Coyote: The Outlander (with FREE second screen experience) (23 page)

“Let’s talk about things that I don’t know about, shall we?” She cocked her head. “I have a good subject . . . how about the increasing frequency of the rips opening?”

Her words caught his interest and he narrowed his eyes.

“You’ve noticed it too . . . ”

“I’ve heard rumors.” She licked her lips and grimaced. The taste of her lipstick was terrible.

“We’ve been investigating them. So far it doesn’t seem to be something we really need to worry about . . . but it’s been curious to say the least.”

“You’re not behind opening them?” she asked.

“No, not yet at least.” He shrugged, and Coyote believed him; she had never caught Westwood in telling her a lie. “We’re trying to find a way to control the rips, but this isn’t as easily done as we would like. If we can control the rips, we can also send Outlanders back, maybe explore the worlds beyond. It would be very beneficial for me.”

“So you haven’t heard of anything being able to control the rips?” She tried to keep her face innocent, but he saw something in her expression and leaned forward.

“No . . . have you?”

I think he really doesn’t know,
she thought.

She shook her head. A knock on the door startled them both, and they turned to look around.

“Mr. Westwood?” It was a female voice.

“Not now, Tanya,” he called.

Coyote raised her eyebrows. “Tanya?” she sneered. “Is she your second course?” There was a pang of jealousy, which she quickly denied. She hated this man. There was no lust for him, she told herself.

Westwood stared at her blankly and said nothing.

“You are a busy man,” she continued, wanting to hurt him, “harboring dangerous Outlanders, entertaining the entire brothel, killing innocent men. Where
do
you find the time?”

There was disappointment in his eyes. “You remind me of your father when you are like this.”

“Dead?”

“Bitter.”

“Well, I get a bit bitter when people are hiding dangerous Outlanders,” she said. “I guess I’m just funny that way.”

“Alfonso is no more dangerous than a lion. When caged and fed, he poses no threat to humans. Unless you poke him with a stick, of course.”

He leaned over. His face was close, and he exuded a mixture of sweat and cologne. He smelled sweet and almost intoxicating. Her confusion quickly turned to anger. It was inappropriate to lust after the man who was responsible for her father’s death. Every muscle in her body tensed, and her heart pounded so hard it hurt. She pictured his lips brushing hers and felt a wave of blood rush to her cheeks.

Why do I want to kiss him
? she thought.
Why do I want him to press his body against mine?
Coyote felt betrayed by her own emotions and fought against a loss of control. Having him so near made her thoughts unfocused.

“Somewhere, humans would be considered dangerous as well,” he whispered.

“That’s not the same,” Coyote said. For a moment, she was tempted to spit in his face, but she did not want to show this man that he had such an effect on her. She leaned back, her corset digging even deeper into her flesh. Ignoring it, she glared at him.

“Isn’t it? Are you sure it’s not the same?” he asked. “They come here by accident, Charlotte.”

“
Stop
calling me Charlotte.”

He ignored her. “Most of them don’t know where they are or what to make of this world. They’re confused and frightened. So they live on instinct. And sometimes that instinct is to hunt. They’re as afraid of us as we are of them.”

“Sometimes they hunt
us
,” Coyote retorted. She did not like the way he was speaking to her, like he was the Good Samaritan himself. “That makes them dangerous. That’s why I stop them.”

“And sometimes these dangerous Outlanders can be taught to be different, to fit in.”

“Oh . . . is that a fact? And you are the one to teach them? Out of the goodness of your heart?” She flashed him a mocking smile, the corners of her mouth twisted slightly too high, her lips pressed tightly together. If her arms had not been tied, she would have folded them across her chest to look as condescending as she sounded.

He grimaced.

“Yes, and no,” he said in all earnest. “I’m no saint. I get plenty out of this arrangement.” His candor surprised her. “I get money, power, and even protection from my Outlanders,” he admitted. “But it is a win-win. I teach them about life on Earth, give them a place to stay, a job. Help them adapt.” He moved back from her and started to pace again. “Don’t you understand? I make them safe to be around.”

“And what if they can’t adapt?” Coyote asked. “What then?”

“Then I kill them.”

