The Worst Best Man(36)

“Can you lock that door?” Frankie asked, as she worked her zipper down her back.

Bianca raced to the stairwell door and locked it. “Someone’s running,” she reported, stepping away from the window.

“Thank you so much for everything,” Frankie said, shoving her way out of the dress. “Sorry about the blood. Those closet safes are sharp.”

Something, a good-sized body from the sounds of it, hit the doors at a run.

Frankie winced. She’d have nightmares forever of being chased down the stairs.

Flor stripped down quickly and handed the dress back to Frankie. “I hope you showed that asshole in 314 who’s boss.”

“I’ll apologize for the blood up there too,” Frankie said grimly.

Flor gave her a curt nod and clapped her on the shoulder. “Good luck, my friend.”

“May the force be with you,” Frankie offered. She was no good at pep talks or thank yous. “Let’s go Chip.”

They tiptoed out a side door and then half ran, half crawled, into the vegetation. The open scratches on her shins sang as she packed more dirt into the wounds. Her head throbbed and her hair was being picked apart by branches. But she had the groom.

“Ouch!”

Frankie looked back. Chip was holding a hand over his eye. “Are you okay?” she hissed.

“I got a branch in my eye.”

“Just look with your good eye. We’re almost to the wall.”

Finally, the great stucco monument rose before them. “Okay, we’re going to climb over, get in the car, and go get you married, right?”

“Right,” Chip said, still clutching his eye.

“Let me see your eye.”

He dropped his hand. There was a red welt that continued on either side of his eye. The eye itself was as red as a bloodhound’s.

“Oh, God.” She clutched a hand to her mouth. Frankie’s stomach could handle a lot of things. Wounded eyes were not one of those things.

“Why are you still bleeding?” Chip gagged. “It’s smeared all over your face.” He bent at the waist and dry-heaved.

“Let’s just stop looking at each other and climb the wall.”

Frankie shoved Chip up and over, and when he leaned down to offer her a hand, he wisely squeezed his eyes shut tight.

They landed unceremoniously alongside the highway two hundred feet from Antonio and his stupid little car. The engine roared to life as they approached. Frankie stuffed Chip in the backseat.

“Buckle up,” she warned, before jumping in next to Antonio.

The kid sped away from the resort with the vigor of a NASCAR driver in a brand-new sports car. Frankie pulled out her phone.

“Oh, my god.” She had nineteen missed calls. All but two from Pru. The others were from Aiden. She played her friend’s most recent voicemail and winced. Pruitt was sobbing uncontrollably.

Frankie hit redial with one hand and clung to the dash with the other. “Pru? Can you hear me?”

“Where are you?” Pru wailed. “Chip is gone. Aiden’s missing. And you abandoned me! My dad is looking for a weapon, and Chip’s mom already broke into the cocktail hour appetizers. I’m supposed to be getting married in twenty minutes, and I don’t have a groom or a best friend.”

“You have both, Pru. I have Chip with me, and we are on our way back.”

“You have Chip?” At least, that’s what Frankie thought she said. It was too high-pitched and blubbery to be sure.

“He’s right here. And there’s no rules about talking before the ceremony, right?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Pru sobbed.

“Here,” Frankie said, shoving her phone into Chip’s hand. “Talk to your bride?”

“Pru, baby?” Chip crooned into the phone.

“Is there always this much drama at weddings?” Antonio asked, veering around a pothole big enough to swallow their buggy.

“Really this is par for the course for most American weddings,” Frankie said.

“Really?”

“No! Jesus, Antonio. This is a complete shit show. Kidnappings and rescues—”

“And car chases,” Antonio added looking in the rearview mirror.

Frankie twisted in her seat to look. A big, black SUV was glued to their tail. She didn’t recognize the driver, but she sure as hell knew the passenger.





Chapter Twenty


Frankie released her safety harness and leaned out her open doorway to give Aiden a better view of her middle finger.

“It’s just Aiden,” Chip said, trying to juggle the phone and eye injury while shooing her back into the vehicle.

“Just Aiden? His brother kidnapped you!”

“That’s kinda the way they do things.”

“Your friends are horrible people,” Frankie yelled.

“Pru, baby?” Chip said into the phone. “Yeah, kidnapped. I know, right? Look, I gotta go. Aiden’s calling, and Frankie’s hanging out of the car, and we’ll be there so soon. I’ll explain everything after you’re my wife. I can’t wait to see you in your dress. I love you,” Chip shouted over the wind.

“Don’t you dare answer that call—” Frankie’s warning did no good.