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The woman held up her finger then picked up the phone, speaking into it in a slow, dramatic
drawl.
“He’ll be right… oh, there he is,” she said, pointing.
I allowed my eyes to flick to the man that’d just opened the door that led to the bullpen, and he
smiled.
“Come in.” He gestured to the woman.
I allowed the door to close on the two before heading in myself.
When I arrived in the bullpen, it was to find Detective Yao standing next to the coffee—or what
they passed off as coffee—asking her if she’d like some.
“Would you care for some coffee?” Yao asked her.
No. She didn’t like coffee.
“No, thank you.” She smiled. “I don’t like coffee.”
How did I know that?
“Understandable,” he said. “At least when it comes to this particular type of coffee.”
I watched her from the shadows.
I couldn’t help myself.
“Francesca…” Yao began.
“Frankie.” She smiled. “You can call me Frankie.”
Francesca Solomon.
Why did that name sound so familiar?
Then it hit me.
Something Gabe had said a few days ago.
Frankie was my best friend’s fiancée.
Though, I guessed with him on the verge of being declared dead thanks in part to me being found
with no other survivors, that didn’t make her a fiancée of anybody any longer.
“All right, Frankie,” Yao said. “Do you want to go ahead and tell me what happened today?”
Frankie blew out a disgusted breath, then scrunched her face up into the cutest of expressions
before starting her story.
“So it all started with a staff member’s brother coming into the hospital today,” she began, her
face turning sad. “Well, I’ve just started into my second year of residency at Kilgore Memorial.” She added in that tidbit. “So I’m still looked upon like a peon.”
