“I was just telling Alister how amazingly well I slept. It’s been a long time since I had an uninterrupted nights rest,” he watched her face and saw nothing except a nod.
“It’s a sad fact, but war does that to people. I can’t imagine it’s easy to sleep after being exposed so directly to death and…and evil…the futility of it all at times,” Frannie shook her head and sighed. “I’m so very sorry anyone has ever had to go through that…there’s no magical way to pull the memories away and restore peace.”
Donovan felt himself tense slightly, quietly eating.
“Perhaps it’s not a time he wants to talk about, Francine,” Alister said quietly.
“If memories are trapped because no one speaks of them, how will they ever be dispelled?” Frannie asked of them both, glancing from one to the other as she ate and reached for several slices of orange. “Are you taking the boat with me, Mr.…Donovan? Tom takes me over in approximately ten minutes.”
“I’m driving so I can bring the things I have at the resort here,” he answered evenly, her words about memories echoing inside his head. “Alister told me I could use the guest room until I can arrange for my things to be delivered.”
“Very logical,” she said with a nod.
“I’d be glad to save Tom the trouble and give you a ride to the resort, Frannie,” Donovan watched the pale lashes blink slowly, green eyes off the orange slice she had been peeling with her fingernails.
“I think that might be a nice change, thank you,” she accepted with a nod and rose to go into the kitchen to let Tom know. “With winter coming, using the boat is sometimes not the best way to cross to the resort,” she said when she returned to finish her breakfast.
“I’ve had your vehicle serviced, Francine,” Alister tossed his napkin to the table and nodded to Donovan. “Nice to have you in residence, Donovan. I’m off to the university and will see you both tonight.”
“Take care, Father,” Frannie began gathering plates and silver, placing them on the cart and waiting patiently by the door. She lifted the large black and red fabric and draped it around her shoulders, fastening it at her throat.
Donovan almost laughed when she frowned and looked down at her feet, her head shaking.
“I’ll wait outside, Frannie.” He told her, lifting her tote and carrying it with him to the front door.
“You do realize we have radiant heat in the flooring,” Frannie said defiantly when she met him outside, striding stiffly to the large vehicle. She used the handle and pulled herself to the seat, buckling her belt in place.
“I wasn’t questioning a thing,” he answered with a crooked grin. “There was the oddest collection of smells in my room this morning.”
“I work with herbs all the time. The scents from them are all through the house,” she said with a casual shrug, gazing at the early morning streets as he drove.
“You made the soap,” he stated.
“I did. If that scent doesn’t appeal to you, let me know and you can select another. It’s filled with nourishing things for your skin,” she told him absently. “What did you do in the military?”
Donovan looked over at the wide eyes watching him, the long hair today drawn back and trailing in a very long braid down her back. He considered telling her it wasn’t her business, or it wasn’t important.
“I was a translator for the army,” he answered quietly.
“In the middle of Europe during the Croatian/Serbian conflict,” Frannie completed the answer for him.
There was a long silent pause, Donovan looked over while they were at a red light. “One day I’ll just accept that as normal and chalk it up to the crystal ball.”
“I heard you speaking with Anya. Your accent is excellent. I also overheard another employee comment about your speaking with them, in their language. Both middle European and I simply did the math with regards to the amount of time you had said you’d been released, Donovan. Please, don’t join the mystical people in the town. Burning me at the stake as a witch would be most unpleasant,” Frannie remarked with a sigh. “It’s nothing more than observation.”
“Where did you attend college, Frannie?” Donovan dropped money in the toll basket and continued across the bridge.
“Cambridge…and here. Father took a three year position with Cambridge while I was there,” she said with a smile. “It was a magical time. I loved England very much. They have marvelous herbal studies departments. Then I attended a school locally for herbal studies after I’d finished in Cambridge and I attend classes now and again for refreshers. Did you take business classes in college?”
