“True. He’ll probably kill you, not me. He likes me.” Sniffing, her grim mouth turns up at the corners. “Fine. Go ahead. Before I change my mind.”
She grabs a couple waters from the fridge and tosses one to me. Midair, gravel crunches right outside our door.
“Shit.” As the plastic bottle falls to the floor, I grab my weapon and tackle Sam on top of it.
A car door slams, the porch creaks, and a female shadow appears behind the screen. She knocks lightly on the door.
“Sebastian? You in there? It’s me. Your mom.”
“It could be a trick,” My wife hisses from under me.
“It’s her.” In the deep recesses of my mind, I recall a low, distinctive, voice with a hint of Native American accent.
Rolling off Sam, I rise, and study her form from the window over the couch. She’s still pretty but her long hair is streaked with gray and her face lined with wrinkles. She shuffles, biting her lower lip. Every so often, she glances back at her vehicle, as if she might bolt.
“You got anyone else in that truck with you?” Finger close to the trigger, I step in front of the screen, and keep my voice low.
“No. It’s just me.” Her smile falters but I need to make sure someone didn’t pay her to point us out.
“How’d you find out I was here?” I owe her nothing but contempt.
“Little Crow saw you at the store. Listen, maybe this was a bad idea.” She swivels on her heel but I catch her arm and pull her inside.
