Page 1 of Small Town Hunter

ONE

PROLOGUE - DEE

Overnight, we were millionaires.

I was so mad.

Sebastianalways says it’s better to play your cards close to your chest. Never show the whole hand. You know that old song?You got to know when to hold ‘em…Know when to fold ‘em…

Anyway.

I didn’t thinkplaying closemeant we’d be fleeing across the country in the back of our ancient Crown Victoria with our baby daughter in the backseat, looking over our shoulders every minute for assassins.

I didn’t think that meant we’d be here in Oklahoma trying to buy some new wheels off a man in a parking lot.

I didn’t think we would be here, in this desert with no rivers.

My husband is offering to buy the car with a gold coin. Yes — acoin. Which apparently is a very valuable thing to have.

I’m made because he didn’t tell me a damn thing. Not until it was time to throw some bags in the back of the car and get out of our holler like bats out of hell.

Two days ago, I thought we would wake up in our bed in Mulberry, burdened with the usual things: Bills, repairs, thenew baby, Sebastian working for the hillbilly mafia boss that everybody said was about to get hemmed up by the Feds.

Trouble, but the normal kind.

Instead, Sebastian sprung this mess on me like it was a tropical vacation. Which he promises me we’ll take, someday, once things “cool off”.

I bounce our baby Skyla up and down and glare at the redheaded bastard, my husband, while praying to God we won’t all be dead before tomorrow. We are stranded miles from home, on the run, and our old-ass car is ready to give it up to Glory. I didn’t know much about Oklahoma before today, but I know enough about it now to know I would like to leave as soon as possible.

“You got thiswhere?” ponders the mechanic standing between us and the car Sebastian wants, which is a ’95 Ford Taurus. He’s squinting at the coin through a little eyepiece, which I think is called a loupe. I never expected a man with those huge, rough hands to pull such a delicate thing from his pocket. Men are just full of surprises.

“If I’m not mistaken, this is a confederateducat. Rare as a green goose. They only made six hundred of those,” the mechanic declares. He lowers the eyepiece to stare at Sebastian, then me. “I heard they only ever recovered one from the batch. Ah — family heirloom?”

Sebastian looks amused. But I only know that because he’s my husband, because his face mostly doesn’t change at all. In the same monotone he says, “Something like that.”

The man is shorter than Sebastian. He apparently runs this car shop, which looks as legit as a four-dollar bill. I see plates from Oregon, Nevada, Missouri and Washington littered all over the dusty lot. And we’re in the middle ofnowhere.

There’s some rough-looking characters in the back of the shop, chain-smoking and staring at me and Skyla like they wantto take our picture. Another day, my husband would have a big problem with that.

“No problem with that,” says Sebastian. His red hair flashes in the corner of my vision. “I’d do the same, in your shoes.”

I tune back in to the conversation.

The mechanic says, “The only one who tests gold is Sweet Lick, and he’s in town for the wedding, like everybody else.”

He says it like that. The Wedding. Capital T, capital W.

“You said his name isSweet Lick?” Sebastian echoes.

“Sweet Lick owns the Tippalonga Pawn shop, done so ever since his daddy died. He knows gold better than anybody. I’d like us to both be sure we aren’t wasting each other’s time.” The mechanic smiles.

“Any chance this Sweet — thisfella, could come in today?”

“In a hurry, are you? Where are you coming from?”

“Virginia,” says Sebastian.

The mechanic glances at our plates. “You don’t say.”

---