Trail of Lightning (The Sixth World #1)(49)
“You really don’t have anything, do you? Doesn’t bounty hunting pay any better than this?”
I think of the rug I left on the floor of the Lukachukai Chapter House. “Like I said, situation’s unexpected.”
Sharp fingernails drum the bar. “The coffee’s just a start,” she says. “So don’t give me any lip about taking it. It’s payment, fair and square.”
“Okay.”
“And you’ll owe me a favor sometime. Not now. I can tell you’re ass-deep in something else I want no part of, but if you make it out in one piece, you swing back by and we’ll talk.”
“Okay.”
She sweeps her hand across the bar, taking in the rejected goods—a couple days’ worth of provisions, my shotgun shells, and Coyote’s bag. She doesn’t even ask about the bag. I have a feeling it doesn’t look the same to her as it does to me. “Get this crap out of here,” she tells her daughter, who rushes over to comply.
“Careful with my crap,” I tell her as she carries it out, presumably back to my truck.
I turn to find Grace watching me, eyes appraising. “What’s that in your pocket?”
I pull out the Glock and set in on the bar.
“Safety on?”
“Glocks don’t have a safety. Just don’t pull the trigger. Safe enough.”
She rolls her eyes. “Stupid. Never did like automatic handguns. Prefer a revolver any day.” She points with the hand that holds her towel. “That have something to do with why you’re here?”
“You could say that.”
“Then I definitely don’t want it.” Back in my pocket it goes.
“Now tell me about the man with you.”
“Law Dog got to him.”
“Same Law Dog that ended up on the business end of that gun?”
“It was Longarm.”
Grace stares at me. I stare back. The silence stretches until she gives a little shudder and turns away first.
“You want us to leave, Grace?” I ask, my voice quiet. If she does, I don’t know where we’ll go, but I don’t stay where I’m not wanted. Maybe she will take Kai at least. If he’s somewhere safe, I can handle whatever comes next.
Grace sighs. “No, I don’t want you to leave,” she says. “But next time don’t sit at my bar drinking a beer like your worst worry is a friend who lost a scuffle. Didn’t your mother teach you that you don’t wait to tell people bad news?” She barks a laugh. “It’s my own fault for forgetting who I’m talking to,” she admits. She mutters a curse word and my name and something else I can’t quite follow, but it’s pretty clear whatever she said is no compliment.
With a wry grin she reaches under the bar and produces a bottle of amber liquid. She pulls down two short glasses from the shelf behind her and pours us each a shot of whiskey. She slides mine over. Grateful, I push the beer to the side and take a sip of the whiskey, letting it burn down my throat. She downs her shot in one quick swallow.
She glares at me, finger pointing. “You got twenty-four hours, and then you’re gone. Not a minute more, no matter what kind of payment you come up with. Now go check on that fella of yours. You ain’t got a lick of sense when it comes to picking men, Maggie Hoskie. At least teach this one how to fight.”
I nod and quickly down the rest of my drink. I don’t bother to explain that Kai isn’t my fella. Clarissa is back, and I follow her out to the trailer. I look back to see Grace pouring herself another shot before the door swings shut in my face.
Chapter 21
Grace’s daughter leads me to that impeccable trailer out back. She points out a bathroom where I can wash Kai’s blood off, hovers until I’m done, and then escorts me to a tidy living room and commands me to wait. I look around at Grace’s private home, somewhere I’ve never been allowed before. Two oversize couches dominate the space, decorated with bold lavender floral patterns and small matching throw pillows, scattered tastefully between two white wicker sitting chairs. Another handful of pillows is piled in a heap at the foot of the sofa, as if groups of people often gather and the pillows serve as extra seating. The walls are painted a pale purple and clusters of white-framed photographs punctuate the empty spaces. The first photo that catches my eye is that of a woman, her deep brown skin freckled by the sun, her hair pulled back in a dreadlocked braid and a smile on her pretty, younger face. Grace is hugging a very pale man with a mess of red curly hair and friendly blue eyes.
I move closer, drawn to the picture. I’ve never seen a picture of Rick, Grace’s husband. She doesn’t talk about him, at least not to me. I know he died shortly after the Big Water. Rumor is that he was murdered outside his franchise sandwich shop in Tse Bonito for the change in his pocket. People say that there were a couple of Law Dogs there who saw it all and stood around and watched Rick bleed as the thief rummaged his pockets. That certainly would explain Grace’s hatred for Law Dogs.
I lean forward to look more closely. How happy they seem. Like a family. The rest of the pictures are similar. One of Grace with all her kids—the twins, an older boy I don’t know, and a big-eared baby who has to be Freckles from the gate. Another of Rick and the twins as toddlers, and then one each of the twins’ high school graduation pictures, back when there were real high schools and formal education. I only made it to freshman year before the Big Water hit, so that makes the twins at least a few years older than me.