"What?" she put her hands up. "We're all going to die eventually, Tempest. I didn't say I was dying right now."
Sometimes, I wasn't sure whether the grifter part of me really came from my parents. Or from her.
I rode through town, thinking about the possibility of being recognized, even though my head and face were obscured by the bike helmet. I knew it was an irrational thought. Even if I hadn't been wearing the helmet, it had been years since I'd been here and I was an adult now, not a teenager. It was hardly plausible that someone would recognize me.
At least my parents had been smart about who they'd grifted here, taking advantage of the mayor at the time and some of the businessmen, none of whom had even filed a report. All of them had something to lose if they pursued anything against my parents. That was another grifter rule I learned - always find a mark who would lose everything if he were to reveal he'd been conned. Most of the time, businessmen who were grifted couldn't afford to divulge that information - it would make investors lose faith and they'd lose face, or worse, be implicated in possible corruption.
Of course, that didn't mean one of those kinds of businessmen wouldn't just take care of you another way - outside of legal channels. That's where grifters had to watch their backs.
I could just head out of town right now, I thought. I could a flight, lie on the beach, and drink margaritas.
And forget about Silas.
That would be the smart thing to do.
But, instead, I found myself heading toward the bed and breakfast I'd found on my GPS. West Bend didn't exactly offer much in the way of lodging, even after all these years.
This place was cute enough, though, I thought as I pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. It was like something out of a movie: a little white farmhouse, complete with a big wrap-around porch and rocking chairs in the front.
Hell, a border collie even came running up to greet me as I dismounted the bike.
All in all, this was exactly the opposite of the kind of place where a tattooed chick riding a Harley Road King should be staying.
Especially if I were trying to lay low here in town.
But I told myself I was just passing through. This was only for one night, and then I'd be out of here. I was just visiting my grandmother.
That's it.
I was sure as hell not coming back here to revisit my past, out of some sense of nostalgia for my relationship with Silas.
And I was certainly not interested in staying in West Bend after being told that Silas might be here, and not living in Vegas, the way I had assumed.
Certainly not.
"Hey there." I squatted down to pet the shaggy dog, and turned the name tag over in my hand. "Hi, Bailey. Well, you're just a gorgeous girl, aren't you?"
A woman appeared on the porch, and a toddler ran out onto the porch.
"Daddy!" the toddler cried.
"No, no, sweetie," she said, as I came up the steps. "That's not daddy. Are you Molly?"
I nodded. "I called and made a reservation earlier."
She held out her hand. "I'm June," she said. "It's nice to meet you. Little Stan heard the bike and thought you were his daddy. So did I, for a minute there. My husband Cade rides a bike, owns a shop in town. He does custom paint jobs."
"Oh, yeah?" I said. I hadn't pegged this sweet-looking and heavily pregnant woman as the wife of a biker. "I'll have to swing by the shop, take a look."
"Come on in," June said. "How long will you be staying?"
"Only for a few days, I think."
June chattered away as she took my credit card, one of the many fakes I owned, recommending some of the tourist attractions outside of town. She offered to give me a tour to the house, but I declined. "You know," I said. "I'm pretty tired and I have some work to do, so I'll be just fine hanging out in the room."
"Oh, what kind of work?" June pushed open the door to one of the bedrooms. "The bathroom is just inside there."
"I'm an attorney," I said. Or rather, Molly was an attorney. Molly McAdams was a motorcycle-riding entertainment lawyer from Los Angeles with a live-in boyfriend named Tyler and a cat named Alice. Molly was one of ten core identities I kept on rotation, whose details I knew like they were part of my own history, and who served me well.
"What kind of law do you practice?" June asked.
"Entertainment law," I said.
"Oh, that's interesting," she said. "I'm sure you've heard that West Bend has our very own movie star."
"I hadn't heard," I said absently. All I could think about was the fact that I wanted to get inside the room and rinse the dust from the road off me. The hotel I'd stayed in the night before, on the road from Vegas, hadn't exactly been the best and I felt grimy.
"We do," she said. "River Andrews. She does romantic comedies. She took up with Elias Saint, moved here to West Bend."