“One of the roadhouse’s new servers, I know. I’m Sarah. My husband Uriah and I own this place.” With stylish short brown hair, the petite woman was around forty. Frankie’d seen her with her young daughter and a baby. Two children, a business, and living in Alaska would explain why she was so lean, despite making scrumptious desserts.

“It’s good to meet you. I mean with names and all.”

Sarah laughed. “After, what, three weeks, you’re almost a regular. How do you like our small town?”

“Rescue is great.” Frankie grinned. “Being so far from home, I love the sound of a fellow New Yorker’s accent.”

“You’re from New York? I heard that rumor and didn’t believe it.” Grinning, Sarah sat down across from Frankie in the booth. “How’d you escape without an accent?”

“It took some work. It returns if I get upset, although usually the Italian one overpowers it.”

“Italian, hmm?” Sarah lifted her eyebrows. “I had a guy in here last week Googling Italian swear words on his phone. Something like ‘tessydee cah-so’?”

Frankie felt her face flush. “Testa di cazzo. It’s…um…equivalent to calling someone an asshole.”

“I had a feeling he heard it from you. Was he a bad date?” Sarah grinned. “Sorry, but I love gossip.”

“Since I do, too, it’d be hypocritical to complain.” Frankie shook her head. “He wasn’t a date—at least, not mine. I caught the man banging a woman in the roadhouse bathroom, and he called me the c-word for interrupting before he finished.”

“Interrupting a banging? How rude of you.” Sarah burst out laughing.

“Guys don’t change no matter the size of the city.” Neither did women, actually. Frankie considered the coffee shop owner…who liked gossip. “I must say, I’ve never met any men who are quite like those Patriot Zealots. What’s with them?”

“Them.” The word held a super-helping of disgust. “They believe every word of their so-called prophet, Parrish, and they treat women like shit. Don’t use them as an example of normal Alaskan guys.”

“Ah, another example of a messed-up navigation system.”

Sarah gave her a puzzled look. “Navigation system. What?”

“It’s like…ideas originate in a man’s little head”—Frankie motioned toward her crotch—“and go through the pelvic roundabout before reaching the big head”—she tapped her forehead—“so they can think before acting. Unfortunately, some men’s thoughts never make it out of the round-about.”

“That’s a scary analysis and too true.” Sarah had a beautiful laugh. “The PZs lose a lot of brainpower in that sex roundabout.”

“Huh.” Hmm. If sexual stuff made them brainless, would that be a way to get more information? She needed to know Kit was still there. She’d said they might send Obadiah, her, and Aric back to Texas.

It would be awful to break into the compound and find out Kit wasn’t even in the state.

“I could have called the police, rather than shouting at the restroom lothario,” Frankie said. “But I don’t know JJ well or how she’d react.”