Frankie kept smiling and talking, trying to appear as if she was eating up what the middle-aged Patriot Zealot women said. Kit had yet to speak. Maybe the younger PZs weren’t allowed to talk when out in public? Or the older women wouldn’t let her.

Frankie’s palm tingled because… No, you mustn’t slap anyone. Concentrate.

She nodded at appropriate moments. “That makes sense.” No, no, it didn’t. How could anyone take orders from some male nutcase on how to dress and who she could talk to? Count me out.

When one of the women stiffened, Frankie followed her gaze. The giant bartender moved away and turned the corner to a different aisle. How long had he been in the produce section? Had he heard their conversation? What must he think of her?

Then again, why should she care?

She turned her attention back to the women. To Kit. They needed to talk.

But how? Obviously, nothing would be said in front of Kit’s babysitters. Okay, then. How inventive could Kit be?

“Oh, oh, shoot.” Frankie interrupted one of the older women. “I might have left my car unlocked.” The near falsehood bothered her, but it wasn’t…exactly…a lie. She hadn’t left the car unlocked, but she might have. “There are a lot of tourists in town.”

“City people are all thieves,” one woman said. “You’d best go check.”

A thief, am I? Frankie smiled. “Nice to meet you all.”

At the front, she walked past the bartender who was talking with Audrey. “Audrey, I need to check something in my car. I’ll be back for my groceries.” She set her basket down near the counter and headed out.

She could feel Bull’s gaze on her back.

Outside and away from a big brown dog that was tied to a streetlight, she stood by the wall. Would Kit be able to come up with an excuse and lose her watchers so they could talk?

Her breathing sped up at the thought of Kit trapped in that place. Being hurt. Unable to call for help.

The door opened, and Kit stepped out and looked around. In the grocery, someone called, “Stay right outside, woman.”

Staying out of sight of anyone inside, Frankie called softly, “Here.”

“Frankie, Oh, sweet Jesus, Frankie!” Kit started to rush over, then halted when Frankie held up her hand. Stop.

“Lean against the building by the door, so your asshole PZs can see your back but not your face.” Frankie remained close to the wall. The minute someone came out, she’d walk away and not appear as if she’d been talking to Kit.

As Kit turned and stood in sight of the window, Frankie frowned at the bruise. “Did Obadiah hit you?”

Kit nodded, her shoulders rounding as if the facial damage was the least of what she’d suffered.