A shadow crossed his face as he spoke, and Coyote stared at him in surprise. His words threw her off guard.

“You kill them?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. Westwood nodded, and his eyes squinted in little lines when he looked at her.

“Yes, since I can’t send them back yet, I kill them. I can’t have uncontrolled Outlanders rampaging around.” He scratched his nose. “It is quite different from what your friends the Pinkertons do.” His finger pointed at her to emphasize his words. “They only want to hunt and kill. To get rid of the problem.” He threw his hands up in the air. “Guess what? As long as there are rips, there will be Outlanders. Deal with it. You can’t kill them all.”

“Can’t we?” Coyote asked, but she knew she did not want to kill all the Outlanders. It surprised her that she had something in common with Westwood. Coyote, too, believed that some Outlanders could be helped to adapt to human society. Tokala was a great example. If the IAAI got wind of the Outlander shaman, they would have him destroyed. The thought of losing Tokala made her sad, and she realized Westwood was right on some accounts.
But he protects dangerous Outlanders
, she told herself. She wasn’t ready to release Westwood from his “bad guy” persona yet.

“You forget I know you better than that,
Coyote
. . . ” He leaned back and eyed her. “This is the Pinkertons talking, not you. I know you’re not a killer, not unless you have to be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Everyone knows you only hunt down Outlanders that are potentially dangerous. You don’t bother with the harmless guys. You won’t kill anything that doesn’t deserve to die.” That damn triumphant expression painted his face again.

“Don’t you pretend to know me, Westwood.” Coyote struggled with her bonds, feeling the ropes cut into her flesh, and they loosened a little. If only she could reach her corset . . .

“But I
do
know you,” Westwood said in a manner that an adult uses when speaking to a very young child. “And you feel the same way I do. We’re a lot alike, you and I.”

“Horseshit,” she spat. “Some of the Outlanders are monsters.”
You protect monsters,
she thought.
You’re nothing like me.

“True,” he said. “Some of them are very bad. But monstrous behavior is not limited to Outlanders alone, remember. There are plenty of human monsters around, and you don’t have a special vendetta against them. It’s all because . . . ” He paused for a moment, and Coyote could see he was holding his breath. A thought struck him, and he raised his hand to his lips.

“
Did you see it
?” the voices whispered again in the back of her mind. “
Can you see it?
”

“Because of what?” Her voice was shrill. “Because my father taught me to hate Outlanders?” She shot him a defiant glare. “They killed my
mother
, and you . . . you . . . ” she couldn’t find the words because she was fighting the tears that threatened to spill.

Outside, a drunk man bumped against their door. It startled Coyote, but Westwood kept his eyes fixed on her. She saw what was in his eyes
: Your father was a monster too
.

“You had my father killed.” The words escaped her lips like caged birds flying free.

“I did.” There was remorse in his voice. “I’m sorry I took your father away from you. I’m so terribly sorry for that. No young girl should lose a parent, let alone two. It was worse that you were there, that you had to witness what I had to do. I . . . ” Westwood’s lips struggled to find the right words to apologize, but he could not find them. Finally, he looked up at her, his face filled with sorrow. “I’m sorry that I would do the same if I had to do it all over.” He shook his head mournfully.

“Why?” Her voice broke, and she felt the tears fill up her eyes and spill over the rims, escaping the confines of her lashes. “Why did you have to
kill
my papa?” This was the question she wanted to ask for so long. She had fought the waterworks, but it was a losing battle. One tear after another ran down her cheek, salty and wet. She had carried this pain for too many years.

“I wish I didn’t have to, but Will was getting dangerous.” His hand ran across his eyes and rested on his forehead and temple. He pressed his fingers in his flesh.

Downstairs, the piano player started a familiar song, several voices—both male and female—sang along. Coyote begrudged them their merriment. Her throat and chest felt tight with the pain of crying. She hadn’t been prepared for this. Despite her wanting the confrontation for many years, she hadn’t been prepared, and she never would be. The pain was still too fresh, even after seven years.

Westwood sighed. “I had to kill him because he killed Outlanders.” It was a bitter statement, and his face reflected his frustration that this wasn’t how he had meant to show her why he did what he did.

