 6 of Frankie and the Fed (Untamed Rascals #3)

I ’d left the bakery without the decaf coffee I’d ordered, but with an introduction to Francesca Woolbridge.

She’d been on our radar for a while, between her father’s questionable business activities abroad and her frequent trips to nowhere locales, she was the biggest red flag at that museum.

My heart raced from tonight’s minor success. I’d secured an invitation to get closer to her and her friends so I can suss out her secrets.

I mentally reviewed her behavior as I walked back to the dingy studio apartment.

John Taggart, my boss and handler for this mission, insisted that I had to stay here, despite many better listings in the area, to maintain my cover as a museum tour guide. Apparently, I didn’t make enough for decent housing.

I barely saw the narrow stone steps of my building as I climbed to my second-floor apartment. Frankie’s pale cheeks, pink with a blush, and the rapid, damning rhythm of her chest—obvious through the wet fabric that had clung to it—filled my mind.

All signs that she was nervous and thus hiding something.

I dropped my pastry bag onto the empty counter and sat in the lone chair in the corner of my apartment. No one should have reason to come here, but if they ever did, I had no idea how I would explain the lack of, well, everything.

I should put up a few pictures. Generic ones should be enough, but maybe I could dredge up a few selfies from a trip I took a few years back.

I shrugged off ideas about making this place a home and opened my laptop. I needed to update my file on Frankie and add the bakery as one of her haunts.

I could use this to my advantage, arrange to meet her there or even take her there. I wondered which pastry she liked best as I filled out my report on tonight’s progress. We could go for lunch, get some sandwiches, and eat at the nice park nearby.

I pictured her there. She wouldn’t be in one of those wigs she seemed to favor. No, her hair would be down and blowing in the breeze, the dark strands I’ve only seen in pictures caressing her shoulders, playing with the numerous tattoos that decorated her skin.

I typed out what I had seen so far and where. Too bad she was wearing such a high cut shirt, the tattoos clearly dipped lower on her chest and across her shoulders. Did they go down her back? Did she have them anywhere else ?

I finished typing out the update to her file, adding what I learned tonight. I ran a quick background check on Grace, the owner, and her known associates.

By the time I finished, my back hurt from hunching over my computer, and my stomach rumbled from neglect.

I stretched and pointlessly opened the fridge—mustard and a bottle of my favorite cold brew stared back at me.

The only place nearby that seemed the least bit appealing was just around the corner from the bakery. Was she still there? I could go find out.

My heart raced again as I considered the route I would take. It was late, and whatever they were doing tonight might be over, or might not have been there in the first place. They could have met there and gone somewhere else.

I berated myself as I grabbed my keys and locked up. I should have found a reason to stick around.

The heavy night air carried the marshy scent of the river as it blew through the city. Though I was provided with a car, I opted to walk—all the better for what I was planning to do.

I turned onto the street with Grandma’s House, and laughter carried to me. The lights in the building were out, but a soft glow emanated from the roof above.

Bingo.

I ducked into the nearby alley and found a fire escape that led up to a roof bathed in shadow .

I couldn’t quite make out what they said from here, but the sound of Frankie’s voice, already so recognizable, carried to me.

I crept to the edge of the roof closest to the party across the way, trying to gauge who was there and what they were doing.

Frankie lounged against a few large pillows. The golden glow of the fairy lights bathed her skin and reflected off her lavender hair. Her shirt had dried and no longer clung to her.

I settled in as quietly as possible for a long night of surveillance, forgetting all about dinner and my rumbling stomach as Frankie’s animated voice punctuated an otherwise quiet night.

“I just don’t get it,” Frankie said, her voice carrying on the breeze, louder and clearer than before. I chanced a peek over the low wall that encircled the rooftop I perched on. She stood now closer than before and took a swig from the bottle in her hand.

Whatever her companions said to her was lost to the rumble of a truck driving by. Dammit. I needed an excuse to get closer to her and be invited to their next gathering.

I closed my eyes and plotted out a way to do just that.

Operation: Become Indispensable to Francesca Woolbridge to Uncover her Dastardly Plot.

Tomorrow. Her friend Lily had invited me to lunch with them. I could use that to insert myself into her life, draw her in, and find some way to exploit her for the information I needed.

With the plan in place and the surveillance session producing nothing of value, I should remove myself from the rooftop and get some rest, but the night carried her sharp voice and soft laughter, and I couldn’t seem to move.

My legs cramped from the crouched position as the laughter faded, the lights went out, and they went inside the building. I didn’t move until I was sure they were gone, and then I stretched my legs just enough to ease the ache that had built in me.

“Being undercover isn’t for the weak,” Taggart, my boss and handler for this mission, said when I approached him about the assignment. Fury burned in me at his words. I wasn’t weak.

“I can handle it,” I said, reigning in my frustration and burying it deep under a veneer of calm I’d long since perfected. Growing up in Utah as the only child of a vocal ex-mormon bishop who worked to expose a child abuse cover up in the church wasn’t for the weak, either.

“You’re going to have to do things you might otherwise prefer not to,” Taggart said. He hadn’t even looked up at me as he spoke, still typing away at his computer as if I wasn’t even good enough to look at.

“I’m aware that undercover assignments can be tricky and require a lot from me.”

“Look, I haven’t put—well, let’s just say I’m picky about who I put in the field, and you don’t fit the profile,” he said as he finally stopped what he was doing and looked at me. My skin crawled at his blatant perusal of my body. I dug my fingers into my palm and bit my tongue.

Message received .

I pulled out the last card I had—a photo of him and his mistress.

“What is this?” he demanded, but his eyes kept returning to it, the vein in his forehead pulsing each time.