“I did…and massive amounts of human management. I had most of it finished before I went into the Army,” Donovan said easily. “Where did you work before the resort?”
“I had been using the little house you’re moving into until about eight months ago. I began working with Anya and St. Michael’s and my clients know where to find me,” she replied. “Do your parents miss you?”
“We don’t talk much. They didn’t agree with my joining the military,” Donovan heard him say the words out loud for the first time in several years, glancing over at the woman returning his stare.
“DNA doesn’t make friends all the time,” She said simply. “I don’t remember my mother. We have photos and she was very pretty. I like to think she simply wanted a daughter and spent a lovely summer with my father to achieve it. He says he does remember it was a very good summer,” she said with a soft smile. “Thank you very much for the ride and the conversation, Donovan.” She had her palm on the handle when his hand came out and stopped her. She looked over at him quizzically.
“Frannie, I’ll be here at five-fifteen for the ride home. Alright?” Dark blue eyes met hers until she nodded. Within seconds she was out of the SUV and running toward the health center.
****
Donovan stood at the SUV at ten minutes after five. Darkness had settled around the huge employee parking lot, the brilliant halogen lights casting shadows in between the cars left as the day shift slowly headed out for the night. It didn’t surprise him that she wasn’t there. He walked slowly toward the lights of the health center, his eyes landing on Anya as she stood at the desk talking with the night shift lead.
“Good evening, Donovan,” Anya hugged her jacket to her at the sweep of brisk wind coming with the opening of the doors. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine…except I’ve misplaced Francine Kendall. Have you seen her?” Blue eyes quickly skirted the wide open waiting area, returning to see the frown on Anya’s face.
“That is very odd. Frannie left here almost ten minutes ago, mumbling to herself that it was not disciplined to be late,” she walked with him toward the main entrance. “She was most emphatic that she not be late for something.”
“She was supposed to meet me at the car for a ride home,” Donovan stood on the covered porch, staring in a direct line to where the car was parked. He widened his sweep, his gaze catching on the fluttering fabric of red and black beneath one of the tall lights.
He took off at a run. The fabric was on the ground beside a large pickup truck.
Frannie lay half on her side, one arm up beneath her head and the other at her waist. Her face was against the concrete, one shoe off and one still in place. The sea blue of her skirt was spread out with her cloak half covering her. She wasn’t moving.
Donovan dropped to his knees at the same time Anya came up behind him, stopping him from moving her for only a moment while she quickly checked her neck.
“Bring her into the center,” Anya ordered briskly, trotting lightly off to prepare a cubicle.
Donovan moved behind Frannie, gathering her carefully against him, his hand out and gripping the handles of the large tote she always carried that had been beneath her head.
Anya took the tote when he entered the cubicle, sitting it on a chair and moving to the other side of the large gurney. She immediately checked Frannie’s eyes and pulse.
&
nbsp; “She was attacked,” Donovan said flatly, his hand out and gently lifting first one wrist and then the other, each sporting finger sized bruises. His gaze swept to her face. “The way she was laying on the concrete…” He carefully brushed the loose hair from the side of her face, his palm cupping her chin and moving her head to the side.
Donovan pulled his phone out, his voice curt and commanding. “I want security at the health center and phone the police, we’ve had an assault. Now.” He felt his stomach tighten. “She was struck…”
“Elbow or fist,” Anya agreed, breaking open some ammonia and waving it beneath Frannie’s nose. She was accustomed to the immediate urge for the patient to escape the smell, her hand moving swiftly to drop the pellet. Frantically waving palms and coughing erupted from the unconscious woman. “Frannie…open your eyes…”
“Oww…” pale lashes slowly opened, a narrow slit betraying each green circle. “No…it’s too bright…my head hurts…”
“What happened, Frannie?” Anya asked quietly, re-checking her eyes and sighing. “Possible concussion…take my hand and sit up, Frannie…”
She did as she was told, turning to the side and letting her feet dangle over the edges. “I lost my shoe…I had them both…” She looked up to see Donovan pull one from the pocket of his jacket, his hands carefully sliding her foot into it and buckling it in place. “Thank you…I’m sorry…I must be late now…”
“What happened, Frannie?” Donovan repeated the question this time, frowning at the sudden evasion on her face. He followed her gaze and saw the security officer and a police officer striding forward.
