Unraveled (23 page)

Ira looked over at me and did a double take. He blinked and blinked, then frowned, studying me carefully.

“What? Did I get lipstick on my teeth or something?”

Ira shook his head. “Nothing like that. You just . . . look like a lady that I remember photographing a long time ago.”

“I thought you couldn't remember the names of everyone you photographed.”

He shrugged. “Not their names, but I never forget a face.”

He got up out of his rocking chair and wandered around the cabin, staring at all the pictures on the walls, searching for the one he wanted. He stopped and shook his head a minute later. “I'm not sure where that photo is. It might be in my office in the hotel.”

“Well, maybe I'll duck in there and try to find it,” I joked. “If I don't get killed before then.”

A distinct possibility since it was just little ole me against Tucker, Roxy, Brody, and all their men.

“You get up to the hotel and get those stones,” Ira said. “I'll mosey around the park and see what information I can pick up about Tucker and his plans. Then, when it's time, I'll head over to the main entrance and keep a watch out for that annoying Silvio fella.”

I nodded. I'd told Ira that this was my fight, not his, but the dwarf had insisted that this was his home, and if he could help boot Roxy and Brody out of it for good, then he'd do whatever he could to help. So this was the plan we'd come up with. I didn't want Ira around if Tucker and the others did get their hooks in me, and having the dwarf watch out for Silvio would hopefully help my assistant and whomever else he'd managed to round up in Ashland slip into the park unnoticed.

“All right, then.” I headed for the front door. “Wish me luck.”

Ira gave me a knowing look. “Oh, I think you're the type who makes her own luck.”

“Nah.” I grinned. “I just make people dead.”

 19 

Ira's cabin stood off by itself in a patch of woods that overlooked the lake. He followed me out of the cabin, locking it up behind him, and we went our separate ways. He headed for the main theme-park entrance to see what he could find out from the other workers, while I took a trail that led back out to the staging area, staying hidden behind a screen of trees.

It must have been time for some late-afternoon show because the staging area was full of folks changing into cowboy and gambler costumes, slapping on wigs and makeup, and making sure that their fake weapons were full of blanks. I looked around, but I didn't see Roxy or Brody anywhere, although I did spot several of their ­outlaw-gang giants, getting ready along with everyone else. But the performers had this down to a science, and the staging area emptied out about five minutes later, as everyone rushed to take their places for the show.

When I was sure that the area was deserted, I slid out from behind a tree and hurried through the wooden pavilions, wanting to get back out to the relative safety of the Main Street crowds as fast as possible. I'd just passed the back door of the Good Tyme Saloon when something unexpected on a nearby bulletin board caught my eye.

A
Wanted
poster with my picture on it.

I stopped and went over for a closer look, wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me. But they weren't. A grainy black-and-white photo of me that looked like it had been taken from a security camera inside the hotel took up most of the poster, while the word
Wanted
arched across the top in that old-timey Western font that was on everything around here.
Gin Blanco
was also done in the same type, curving under my glamour shot, along with the promise of a thousand-dollar reward for any confirmed sightings of me in the hotel or the theme park. Well, that was a bit insulting. You'd think that I'd be worth at least five grand—dead or alive.

My own poster. I grinned. Just what I'd always wanted.

I couldn't help myself. I carefully took the poster down off the bulletin board, rolled it up, and stuck it into one of my dress pockets.

*   *   *

I left the staging area behind and made it through the alley and back out to Main Street. At the far end of the street, down in front of the visitor bleachers, cowboys, gamblers, saloon girls, and other costumed characters were dancing to some old-timey, upbeat country-western music and putting on what looked like an elaborate square dance. I didn't see Roxy or Brody among the performers, though. They were probably still combing the park for me or were maybe even stationed up at the hotel, waiting for me to try to rescue my friends.

The music rose to a roaring crescendo for the big finale, with all the performers yelling, whooping, and throwing their hats up into the air. The crowd surged to its feet, cheering and clapping, and all the performers took a bow. The crowd streamed down the bleachers, and all the costumed characters stepped up to meet them, sign autographs, and pose for pictures. Well, that show had certainly gone a lot smoother than the other two that I'd loused up this weekend.

It was now or never, so I drew in a breath and stepped out onto the wooden sidewalk. I smiled at the people I passed, just another worker playing her part, even as every step took me closer and closer to the hotel and the ­jewels—

“Hey! You there!” a loud voice called out behind me. “You in the red dress!”

I tensed. Well, that was definitely me. Damn. I'd hoped to at least get away from the saloon and closer to the hotel before someone stopped and questioned me. But it would look more suspicious if I ran, so I slowly turned around and plastered a smile on my face.

“Yes?”

Brody Dalton jogged up to me. I slid my hand into my dress pocket, my fingers curling around the silverstone knife inside, ready to whip out the blade, ram it into the giant's throat, pick up my skirts, and run, run, run.

Brody stopped, his cheeks flushed from the cold. He must not have had time to visit that Air healer again ­because his nose was still a red, broken, lumpy knot in his face from Tucker's beating. Good.

“What do you think you're doing, making me walk all the way over here?” he snapped. “You should have come over to me the second that I yelled at you. Don't you know who I am?”

Even though I wanted to punch him in the face, I ducked my head in apology. “I'm so sorry, sir. I just didn't hear you at first above all the crowd noise.”

