“Know what you mean,” I reply, my whiskey still sitting in front of me. “You heading out soon?”
“Today, seems like,” he says, turning his head to look at me again. “And yourself?”
“Haven’t decided yet.”
He nods, takes another drink. “What type of business are you in?”
“Me? Cattle.”
“Hear there’s good money in that.”
“Is there?” Frank. I think Aiden said his name is Frank. Frank Clancy. “Then I must be doing it wrong.”
He chuckles. “Must be.”
“How about yourself? What line of work are you in?”
I don’t realize until he responds that I’d fully expected him to lie. “I’m a bounty hunter.”
“Are you? That must make for an interesting line of work.”
“Does sometimes.” Frank knocks back the rest of his drink and raps his knuckles for another. “Other times, not so much.”
“Take it this is one of those times?”
“Starting to get more interesting. This is a bit of an unusual job.”
“How so?”
He looks away from me, watching the bartender pour. “Well, normally my job is finding people who don’t want to be found. Usually pretty straightforward when you think about it.”
“But not this time?”
“No, not this time,” Frank confirms, his eyes flicking back to mine. “This time, there’s someone trying to find me.”
“That right?” I ask, another familiar sensation building in my gut, because while I know exactly what it feels like to be assessed, I also know exactly what it feels like to watch a trap you’ve laid spring shut. “Well, I wish you the best of luck with your endeavor.”
“Luck, huh?” he mutters, a half-smile on his face. “That’s your real line of business, isn’t it, Cypress? Luck?”
“Cypress?” I finally lift my drink with my right hand as I reach for my pistol under the bar with my left. “Kind of a peculiar name. Think you must have me confused with someone else.”
His eyes look over my shoulder, and I don’t have time to turn around before I feel the knife at my back. “No,” he says slowly. “No, I don’t think I do.”
“Aiden?” I call his name as I step back out onto the porch, searching the front yard as if I don’t already know the answer. “Any sign of him?”
Aiden shakes his head, still sitting in the same chair that he’s kept watch in since long before nightfall. He reaches up to cover my hand with his when I rest it on his shoulder, but he never takes his eyes off the path through the trees. “Been too long,” he says, not for the first time. “Should have been back by now.”
“Maybe he stayed in town a little longer,” I reply, trying to reassure myself, too. “Or maybe he’s just taking things slower in the dark.”
Aiden shakes his head again, then stands and removes his gun from its holster. He checks the chamber, making sure it’s loaded before he puts it back at his belt. “Something’s wrong. I can fucking feel it.”
I don’t try to argue with him. Don’t try to stop him when he heads back inside the cabin, grabs the ammunition belt hangingon the back of a kitchen chair, and reaches for my knife on the table to tuck into his boot. Only, I’ve already got it in my hand.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, watching me straighten to check my own gun after concealing the knife.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “I’m going where you’re going.”
“The hell you are—”