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  Finn stared after him until he heard Cora’s shoes on the gravel.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” Finn turned and looked at the inn. His hackles kept wanting to stand up. What were the chances a dump like this had an inn? And the one person who drove past them was just a friendly local? “Everything’s fine.”

  But he wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure himself or Cora.

  20

  Danger, Intrigue, Conspiracies

  The pickup driver dropped them off a few yards away from the sign declaring ‘Open’ and ‘Bottomless.’ As soon as Cora climbed out of the truck, Finn began moving toward the parking lot. If he was looking for another car to steal, then she doubted this was the right place to look; there were four cars outside, and they were all parked close to the diner. Not only was the parking area well lit, but a casual glance through any of the windows would allow the patrons to see any comings and goings in the lot.

  “Shit,” Finn murmured as if he’d come to the same conclusion.

  “Should we call a cab?”

  “Too risky.” Finn gave her a sideways glance. “Maybe someone inside’s headed for Luna. We can catch a lift.” He scanned her and then held out his hand.

  She stared at it. Looked up at him. Cocked an eyebrow.

  He flicked his fingers as the pickup driver pulled away. “Small town. People talk.”

  Finn’s hand engulfed hers. It was warm and rough against her skin. He held her tight as if concerned she’d pull away and ruin everything. The noise hit them seconds before the warmth as they stepped inside the diner. The smell of fried onions made Cora’s stomach rumble loudly as Finn led them to a booth in the back. The head of every person inside the diner turned to follow them. Conversation lulled for a moment before rising again.

  When she tried to sit in the seat facing away from the wall, Finn dragged her to the side instead. Indignation flared inside her until she saw the way he scanned the diner as he sat. So she sat opposite him, staring at a set of faded photographs nailed to the wall above his head.

  Lulu, their twenty-something waitress, couldn’t stop perving over Finn as she took their order.

  “What’s good?” Cora asked, overwhelmed by the list of choices.

  “The double-stack burger kicks ass,” Lulu said, leaning over the table to point it out on Cora’s single-page menu. She wore a too-tight uniform with the top button open and her collars spread to reveal a generous V of cleavage. “But you’ve gotta try our pancakes. They’re the best.”

  Finn glanced at Lulu, her breasts, and then his menu. Not once did his expression change. “Caesar salad,” he said.

  Lulu’s eyebrows perked up at this. “Sure thing, hun. And to drink?”

  “Coffee. Black.” His eyes dashed up, startling Cora when they touched her.

  “Soda,” she said, studiously ignoring the way Finn’s eyes narrowed. So what if it was bad for her? “And I’ll have the pancakes.”

  “Sure thing.” Lulu collected the menus, taking longer than she needed to jostle Finn’s from his hands, ensuring maximum skin contact.

  Cora sat forward with her elbows on the table and scanned the diner over her shoulder.

  No one looked at them anymore. Animated chatter filled the air; people laughing, the busboys in the back yelling at each other, the waitresses repeating back orders. Most of the people sat in pairs, but there were a few loners at the bar spanning the length of the room.

  One of those men glanced away when her eyes touched him.

  Her gaze flew back to him a second later.

  Red cap. Cracked leather jacket. Face in shadow. Why did he look so familiar?

  Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest.

  Bailey? But no, he was too narrow-shouldered.

  Finn frowned at her. “Relax, would you? And take your hand off your fucking gun.”

  She snapped her hand out from behind her jacket, laying her palms flat on the table. Finn put his hands over hers, pressing down lightly. To anyone glancing over, they probably looked like boyfriend and girlfriend. Cora’s eyes flickered, trying to move away from Finn’s. Not that it was entirely unpleasant looking at Finn’s eyes. They were the color of a winter sky, encircled by a dark blue ring.

  “On the news…” Finn began, still holding onto her wrist. “They said something about a kidnapping, years ago. Was it a riv—”

  “I was too young,” she cut in, and added a hurried, “I don’t remember anything,” as she looked down.

