Samantha looked at him.
“That’s it?”
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know.”
“A medal?”
“No.”
Grizzly grunted.
“Good. We’re out.”
He walked away.
Wyatt, sitting three stools down, smiled into his coffee.
Two days later, Samantha learned that safety was never permanent simply because a room had begun to feel familiar.
It was Thursday afternoon.
The Devil’s Keep was not yet open.
Samantha was wiping down the taps.
Wyatt was somewhere in the rear office.
Grizzly had gone to a mechanic’s shop.
The bell above the front entrance rang.
“We’re closed.”
Samantha did not turn.
“Come back at five.”
A familiar voice answered.
“I don’t think so, Samantha.”
The rag slipped from her hand.
It hit the floor with a wet slap.
Every muscle in her body stopped at once.
She knew the voice.
Smooth.
Controlled.
Almost gentle.
Reuben.
Samantha turned slowly.
Reuben Bowman stood inside the Devil’s Keep wearing a charcoal suit.
His hair was perfectly combed.