“I must have fallen…” She answered very quietly.
“Try again, Francine and this time the truth,” Donovan met the defiant green circles. His hand went to her forearm, holding it up when she tried pulling her sleeve over her wrist. “Someone grabbed you…those are bruises from someone’s hand being wrapped around your wrist way too tight. Now…what happened?”
“Who are you protecting, Frannie?” Anya decided to try a different track when she merely sat for a long minute saying nothing.
“Miss Kendall, you know we can’t protect our customers without information,” the security officer said quietly.
“Who, Frannie?” Anya repeated softly.
“Patricia Morris,” she answered sullenly, working to pull the sleeves past where they would normally go on her arms.
“Patricia Morris?” Donovan took her hands in his and forced her to look up. “She didn’t strike you, Frannie.”
All of them stood and stared when the long string of words were pushed out angrily, her hands whipped from Donovan’s palms. Donovan looked from Anya back to Frannie.
“That’s Latin,” Anya said with a shake of her head.
“She says she has a splitting headache and you’re all using logic and common sense on her and it’s just not that simple,” Mac interpreted quietly, all the eyes turned on him and Cassidy. “We were on our way out when the call came over.”
“Frannie, what happened?” Cassidy looked at her wrists and her head. “What time did it happen?”
“Approximately ten after five,” Donovan gave her the parking co-ordinates from the lamps outside.
“You know I have video, Frannie,” Cassidy said simply.
“I was on my way to meet Donovan…to go home,” Frannie began with a long sigh, still tugging on her sleeves. “Someone called my name. I turned around and…and he grabbed me and shook me…he said I had…well, he used a word that begins with F…I had messed up his cozy arrangement.”
“Name, Frannie,” Cassidy pressed firmly.
“Daniel Greely. He used to be Patricia’s boyfriend. Last week she threw him out and filed for a restraining order,” Frannie closed her eyes, one palm up and massaging the non-bruised temple. “He is angry. Very angry. She has been coming to see me for stress headaches. She’s also…she’s very bruised,” she said softly. “I talked her into moving into the temporary quarters and she moved this past weekend, a little added security, I had hoped. He…uhh…wanted me to use my pass card to get him inside the compound where the housing is located and I refused.”
“I’ll need you to sign the complaint, Miss Kendall,” the police officer stepped forward, continuing to talk to her while Cassidy went off with her guard and issued some instructions.
Donovan stood talking with Cassidy and Mac when the officer said good bye and went out of the health center. He told them good night and went to Frannie. She stood next to the chair, hands busily trying to brush the dirt and leaves from her tote.
“Are you sure you want to go home?” Donovan asked when she lifted the tote and slid it onto her shoulder, her other hand holding the cloak closed. “Anya….”
“I can do nothing for her here, Donovan. Go slowly, Frannie, please.”
“Thank you, Anya…good night,” Frannie offered a smile and walked toward the door without looking at Donovan.
“Being angry at me won’t change the fact that telling the police what happened was the right thing to do,” Donovan said when they were on the road, the silence suddenly bothering him.
“Now I’ve caused more stress and possible danger to Patricia because of what I told the police,” Frannie said quietly, her head shaking before she laid it against the window, letting the cool glass numb the throbbing.
“You don’t honestly believe that by saying nothing, she was somehow safer?” Donovan looked at her in amazement. “You’re smarter than that, Frannie. Much smarter.”
“I know that if he was focused on me, than he might leave her alone for a few days,” she answered without looking over at him.
