What You See (Sons of the Survivalist #3) - Cherise Sinclair Page 0,39
brothers who resembled each other less.
“You should have some of his jam, chica,” Caz told her. “And if you’re still here in September, we’ll draft you to pick cranberries for next year’s batch.”
Caz’s phone made a muted sound, and he checked the text. “Ah, I must return to the clinic. A hiker’s feet got up close and personal with a pot of boiling water.”
“Oh, ouch.”
“I’m glad you’re here where Bull can keep an eye on you.” He gave her a quick, blinding smile.
“Thank you again, Doc.”
“De nada.” Caz picked up his bag and headed out the sliding glass door, passing a tall, muscular man with a badge on his chest. A police officer.
When the man walked into the kitchen area, Bull set a hand on her shoulder. “Frankie, this is another of my brothers. Chief MacNair. Francesca Bocelli.”
Another brother? Smiling, she shook the chief’s hand. “We met at the bar on my first night there.”
“That we did.” He pulled up a chair and sat facing her. Notepad in hand, he inclined his head. “If you wouldn’t mind, Ms. Bocelli, I’d like to hear what happened.”
She gave him the same information she’d given Bull and Hawk. Out hiking. Didn’t see who shot her.
The last thing she wanted was to focus attention on the PZ compound. Not until Kit and Aric were out—and then she’d come down on them like a runaway subway train. Because the bastardi had shot her, and she wasn’t even on their land.
“Just wandering around, hmm?” The chief’s blue eyes sharpened. “No idea where you were?”
“That’s ri—”
Bull set his hand on her shoulder, his expression unreadable. “Hawk backtracked you. He said you half-circled the PZ fence. Why?”
She averted her gaze, hearing again the snapping sound of gunfire, felt the fiery line a bullet carved into her arm.
No, don’t think about that now.
“Frankie?” Bull prompted.
She was all about honesty, but…as when cooking, a bit of spice could make anything easier to swallow.
“This is a little embarrassing.” She wrinkled her nose. “I like knowing what makes people tick. I even like listening to gossip”—totally the truth—“and there’s a lot of talk about your crazy fanatics.”
After all, Bull had seen her talking to the PZ women in the grocery store. “Since I’ve wanted to learn to hike—”
Bull frowned, undoubtedly recalling she’d said she wouldn’t go out in the woods.
Oops.
She hastily added, “I got tired of being viewed as the city girl and watched some YouTube videos about hiking. Anyway, I took my stroll in the direction of the Patriot Zealot’s so-secret compound. Just to see what was in there.”
The police chief’s jaw went hard—and so did Bull’s—and now she had two men frowning at her.
No matter how uncomfortable, she preferred that they believed her to be an idiot rather than think she was surveying the PZ land for a real reason.
“Could you tell if the gunfire came from inside the fence?” the chief asked.
“I couldn’t say. It wasn’t from behind me, but…” She shrugged and winced as the movement pulled on her wounded arm.
The cop glanced at Bull.
“Hawk wasn’t sure,” Bull said. “Her tracks at that point were buried underneath a batch of other footprints.”
The ones who’d chased her.
The chief’s expression turned sour. “I’ll speak to Reverend Parrish…and will get the usual run-around. That they don’t know anything. That they heard gunfire and went out to see if someone needed help.”
Oh, sure they had…out of the goodness of their little hearts.
She just checked the cop to see if he had more questions.
“I wish I could say I’d arrest the shooter, but it’s unlikely. Other hikers and hunters have been fired upon when in that vicinity. The Zealots are practiced at making sure no one sees exactly who did the shooting. I’m damned sure it’s them, but I can’t prove it.” Chief MacNair appeared as if he’d like to tear the compound apart with his bare hands.
Huh. This law enforcement officer certainly didn’t like the Patriot Zealots. He couldn’t be the one who Kit had written about in her letter.
Eyes simmering with fury, Bull wore the same frustrated expression as the cop.
The chief rose. “Thank you, Ms. Bocelli. I’ll let you get some rest.” His voice took on an edge of command. “Now that you’ve seen the compound, please stay away from it.”
Not going to happen.
She put on a friend’s thick southern accent. “But, Chief, it’s such a pretty fence, and the people are so hospitable, bless their hearts.” She put a hand on her chest and sagged back into the chair.