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Gideon hadn’t wanted my money.
I had fifty grand stashed away that I could use to pay off Will’s debt. It would rid me of almost all of my savings, but I’d hand it over to see my uncle safe. Then I would have spent the next few years kicking his butt until he’d paid me back every damn cent. But no. Gideon Fletcher, with his bulging belly, white suit, and matching Stetson, had disregarded my money with a laugh and a flick of his hand after he’d had his goons snatch me off the street. “This is about honor, little lady,” he’d told me, his gold tooth shining when he smiled. “This is about justice. And if you hunt down the son of a bitch who killed my daughter, then I will have my justice.”
He hadn’t looked like a grieving father, pressing his gun harder against Will’s temple while throwing his threats. Will had quivered on his knees, looking at me to solve everything. I’d forgotten my magic wand that day, so instead, I’d bargained to have him released while I went on the hunt, and they’d keep a watchful eye on him to make sure he didn’t do a runner.
Gideon had given me two weeks to find his bounty. But with shaking hands, I’d negotiated a month considering he’d slipped out that he’d been searching for this man for a long time. Four more weeks wouldn’t kill him.
But it might kill Will if I don’t succeed.
And there went the flicker of hope flying out the window.
Shaking it off, I entered the restroom of the diner I’d found on the long stretch of road, and reassured myself that if Gideon wanted Warren Donovan so much then he wouldn’t throw his only chance away to do so until my deadline was up. For now, at least, Will would live to see another day.
Checking my appearance in the bathroom mirror, a weariness in my hazel eyes stared back at me. I rummaged for my concealer to perform some make-up magic. Make-up was a tool for me. Just like the different styles of clothes I owned.
Today, I needed to change and transform into someone perky, sweet, but naïve, rather than my usual awkward, grumpy-ass self. I’d learned the hard way that people reacted to what they saw; the stereotype, and a surly bounty hunter with a foul mouth and a liking for kicking butt wouldn’t win me any brownie points.
I removed the plaid flannel shirt I preferred and freshened up before rummaging through my bag for the more feminine jersey shirt of soft blue. I changed, then combed my long brown hair into a swinging ponytail, and added some blush, gloss, and my least favorite: mascara. Everything was about perception, all to create smoke and mirrors so I could sneak past the paranoid and weaken their defenses to take down my mark. Only this time, I didn’t have a clue who my mark was, so best to cover all bases.
Allowing myself one last inspection in the mirror, I grabbed my worn jacket, one that suited almost every outfit, and got ready to play the part.
Hopefully, the cards would fall in my favor, and I’d be able to dig me and my uncle out of the shit stream he’d thrown us into before one of us, or both of us, ended up with a bullet in our brain.