She tried to smile her famous smile, but it came out all wrong. Instead, more tears escaped her eyes and rolled down her cheek, hot and slippery. Her nostrils flared, and she could feel her mouth pouting from the overwhelming sadness. She was weak, and she hated it. “
Your
Outlanders.”

“My Outlanders . . . ” He shook his head.

“I kill Outlanders . . . so are you going to shoot me next?” Her voice was filled with venom.

“Don’t say that. It wasn’t like that.”

“It wasn’t?” Her lips pulled in a tight line, and she squinted at him. “What was it like?”

“What was it like?” he repeated.

A look of pity and sorrow filled his eyes, and Coyote felt him imploring her to believe what he was about to tell her.

Their eyes locked in a silent battle. A loud noise followed by fearful screams interrupted the silence. Coyote jumped in her seat, a mixture of fright and relief coursing through her. Alarmed, Westwood ran to the door.

“What the hell is going on down there?”

Her chair fell down. When Westwood turned to face her, she had scrambled to her feet, holding a small knife. It had taken some effort to reach the blade hidden in the back of her corset, but she’d managed to cut herself lose. Westwood stared, his face pained and confused.

“We did hire Maria.” She couldn’t hide the smile from her voice. “You expected us to do something, so we did.” There was a triumphant wildness in her heart, and she spoke louder than she wanted to. “She didn’t know what our real plan was, though.” A smile played around her lips, but the tears still brimmed thick and hot in her eyes. Underneath the tight corset, her heart pounded.

“I didn’t know you were following me, but I was pretty damn sure that you knew I was here the moment I arrived in Angel Camp.”

Westwood gawked at her. Coyote reveled in her victory. The tears on her cheeks had cooled, though her skin was still wet.

“My plan was never to seduce the Outlander. Do you think I am an idiot?” she scoffed. “I would have lured him in a different way. No, the plan was not for
me
to lure
him
at all.” Her smile grew even wider as she let her words sink in. And sink in they did. His eyes grew round, and his mouth became a perfect “o” shape.

“You wanted me to catch you.”

“Yes. That would keep you busy long enough for my partner to trick your friend to join him in a more secluded place and kill him.” Her eyes darted toward the door, where they could hear a lot of commotion. “I guess Caesar didn’t find a place that was all that secluded.” She shrugged her shoulders in that “oh well, what can you do?” manner. She felt too smug to let such a little glitch in the plan bother her.

The screaming was a strong indication that Caesar had completed his mission. All she could hope now was that Caesar hadn’t been caught. Her confidence waned slightly when she thought about her companion. This was the first time he’d made a kill on his own, and that worried the blond bounty hunter.

Caesar had the right papers. He was officially a bounty hunter, but a black man might not get a chance to pull out his papers in this kind of situation. White men weren’t always too understanding about anyone with dark skin killing one of their own. They tended to be narrow-minded idiots. That is why Coyote preferred to pull the trigger herself. Seeing a man being shot by a pretty woman usually stunned bystanders rather than turning them hostile. Her sweet face had rescued her several times in the past.

This time, things were different. The plan kept Coyote away from the kill. They relied on Caesar’s ability to fade into the background, and on Coyote’s ability to attract attention. Westwood may be Coyote’s vulnerability, but they thought that perhaps she could function as his weakness as well.

Westwood was an arrogant man. He would’ve had men trail the bounty hunter, but he would be less focused on her introverted sidekick. Coyote was the only thing that could truly distract Westwood into looking the other way. As long as he had his eye on her, Caesar could focus on their real target. The plan had been perfect, and Coyote never doubted it would work.

“Damn you.” Westwood ignored the ruckus, even though Coyote half expected him to run out, but he stayed, shooting another glance at the door. He threw back his head and grunted, then he turned to her again, his agitation obvious.

Westwood stared deeply into her eyes. He’d lost, and that irked him. There was something else in his expression that made Coyote feel uneasy.
Anger
.

“You want to know why I killed your daddy?” Something malicious echoed in his voice. “I didn’t kill your daddy because he was a vigilante who killed
my
Outlanders. I killed your daddy because he was a murderer.”