Hawk’s eyes narrowed a little when I described Sarah’s death and explained that I didn’t know who pulled me to safety. He would just nod and sip his beer, not saying anything, until I finished.
Hawk looked thoughtful for a moment. “Bad way, kid,” he said simply. “So you haven’t heard from Tailor?”
“No. He has no way to contact me.”
“He hasn’t called here,” Hawk said. “Eh. No worries. Tailor can take care of himself.”
“Did you get the package I sent?”
“I got it,” Hawk said. Ling had helped me ship my revolver and my knife to Hawk. They were both disassembled and placed in a box full of random machine parts I found. They apparently made it through customs. “Your .44 is all cleaned up and put back together. They’re up in the room I made up for you. I put your other guns up there, too. Figured you’d wanna go shooting while you were here.”
“Thank you,” I said, looking down at the table. I didn’t know what else to say.
“No sweat, kid,” Hawk said after a moment. “You know you always got a place here. Now listen. I need to go water the horses. You can come help if you want, but you’re probably tired.”
“If it’s okay, I’d like to go upstairs and lie down. It’s been a long day.”
“No problem,” Hawk said, standing up. “Your room is first one on the right upstairs.” I thanked Hawk again and made my way up to the room he’d prepared for me. I opened my duffel bag, found some comfortable clothes to sleep in, and crawled into bed. I was asleep in minutes.
It was dark when I awoke. I sat up in bed, sweat beading on my face. My heart was racing. I fumbled with the lamp next to the bed until I got it turned on. My eyes darted around the room. I was breathing hard. There was nothing there. I was safe in bed. Exhaling slowly, I rubbed my face with my hands. The clock said it was just after midnight. My mouth was so dry it felt like my tongue had swollen up. I climbed out of bed and headed down to the kitchen.
It was cool in Hawk’s house as I padded down the stairs. I was only wearing a pair of shorts. It was quiet. Hawk was undoubtedly in bed already. I made my way into the kitchen but didn’t turn on the light. I grabbed a cup and opened the fridge, pouring myself some water from the filtration pitcher.
I stood upright as a key hit the lock on the front door. I could hear the door swing open, then close again. It was then locked. I relaxed a bit. Hawk must’ve gone out late or something. No one breaking in for nefarious purposes would have a key and not even try to be quiet. I stepped away from the refrigerator, cup of water in hand, and stepped toward the door to the front room.
“Hawk?” I asked, squinting into the darkness. A moment later, someone appeared in the kitchen doorway and switched on the light. A woman stood not five feet from me with a blank look on her pretty face. She wore a short pink jumper, like a waitress uniform, and tennis shoes. She carried a purse under her arm.
Her eyes went wide when she saw me standing there in my shorts. It hit me then. I recognized her. It was Jillian Del Toro. Jesus Christ. It can’t be.
I think she recognized me, too. Dropping her purse, her hand flew behind her back. Before I could say anything, she’d produced a Smith & Wesson M&P compact pistol and leveled it at my face. Her nametag said Peaches.
She sure as hell didn’t look like a Peaches. She had an intense gaze; it was a mix of obvious fear and anger. I looked back down at the pistol in her hands. It was shaking slightly, but it was close enough that I could see the rifling in the barrel. It was a 9mm.
I dropped my water cup on the floor and slowly raised my hands. “Please,” I said. I was very calm. “Put the gun down. I’m just as confused as you are. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You shut up!” she said fiercely. “I know why you’re here!” Her grip on the pistol tightened.
“I’m getting a cup of water,” I said, nodding to the puddle on the floor. “I’m standing here in my shorts for Christ sakes.” The Calm was wavering as I became agitated.
“Shut up!” Jill shouted. “You’re Dead Six! You’re here to kill me!” I visibly halted when she said the words “Dead Six.”
“Dead Six is done now. I barely got out alive.”
“I know that! But what are you doing here?”
“I was getting a God damned cup of water!” I said, almost shouting now. “What do you think, I came to Nevada and infiltrated Hawk’s house in my fucking underwear so I could kill you?”
“Just shut up!” Jill snarled. She shifted her weight forward slightly. Her pistol was in arm’s reach. Close enough.
Moving quickly and following through, just like I’d been trained, my hand shot up and grabbed the pistol. I forced it upward, yanking both of her arms up with it. I was taller than Jill, and stronger. I twisted the pistol in her hands and slammed my other arm into her sternum. There was a chance she’d pull the trigger, but it wouldn’t hit anything but the ceiling. The blow knocked her off balance. She stumbled backward and lost her grip on her gun.
I have to give her credit. She didn’t stay down. She immediately got back up and came at me. In one smooth motion I shifted the pistol to my right hand, grasped the slide with my left, and racked it as I extended my arm. An unfired cartridge ejected and bounced off the floor. Jill froze as I pointed the S&W at the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were wide with terror, but she didn’t blink and didn’t cringe. Ballsy.
“Now that’s enough,” I said firmly but calmly. I sidestepped to the left, shifting the pistol to my left hand then gripping it with both hands. “Just calm down, okay?”
“What the hell are you doing, boy?” Hawk’s gravelly voice boomed. I froze, and my head snapped around. Hawk was standing in the other doorway to the kitchen with a Remington 870 shotgun in his hands.
“Hawk!” Jill cried. “He’s from Dead Six! They found me!”
“Hawk,” I said. “This is the girl I told you about! She was over in the Zoob! She shot me in the back!”
“You pointed a gun at my face and took me hostage!” Jill snapped back.
I was pissed off now. “Well, what the hell—”
“Both of you shut up!” Hawk said, lowering the shotgun. “Damn it, Val, you give that girl her gun back. Jill, you holster that gun and calm down.” Giving Jill a dirty look, I dropped the magazine out of her gun, locked the slide back, and handed it to her. She snatched it out of my hand. I gave her the magazine a second later. She didn’t reload it.
Hawk sighed. “Both of you relax. This is my fault. I guess I should’ve told you about each other. Val, I was gonna say something to you when you got up. You’re both guests in my house, though. I expect you to behave yourselves. Now you damn kids go to bed. We’ll straighten this all out in the morning.” Hawk turned and left the kitchen, leaving Jill Del Toro and me alone. She folded her arms across her chest and looked at the floor. I shuffled my feet. Neither of us spoke until we heard the door to Hawkroom close.
Jill glared at me. “It’s your fault.”
Hawk roused me out of bed at six in the morning and told me to go feed the horses, reminding me that he wasn’t running a bed-and-breakfast. Half an hour later I was in the barn, carrying big bales of hay from the loft out into the field. The horses were already happily munching on their grain in their stalls. I was going to spread the hay around outside to keep them busy while I got to cleaning. See, I had to shovel the horse shit after I fed the horses. Living on a ranch is a lot of fun, let me tell you.