Page 130 of The Widow and the Wanted

He takes the gun in his grip, not pointing it, but making his hand familiar with it. My knees nearly buckle.

“You’re quite lovely. And despite your mother’s dishonesty, I find it difficult to fault her. She’s been an excellent partner for many years. There’s no need for this ugly business to burn bridges. That is to say, Lula, that I am quite fond of you. And your mother. It’s why I’m presenting you a choice of prosperity instead of…” He trails off, waving the gun in his hand and letting it finish his point.

Well, how lucky for me. My life was spared for my charm. For my mother’s. A sound comes out of me that might be a laugh if laughter had its throat cut.

“You want me to accuse the men who saved my life?”

“They did not save your life. They only delayed the inevitable, and they certainly cannot offer you the life you deserve. These are not misunderstood farm boys, Lula. They are efficient killers. They were famous for it before Hollister ever hired them. Brutal soldiers in a brutal war,” he says, holstering his pistol.

I look at the file. My name. The dead. The life I wanted. The lie he offers as a doorway.

My own safety bought with two nooses.

No.

No.

No.

I smooth my glove, as if the offer tempts me.

Mother said do not show teeth unless I mean to bite. I am not sure yet where to put them.

“May I have some time to consider?”

Everett’s expression eases. Not triumph. He is too careful for that. But a little satisfaction slips through.

“Of course.” He watches me with a new expression. Amusement, perhaps, as he ambles to a door and knocks twice. “But I am sure you understand why I cannot allow you to return to the Gemini.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, we’ve established the Aces are there, hiding under a faro table or a mattress or wherever they have made themselves scarce. Sending you back to that place would be foolish.”

“Where will I go?”

He smiles. “I have arranged for transport to your temporary accommodations.”

“You’re kidnapping me?”

The door opens. Behind it is a man in a suit with a star pinned to his lapel.

“Good gracious, no,” he bellows out with a laugh, holding up his hands in defense. “I am seeing to your protective custody as the last surviving witness of a terrible crime. Lula Clay, this is Deputy Hepburn. He’ll be accompanying us there.”

Deputy Hepburn removes his hat.

He is younger than I expect. Thin as a rail, with a sharp Adam’s apple and pale hair plastered neatly to his skull. The star on his lapel looks too large for him, as if it has been pinned to a boy playing at law.

He does not meet my eyes. That tells me a great deal.

“Ma’am,” he says.

“Deputy.” My voice comes out calm. Distant. As though the matter concerns some other woman entirely.

Chapter 34

Lula

The carriage rocks over rutted ground, every jolt knocking my shoulder against the padded wall.