What You See (Sons of the Survivalist #3) - Cherise Sinclair Page 0,60
them as well as their books. She should have brought coffee, too.
Next time, she’d be more prepared.
“Frankie, I’m glad you could make it.” Audrey rose and waved her forward. “Everyone, this is Frankie from the roadhouse.”
“Welcome, Frankie. It’s good to see you again.” Silver-haired Lillian rose and held out both hands. “Do sit beside me.”
As Frankie took a seat, people introduced themselves.
“I’m Guzman.” The gray-bearded man laughed, showing silver fillings. “Welcome to the best of the book clubs.”
“Glenda Johannsen. I own the arts and crafts store.” The stout middle-aged brunette smiled. “It’s nice to get another reader.”
EmmaJean was in her thirties, slender and bouncy. “Hi, Frankie!” Frankie knew EmmaJean and her husband ran one of the B&Bs.
“I’m Cecil. It’s good to see another city girl settling in.” White hair, white beard, weathered ancient face. He tapped his black cane on the floor for emphasis.
Frankie liked him immediately.
With long, gray hair and an adorably garish, tied-dyed T-shirt, Zappa hadn’t left his hippie days. She’d met him at his gas station a few days ago. He gave her a bright gap-toothed smile. “You’re here just in time for fishing season. Then there’s hunting season after that. All sorts of things to show you.”
“Hear, hear,” Guzman said.
Hunters. She eyed them. I bet they’d know a lot about trails.
“Welcome, Frankie. It’s good to see you again.” Tina, Chevy’s wife, was an energetic redhead. They’d met earlier today when Frankie parked near her house to hike the trail.
And it would be best to head off any commentary about that. “Is this your escape from the little ones?”
“It’s such an escape.” The petite woman snickered. “Every minute with them, there’s some cataclysmic meltdown. Reading about world-ending disasters helps me put everything back into perspective.”
Frankie couldn’t help but laugh.
As people settled in, the discussion started. So fun. There were occasional forays into gossip until Audrey would bring them back. Frankie had rushed to finish the current book and was able to contribute.
Before they broke up, Audrey asked them to pick the next book—which set off a whole new set of discussion.
“I like the one with the engineered plague,” Tina said. “It’s very different, and—”
Frankie frowned, seeing Audrey cringe a little.
After a glance at Audrey, Lillian spoke up. “I quite adore psychological thrillers, and we haven’t had one of those in a while.”
Cecil pulled on his beard. “Mebbe, mebbe. There was one that Guzman favored with hostages.”
“Yeah. A bomb and hostages in the New York subway system.” Guzman winked at her. “Our city girl here could tell us how realistic it is.”
“You’re giving me nightmares at just the thought, you evil man,” Frankie told him to his delight.
“It doesn’t sound too bad. It’s centered around a mercenary group, so it’ll be all shooting and stuff.” EmmaJean wiggled. “A team of guys. I love bromance, don’t you?”
“What’s not to love?” Frankie’s comment got a laugh, and the discussion continued.
Her thoughts had been derailed.
Mercenaries. Soldiers for hire. Could she hire some—an outfit or whatever they were called—to rescue Kit and Aric?
If Kit couldn’t manage to get to the fence, that might be one way to help her get out. However, the risks would go up. As she knew, the PZs would shoot at trespassers, and the mercenaries would probably shoot back. That’s how innocent women and children could be hurt or killed. Better them…probably…than calling in the Feds and instigating a siege-type situation, but neither scenario sounded safe.
Okay, she’d keep that as a backup plan.
As everyone rose, she moved to where she could walk out between Guzman and Zappa. “Hey, guys.” Now, how to phrase this? “It sounded like you’re both hunters, and since I have you here, I had a question. I heard the best hunting is at night, but don’t you get lost? I mean, there’s night vision goggles, but still, don’t you get turned around if you’re following a trail?”
Zappa beamed at her as they walked down the stairs. “That’s a righteous question. I lost my way a couple of times getting to my stand.”
“You can get lost on your way to the outhouse,” Guzman stated and held the door for her.
Zappa drew himself up in insult. “Dude.”
At the sight of the rain, they all stepped under the shelter of the overhang.
“There are ways to mark a trail—or…the path to a kill so it’s easy to find the way back,” Guzman said.
A kill. Ew. Personally, she’d rather think of her meat as dropping into the grocery store all prepackaged. “I thought there must be a way, but