“And how many bruises do you think you can take before you’re not better off than she is? That’s…I don’t even want to say what that kind of thinking is,” he said angrily. “I sent security to check on her, Frannie. And Cassidy told them to be on watch for anyone around the compound that doesn’t belong there. Having underground access was smart thinking when Logan had it designed.”
“Thank you. She’s so young…barely past twenty. I don’t understand how you can believe that it’s alright for another human to hit you…to demean you…”
“How’s your head?” He asked as he parked in front of the house.
“It’ll be fine…I have things for it…thank you…” She slid from the SUV and went into the house without looking over her shoulder, the hem of her cloak blown around her ankles as she walked.
Chapter Four
Donovan looked up from opening the back of the SUV to see Tom striding toward him, a welcoming smile on his face.
“Miss Frannie said you needed some help, sir.”
“I…thank you, yes. If you would take that to the guest room, I’ll get these two,” Donovan shook his head as he walked. “Is Frannie in her study?”
“Yes, sir. And Nancy told me to remind you that dinner was at six-thirty.”
“Thank you, Tom, for your help,” Donovan stared at the three large suitcases in the guest room and decided later would be soon enough. He left his jacket hanging in the closet, removed his tie and headed to the dining room.
Donovan met Alister in the hall on the way to dinner. He looked around, not surprised that Frannie wasn’t in the room.
“I called and talked to the storage people,” Donovan said while reaching for the large bowl of rice and spooning some to his plate. “It’ll be two weeks before they can deliver things. Let me know how much and I’ll write you a check for the first month and include the two weeks, Alister.”
“Not to worry, Donovan,” he paused when Frannie came into the room, almost on time. "Good evening, Francine. That’s a new dress.”
“An old one, actually, father, but it’s nice…I like it,” she said absently, the rose colored stiff sleeves easily covering the new bruises on her wrists. “Hmm…this smells lovely. Oh, Mr.…Donovan…if you let me know things you don’t care for, Nancy will make a note of it and work around it. She’s a very good
cook.”
“I wouldn’t want her inconvenienced,” Donovan stared for a long minute at the side of her head. “You used make-up.”
“I…it won’t be an inconvenience at all, I assure you. I personally don’t care much for cooked tomatoes or extremely spicy things. When she makes curry for Father, I generally have a very nice salad with nuts and bread crisps. Please pass the rice,” she said with a smile frozen in place, ignoring his comment.
“And long sleeves,” Donovan commented casually.
“Would you care for some of the salad, Mr. Banner?” Frannie asked with rigid politeness, palm lashes narrowed in an ignored warning.
“I can reach it, thank you, Miss Kendall. Covering it up does not mean it did not happen,” he said through his teeth.
“Alright…both of you…what happened?” Alister looked from one to the other, watching Donovan slowly raise one eye brow and stare at his daughter.
“Everything’s fine, father,” Frannie answered, pouring dressing over her salad and taking a healthy bite. “How are the students this year?”
“Uninspiring and challenging. You’d think that a course you have to pay to attend would at least make you want to learn,” he shook his head. “Since my daughter feels disinclined to share the days events with me, Donovan, why don’t you give it a try.”
“Francine was attacked in the parking lot this evening. It’s why we were late getting to the house,” Donovan answered, his eyes never leaving the narrowed green slits.
“Attacked?” Alister sat up straighter, his gaze sweeping his daughter. “Are you alright? What in the world…why would someone…have you seen a doctor?”
“I am fine, father, honestly,” she reached over and took his palm where it rested on the table. “Truly. A few bruises and a mild headache…and yes, I’ve seen Anya and…it’ll be okay with time.”
“What happened, Francine?” He asked tersely, studying her features. “And don’t give me that look. I’ve seen it often enough, young lady.” He met the frowning eyes with an equally determined glare of his own. “Have the police been notified?”
WindSwept Narrows: #7 Francine Kendall Page 3