  His fingers flinched against her hands, and then he slowly drew away.

  Lulu arrived with their drinks a minute later.

  “Know anyone who’s headed for Luna?” Finn asked.

  Lulu shrugged. “Not tonight.” She waved at the diners. “These are all regulars. But we do get some folks passing through in the morning headed that way. You headed for Luna?”

  As if it wasn’t obvious. Cora rolled her eyes as Lulu leaned over their table again. “‘Cos if you need a place to stay…”

  “Thanks, but we’ll stay at the motel.”

  Lulu’s face twisted. “You don’t wanna stay there,” she murmured, straightening hurriedly. “They got bed bugs. Have for years.”

  Cora grimaced across the table at Finn, who looked about ready to strangle someone.

  “There someplace else?” he asked through his teeth.

  “Sure, hon.” Lulu pursed her lips at him as if Cora had suddenly turned invisible. “I got a couch.”

  Cora started when Finn slid his hands over the table and grabbed her wrists. “We need a bed. My girl’s got a bad back.”

  Lulu glanced across at Cora and then lifted her lip. Cora blushed, ducking her head so the brim of her cap hid her puffy nose and bruised face. “There’s the inn up on Second,” Lulu said. “Head out the diner, take the first left. You can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks,” Finn said, but Lulu had already walked away. He called out, “Can you make our order take away, please?”

  Because he didn’t want them out here in the open, of course. Cora glanced to the side; anyone driving through Alpine’s main road could just turn and look straight into the diner.

  “Sure thing,” Lulu said without pausing.

  The waitress came back a few minutes later with their food and the bill, while Cora was still avoiding Finn’s eyes and trying to get rid of the feel of his fingers on her. Finn paid for their order, surreptitiously scanning the diner as Lulu walked away with the bill folder. Grabbing their food, Finn got out of his seat and started down the aisle. Outside, he stared down both sides of the street for a few seconds before heading up the road with a murmured, “Stay close.”

  The inn was one of the neatest houses on Second. It had an immaculately trimmed front lawn and whitewashed porch that gleamed even at night. Warm, yellow light leaked from the windows where thin gaps in the floral curtains allowed them. Finn opened the screen door, and then the house’s front door.

  “Evening,” a voice called.

  Cora instinctively slipped behind Finn, turning her face away from the old man who was making his way around the reception counter. The foyer was cozy — overstuffed armchairs, a low coffee table scattered with well-thumbed magazines, a bookshelf, and a crackling fireplace that gave the place its woodsmoke scent. A white long-haired cat glanced up at them, stretched, and then curled up in a tight ball on the armchair closest to the glowing fire.

  “Need a room,” Finn said.

  “Of course. Cash only though — that gonna be a problem?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I got three available, two en-suite.” The old man tottered behind the counter again and flipped open a massive register bound in red leather. “Would you like something across from each other?”

  “Just one room.”

  Cora gave Finn a surprised look before she could control her neck muscles.

  “Uh—” the old man adjusted a pair of round spectacles on his nose and tried to look past Finn at Cora. S
he feigned a sudden, deep interest in the bookshelf. “We only got doubles left. All the singles—”

  “That’s fine.”

  Cora risked a peek from under her lashes. The old man gave Finn a shrug and began hunting around his desk until he found a card. He took a bronze pen from his pocket and began scratching on the registration card.

  “How many nights will you be staying?” He spoke with the care and precision of someone who’d been doing this for a very long time.

  “Just tonight.”

  Scritch-scritch-scritch.

  “Give you room three. Got a balcony and a flat screen. There’s cable. None of that Internet stuff.” The old man cleared his throat. “You need anything, just holler for me or Fanny. Check out’s ‘fore three. Breakfast’s at eight—”

  “No breakfast.”

  “It’s included.” The old man glanced up with a puzzled frown.

  Finn shifted his weight. “Eight?”

  “Eight.” The man carried on writing in his ledger. “Name?”