“How’s Sharon? I hear you’re expecting twins. It would be a shame if she saw this in her delicate state,” I said calmly. Truth was, I’d already arranged for his wife to find out about his affair, but not until he gave me what I wanted. Even if he agreed, she deserved better than that.

“Seems you have some grit in you, after all.” He snatched the photo off the desk and shredded it. Both he and I knew I wasn’t stupid enough to give him the only copy. “Fine. The assignment is yours.”

My lips twitched, but I didn’t let the smile show until I stepped out of the office.

I knew leg cramps weren’t the worst thing I would face in the field, and I wondered what else might be coming my way. Whatever it was, Francesca Woolbridge would be at the center of it.

As much as I was loath to admit it, Taggart may have been right, I didn’t think I was prepared for what she could do to my life.

I listened to the sleepy city at night, letting my legs relax and regain feeling while my mind wandered to flashing brown eyes and a soaked purple t-shirt.

The soft buzz of my phone interrupted my thoughts, and I jolted from where I sat half dozing on the roof .

“Shit,” I muttered as I scrambled for it, realizing too late that I’d brought both my regular phone and my cover phone. Rookie mistake. Thankfully, my targets left long ago, and I was all by myself on the dark roof.

“Mom? It’s like 2am,” I said when I answered. If I had ignored it like I wanted to, she wouldn’t stop, and at least right now I was alone.

“Is it? Well Sierra, if you would answer when I called at normal times, I wouldn’t need to call you so late,” she said, somehow managing to make her early morning phone call my fault.

“Mom, I told you, I don’t go by Sierra anymore. Please call me Jamie, and I’m more concerned that you are awake right now,” I said, gritting my teeth and giving her what I knew she wanted.

“I named you Sierra. James is only your middle name because your father insisted you be named after him as well.” It was a tired argument between us, she simply didn’t understand why I needed to be Jamie, and she refused to play along. “You know I just can’t sleep if I don’t know you are ok.”

Lies.

She had no problem sleeping, literally and metaphorically, during whatever was going on in my life.

“What do you need?” I asked after a deep breath.

I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t hang up on her, except every time I tried, a little voice in my head reminded me she was my mom and the only person I really had left in my life.

“Have you heard about Lacy? You remember her, she came to church sometimes. Well, her aunt, Sister Johansen, you remember her, I’m sure, just posted about her wedding. I was so excited. That was until I saw her… wife.” She choked on the last word, and my gut twisted in knots.

“Good for her,” I said, refusing to give into her bigotry.

“Well,” she said tightly.

She had no spine—never did.

I shouldn’t be upset that she isn’t fighting back, but I knew she wasn’t changing her ways, she just didn’t want to fight with me about it anymore. I couldn’t blame her, I was tired, too.

“Speaking of, are you dating anyone? When can I expect a son-in-law and some grandbabies?” she asked.

My mind rebelled at the thought of marrying some man and being a mom. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I didn’t date at all. Men were… not my priority in life.

After my dad shared with me why he left the church, I could barely bring myself to be alone in a room with one. Besides, I had too much work to worry about, and the last date I’d been on made me vaguely nauseous. I nearly vomited when he tried to kiss me.

“I’m working a lot right now, Mom,” I said with a sigh. I knew if I tried to ignore the question entirely, she would just find other ways to bring it up.

“Well, if you found a nice husband, you wouldn’t have to work so much. There was a talk in the most recent General Conference that said—”

“How are you doing, Mom?” I cut in. I didn’t need a sermon. “Is your neighbor still helping you out?”

Since my dad died, she had been so alone. I didn’t fully understand why he stayed with her when he left the church, and she didn’t. I saw the strain it put on their relationship, but whatever his reasons, now she really was all alone out there.

“Oh, Phil, um, Brother Christiansen, yes. He’s… he’s helping me.”

Ahh, my mom had a crush.

“Are you blushing?” I teased her. As much grief as she has given me since I left the church, there were still moments that she was just my mom. I wished she would try to understand me.

“What? I am fifty-seven years old! I don’t blush.”

I couldn’t hold back my laughter. “Sure, Mom. Listen, I love you, and I’ll call you when I can.”

“Real quick, I saw your latest picture. You really should wear something more feminine. It’s not doing you any favors wearing men’s clothes so much.”

I gritted my teeth. I knew which picture she was talking about. I was literally just wearing a t-shirt and jeans. I knew she wouldn’t let it go if I didn’t answer, so I took a deep breath and tried to deflect.

“My last picture was taken like two years ago. You aren’t just seeing it for the first time. Maybe spend less time on social media.”

“How else am I supposed to know about your life? It’s not like you tell me.”

“I really have to go, Mom. It’s the middle of the night, and I have work in the morning.” She didn’t need to know what I really did with my days and nights.

“Ok, well, I love you, sweetie.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

I hung up and hung my head in frustration. An achy, crawling sensation moved up my spine anytime I talked to my mom, and tonight, it had made it to my neck, setting off a throbbing headache .

When my dad suddenly quit the church, she had been so appalled at going from the bishop’s wife to a woman who sat alone in the last pew. She wouldn’t listen to anything he said about why he left. I had been an adult by then, struggling to stay in. When he left, it was like my whole world opened up.

I still didn’t understand why she clung to something so harmful.

Somehow, I made it back to my apartment, bleary-eyed and barely standing. A single yellow umbrella replaced the usual black one in the stand just outside the door.

Shit.

Taggart wanted an update. Now.

My shoulders slumped, and I stumbled into the single dingy room. Light from the outside streetlight cast an eerie glow over the place, highlighting shadows, and bringing into stark relief just how barren the place was.

I pulled out my emergency bottle of cold brew, opened my laptop, and settled in to give my report.

My fingers only hesitated for a moment on information about Frankie. Uncertainty about her involvement, her actions, her muddled my thoughts, but no, I had to report, and I had to report everything.