I lifted my eyebrows. "Have I been particularly cow-ardly so far?"
"Listen," she snapped, and her grip tightened. "You'll have to do things you don't wanna do; you'll have to hurt people you don't wanna hurt."
She turned away as quickly as she'd turned to me, dropping her hands to her sides and clenching them tightly.
The house, the kids, Ruthie began to fade. Before it disappeared completely, I could have sworn I heard her whisper, "I did."
I awoke in the hotel room. The sun spilled around the edges of the closed curtains and traced patterns across the floor. Sawyer was gone.
That got me out of bed in a hurry. I pulled back the shades. The Impala sat exactly where I'd left it; there wasn't a sign of Sawyer anywhere.
Cursing, I hopped around trying to shove my legs into my jeans, catching one foot in the trailing material and nearly falling on my face. I'd just zipped them when the doorknob rattled. I had my gun in my hand before Sawyer came inside. His calm gray gaze lifted from the barrel, pointed at his chest, to my face.
"What did you expect?" I muttered.
He wore one of my dirty T-shirts, a pastel purple I'd never been wild about. The material strained around his pecs and biceps. I was surprised he hadn't burst through it like the Incredible Hulk.
Combined with the red shorts and my tennis shoes— which seemed too big—he looked like a street person. The bags he juggled only added to the ensemble.
"You went shopping?" I was incredulous.
"I have been known to."
I'd figured he lived on his land near the mountains and rarely, if ever, ventured into a nearby town. Though he had to sometimes if only to buy coffee and eggs.
Sure, Sawyer had been confined to the Dinetah for who knows how long, but Navajo land was the size of West Virginia, so they probably had plenty of malls— definitely a Wal-Mart or ten, which, according to the emblem on the bags, was where he'd been.
I upended several. Clothes poured out. Underwear, shoes, socks, also toiletries. His bags held food. Tiny chocolate doughnuts and bananas, granola—I don't think so—juice and a pack of cigarettes.
I picked them up. "Seriously?"
He lifted a brow. Stupid question. He was probably half mad for a cigarette after loping about without any for however long he'd been loping.
I didn't bother to preach about the dangers. I was a bartender, after all. Those who smoked, smoked. Those who quit would still be smoking if it weren't for that killer of joy everywhere: lung cancer. Since Sawyer didn't have such a worry, I tossed him the pack.
"Any sign of her?" I asked.
Sawyer shook his head.
"You were taking a chance going off on your own."
His lips curved. "You think you could protect me?"
Probably not, but—
"She could have killed you. Then she'd have come for me." I fingered the turquoise. "Will this thing work if you're dead?"
He shrugged. I had a feeling that was Sawyer code for no.
I ate a doughnut, slugged some juice, wished for coffee and started the tiny pot in the bathroom.
"Why hasn't she killed you?" I didn't think the woman of smoke would be bothered by a little kidicide or whatever the term was for murdering one's own child. In my opinion she'd done worse—the thought of which put me off my doughnuts.
Sawyer glanced up from his handful of grass and pinecones—I mean granola. "I told you, she wants my power."
And the only way for her to get it was to seduce him to her side or kill him and remove it from ours. "Still not seeing why she hasn't hit you with a lightning bolt or something."
"She's not ready to give up on bringing me to her point of view."
I went into the bathroom and poured coffee into two Styrofoam cups. His words made me uneasy. I didn't see the woman of smoke as the eternal-optimist type, which only meant there was a better than average chance that Sawyer would turn traitor.
Hell, I should probably kill him. But I still didn't know how.
I returned to the main room and handed Sawyer his coffee.
"I'm not going to help her," he said softly.
Sawyer insisted that he didn't read minds, he read faces, and mine was easy, but sometimes I wondered.
"You think after what she did to me that I could?" he continued.
I held his gaze, saw nothing there but honesty, which I didn't trust because I didn't think he knew what honesty was. And while I really couldn't blame him for not knowing—evil spirit bitches were notorious liars— I needed more of an answer than just another question.
"Jimmy said you aren't a member of the federation, that you only train DKs and seers for money."
"So?"
"The 'If you aren't with us you're against us' adage works for you, too."
"Where am I now if not with you?"
"Question with a question," I muttered. He ignored me.
"You say you won't join the woman of smoke, but what about other leaders who've come and gone, did you join them? Would you join a promising up-and-comer in the future?"
He took a sip of his coffee. "Hard to say."