  “Harry King. You need ID?”

  “Driver’s license will do it.”

  Finn dug in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “How much?”

  “Ninety-five per night. An extra one-hundred for the deposit.”

  Finn handed over some bills, giving Cora an unreadable look over his shoulder as he did. The old man took the note and made it disappear into a dented petty cash box. Finn lifted his fingers when the old man wanted to hand him his change. “Keep it.”

  The old man ducked his head and handed Finn a key with a block of wood and the number ‘3’ branded onto it.

  “Up the stairs, second door on your right.”

  Finn nodded and took the stairs two at a time. Cora followed, her eyes landing on the old man when the stairs took a turn. He gave her a toothy smile, a nod, and then carried on writing in the register. Their footsteps echoed hollowly as they trudged down the short landing. The number three, bronze and slightly askew, was the last door on the left. Finn shook his head and unlocked the door. He went in first, holding it open and letting her walk under his arm as he scanned the interior.

  The door shut behind them.

  Finn locked it and went to the balcony, stuck his head out, and then closed it too. Next, the windows. He latched them too and then drew the curtains closed.

  Cora watched, her hand slowly tightening around the strap of her duffel bag. “Why do I get the feeling we’re not safe?”

  “Because your father is El Araña. Someone tried to kidnap you. And your former bodyguard likened you to fucking plutonium.” Finn spun to her, eyes blazing. “Get it?”

  “Danger, intrigue, conspiracies,” she said slowly, flicking her hands. “Got it.”

  “You going to shower first?”

  Cora lifted her shirt away from her and sniffed herself. “Do I smell that bad?”

  “Just go.”

  She shrugged, took out her Taurus and left it on the dresser as she went inside the bathroom. She stared at herself in the small vanity mirror. Her nose was still puffy, but at least some of the purple bruises around it were fading. She straightened her shoulders and stared harder. Her nose was off center. Not much — less than a quarter of an inch — but enough that she could notice it. Hopefully, it was just the swelling.

  When she came out of the bathroom, Finn was perched on the edge of the bed as if he’d been staring at the door.

  Which should have creeped her out, right? Instead, it made her feel kind of safe.

  “Where’s your gun?” he rumbled.

  She pointed to the dresser.

  He shook his head, standing. “You keep it on you at all times.” With that, he went into the bathroom.

  “Whatever,” she muttered. She took the towel off her head and patted her hair, staring through a crack in the flowery curtain to the darkness outside.

  She unlocked the balcony and stepped out into the cool night air. There wasn’t much to see from the small ledge, but when she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was standing on the balcony of an apartment in Paris or New York. Ornamental banisters, or a stream of traffic below her. People milling about below. Pigeons and scooters and the organic hum of a city where anything was possible.

  Cora opened her eyes. Almost at the end of the street, a man wearing a red baseball cap trotted across the road to his car. The darkly colored sedan made a U-turn and pulled away. She watched it drive off.

  A hand landed on her shoulder. She jerked and frowned at him.

  “Inside.”

  She licked her lips, wriggling past him as he pulled the door closed and locked it again.

  He smelled like soap, the same kind she’d used, but different. On him, the scent was earthy — like pine needles and fresh soil. On her, it just smelled like soap.

  He went over to the bed and began unpacking the food from the diner. She grabbed a piece of pancake and nibbled it. Finn consumed his salad in small, efficient bites, staring at the wall opposite them as he chewed, swallowed, chewed. Perhaps aware of her eyes on him, he paused with a strip of chicken at his lips and looked at her.

  “How long till we get to Silver City?” she asked quietly.

  He shrugged. “A few hours.” Then he swallowed and looked across at her. “Why did your father really go to Mexico?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Finn ate the piece of chicken, not meeting her eyes. Her stomach grew tight the longer he stayed quiet. Then goosebumps broke out over her skin. She got to her feet, wrapping her arms around her chest. “He told me he was getting out of the cartel. More than that, I don’t know. He doesn’t speak to me about it.”

