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Rumors of the “red light stalker” were scaring away business on the seedier side of town, seriously affecting the bottom line of the S&M parlors, as well as the more straight-laced bordellos.
While Frank never frequented the places, these citizens deserved protection from creeps threatening their livelihood—not to mention their lives—as much as any other person in the kingdom. The new king and queen might be on a mission to close down the sex trade, but until they succeeded in making it illegal to traffic in human flesh, it was Frank’s job to provide the workers of the red light district with equal protection under the law.
“You will refer to me as Mistress, you will not look me in the eye, and you will be punished if you speak before spoken to again. Is that clear?” Eleanor asked the man in front of her, still sounding strong and confident.
But then again, why shouldn’t she? The guy was even shorter in real life than he looked in photographs, well under five and a half feet, even with the strange little fedora he had left on his head.
Once he had taken off his bulky overcoat, he was downright scrawny, so scrawny that he seemed reluctant to remove his oversized gray t-shirt. It trailed down over the loincloth that hung limply around his thin, hairless, almost feminine-looking legs.
Scratch that, very feminine-looking legs.
“Shit,” Frank cursed, beginning to smell a rat. His gut was screaming that something was wrong, a feeling that was confirmed when Nate came scurrying into his hiding place.
“Captain, there’s another one!” Nate’s face was pale and sweat beaded on his mostly hairless upper lip. “There’s another stalker in a hat down in the lobby right now. We managed to stall him—had a janitor say the elevator was broken—but he’ll be here soon. It’s only ten flights up the stairs.”
“All right, cover me.” Frank darted a quick look at the surveillance monitor to see that stalker number one was still a safe distance from Eleanor before he armed his weapon and made for the door.
“Should we stop the second one, sir?” Nate asked.
“Not unless we have to,” Frank returned. “Use your judgment, Officer. If I don’t have the situation under control in time, take him into custody.”
“Will do, sir,” Nate said.
“I knew it!” Eleanor suddenly shouted.
“Freeze, Queen’s Guard,” Frank bellowed as he burst into the room, nearly dropping his gun when he found his mark.
It was Queen Cynthia, live and in the flesh.
CHAPTER TEN
Frank
What the holy hell was going on?
“Captain Frank?” Cindy squeaked. Her blonde hair spilled out in a mad tangle from the cap she had whipped off her head and her big blue eyes began to tear. Her bottom lip quivered and her hand trembled, a fact that wouldn’t have worried him if that hand hadn’t been holding a silver revolver trained on Eleanor’s chest.
“Put the gun down, Cynthia,” Frank said, dropping the “Queen” before her name. The less power she thought she had, the better. He had no idea why she would try to murder her stepmother on the same night she sent him on a mission to save her, but he wouldn’t be an accessory to whatever she had planned.
He would take her down like he would take down any other criminal, especially one foolish enough to threaten someone he considered under his protection. Whether it made sense or not, Eleanor was now on his short list of people that were under his wing— no matter what the law or the queen had to say about it.
“I thought you were going to be here tomorrow,” Cynthia sobbed, tears flowing down her face.
“Put the gun down. Now,” Frank ordered as he positioned himself between the two women.
“You still haven’t learned to use a day planner?” Eleanor clucked her tongue. “You really should get organized if you plan to start killing people. Time management makes murder so much more manageable.”
“Shut up!” Cindy shouted at Eleanor, her face twisting with rage. “Just shut up. You aren’t always right.”
“Cynthia, if you don’t put that gun down right now, I will shoot,” Frank said, hoping his tone would convince her that he was serious.
“But you’re supposed to be on my side.” Cindy sniffed, her eyes filling again.
“Yeah, Frank, can’t you just help your queen kill me like you’re supposed to?” Eleanor mocked, not showing nearly as much concern for her own welfare as he would like. Badgering an unstable teen who was holding a gun aimed at her heart wasn’t the wisest course of action.
“Eleanor, be quiet,” he ordered.
“I wasn’t going to kill her, Frank. I could never kill anyone. You have to believe me.” Cynthia dropped the gun as she dissolved into another fit of tortured sobs. Covering her face with her hands, she sank to the floor where she proceeded to curl into a ball on her side, looking pathetic in her oversized t-shirt and man-sized diaper.