  He dusted his hands and shoved his empty container back in the brown bag before looking up at her. He stood, taking off his shirt and slinging it over the dressing table’s chair. “Sleep.”

  Cora ate another piece of pancake. It really was good, but her mouth felt too dry to process it properly. She put it back in the polystyrene container and set it on the nightstand.

  She slowly undid her boots.

  Finn unbuckled his belt, hesitated, and then took it off, but left on his jeans. She did as well, as much as she hated wearing anything more than a pair of underwear and a long shirt when she slept. Slipping under the covers, she lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling. A tiny crack ran from the wall all the way to the light fixture. She rolled onto her side, cupped her hands under the pillow, and tried to fall asleep. Which, of course, never worked.

  She lay there, eyes flickering between open and closed until she heard Finn’s breath even out. When she peeked at him over her shoulder and slowly sat up, he didn’t stir. She rose and headed over to the dressing table.

  Taking the Santa Muerte pendant off her neck, she set it standing up on the walnut table. She got a piece of pancake from her take-out box and set it down in front of the pendant.

  “I know you’d like some candy,” she whispered, “but I’m all out.” She stabbed her thumb over her shoulder. “That big guy over there? He’s like a health nut or something. Doesn’t like me eating junk food.”

  Then she crossed herself and bowed her head. “I know I’ve been asking a lot lately but please, La Flaca, keep us safe.” She brought the pendant to her lips and kissed that cold, skeletal face before setting it back again. “Gracias.”

  She was dying to know what was on the necklace, but she’d need a computer and someone who knew how to work one to figure it out. She’d never been allowed access to computers or cell phones. Her father considered them a security risk.

  She paused in the act of sliding back into bed, stared at Finn’s unmoving back, and quickly wriggled out of her jeans. She’d be under the covers — what was the harm? He’d said they were safe, hadn’t he? Then she turned off the night lamp too; he’d left it on, but they’d both sleep better in the dark.

  Cool, smooth sheets greeted her as she slid into the bed. She sighed and closed her eyes, exhaustion tugging at her.

  Finn
shifted behind her, and let out a long sigh. She smiled in the dark. He wasn’t exactly who she’d pictured in her bed. She’d imagined Bailey in her bed.

  Where was he? Was he recovering in a hospital bed somewhere? Unconscious and alone; the only sound the steady bleep-bleep of a heart rate monitor?

  She hoped she could see him again. If only once, to make sure he was okay. Cora twisted, settled into the perfect sleeping position, and let out a sigh almost as heavy as Finn’s had been.

  God, she was tired. Tired of running, tired of being scared. She was out in the world, and all she could think about was how soon she could be someplace safe again.

  But she was safe, wasn’t she? He’d said so.

  He had blue eyes, not gray like Bailey’s. Did it matter? He seemed caring enough, in a distant way.

  First man in her bed. The first man to defend her honor.

  Her thoughts tangled into an incomprehensible mess.

  21

  The Salt of her Tears

  Finn woke to the sound of Cora mewling in fright. He sat up, his pistol already drawn and cocked. But there was no one else in the room with them. No one standing over the bed, ready to drag her out of the door. Out of his life.

  He shook away the tail end of the strange thought, trying to focus a mind still scrambled from sleep and an abrupt waking. It was early morning; the room was gloomy, but he could make out the shape of Cora beside him on the bed. She had an arm draped over her face. Curled in a fetal position under the sheet, she looked smaller than he remembered. Frailer.

  “Wake up,” he said. “Cora.”

  Her name felt too intimate on his tongue. She lurched forward and mewled again, her closed eyes flickering.

  Whatever nightmare had her in its dark claws refused to release her. Finn leaned closer, fully intending to shake her awake. Instead, his fingers brushed a section of dark hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

  Jesus, she confused him. Every time he got it in his head that she was just a child, not even old enough to drink, she would prove otherwise. He’d met worldly people before. Too mature. Wise beyond their years.