Brody gave me a suspicious look, like he didn't believe me, but apparently he had other things to worry about. He raised his hand, and I realized that he was holding a thick stack of papers. He peeled a sheet off the top and shoved it into my free hand. It was a copy of my
Wanted
poster.

“Here. Carry this with you at all times,” he snapped again. “And if you see this woman, you text Roxy or me immediately with her location. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” I ducked my head again, as though I were studying my own picture. “What did she do?”

“She's a shoplifter and a pickpocket, among other things,” the giant growled. “Now get out there and mingle like you're supposed to, and keep a sharp eye out for this one.”

I bobbed my head at him. “Yes, sir. I'll get right on that.”

Brody gave me another suspicious look, probably because of my syrupy-sweet tone, but he huffed, whirled around, and stomped away. I watched him for a few seconds, but all he did was stop every worker he passed, shove one of my
Wanted
posters at them, and demand that they be on the lookout for me.

The giant hadn't realized that he'd had me within arm's reach. He was going to pay for that later. I would make sure of it.

But right now, I had two jobs—get the jewels and find out where Finn, Bria, and Owen were being held. So I rolled up my second
Wanted
poster and slipped it inside my pocket right next to the first one. Then I upped the wattage on my smile, turned around, and melted into the crowd of tourists.

*   *   *

It took me thirty minutes to work my way from Main Street up the hill to the hotel, mostly because people kept stopping me and asking me to pose for pictures. I hated every single second of it, but it was my job as an unofficial Bullet Pointe saloon girl, and I didn't want any of the tourists complaining and drawing unwanted attention to me. So I batted my lashes, swished my skirts, and smiled for all the photos. By the time I reached the hotel, my cheeks were aching from holding on to my fake sunny expression for so long.

I slipped into the lobby and stopped, wondering if I would stand out more here than I had in the theme park, but my saloon-girl dress was close enough to the ones that the hotel waitresses wore for me to pass muster. An empty silver tray was sitting on the corner of the bar, and I casually walked over and swiped it when the bartender's back was turned. People with empty trays always looked like they had places to be, and no one gave me a second glance as I strolled across the lobby, despite the loud
click-click-click-click
of my heels on the stone floor.

I followed a waitress back into the kitchen, not only because I wanted to blend in with the rest of the staff, but also because I wanted to eavesdrop on the workers. One of them had to know where Tucker was holding Finn, Bria, and Owen. So I pushed through the double doors, stepped into the kitchen, and immediately regretted my decision.

Roxy was here.

She was wearing the same cowgirl costume as before, complete with her red hat and sparkling rhinestone belt buckle. Her hands were clasped behind her back, and she was pacing up and down in front of a line of cooks, cowboy waiters, and saloon-girl waitresses. The waitress in front of me scurried to get in line with everyone else, and I had no choice but to follow her.

Roxy finally stopped pacing and raised her hand, clutching another stack of my
Wanted
posters. How many of those things had they printed up in the last two hours? I hid a grin. I was starting to like this whole wanted-­outlaw thing.

“This woman is somewhere on the resort grounds, and we are going to find her,” Roxy barked out like a drill sergeant. “From this moment on, you will examine every single guest you serve and compare them to this woman. If you spot her, then you text me immediately with her location. Do you understand me?”

No one said anything, so she increased the volume of her bellow. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma'am!” we all shouted in unison.

She went down the line of us, shoving a
Wanted
poster into every person's hands. Not only that, but she looked over each and every worker in turn, eyeing everything from their hats to their costumes to their boots. I started sweating, and not from the heat of the stoves.

If she recognized me, I was dead.

I couldn't fight my way through all the people in this cramped, crowded space, much less get past Roxy herself before she pumped me full of Fire-coated bullets. The workers would all pile on top of me, drag me down to the floor, and hold me there until Roxy could summon Tucker to deal with me. Then I'd either be trussed up and tortured alongside my friends or be killed outright.

But I couldn't run away. Not now when she was shoving a poster into my hands. Roxy started to turn away, then stopped and peered at me with sharp, critical eyes. My free hand slid into my dress pocket, reaching for my knife again. I'd only have one chance to take her down, and I had to make it count—

Roxy stepped forward, took hold of my dress, and actually yanked it down, showing off more of my cleavage. My spider rune necklace shifted inside the corset, swimming up toward the top, and I immediately quit breathing, not wanting the necklace to pop out and give me away.

“You can afford to show a little more skin,” Roxy snapped. “That's what gets you—and me—better tips. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma'am,” I squeaked out in a high voice, still trying not to breathe.

She eyed me as if she thought that I was mocking her, but I lowered my head, as if I were too scared not to give in to her demands. After several long seconds, she finally nodded and moved away from me, barking out more orders to the staff.

I sucked in a breath and discreetly stuffed my necklace back down where it had been before.

Roxy kept bellowing out commands, and all the waitstaff had to line up again, fill our trays with champagne glasses, and circulate them through the lobby to the guests. I was all too happy to step up, put the glasses on my tray, and skedaddle out of the kitchen.

Carrying my tray of drinks, I hurried out of the kitchen as fast as I could without actually running. I thought about setting the tray down on the first table that I passed and just walking away, but I glanced over my shoulder. Sure enough, Roxy was now standing by the bar, her arms crossed over her chest, watching the staff, including me, just to make sure that we were up to her pimpish standards.

So I smiled and sashayed over to a group of guys sitting in the rocking chairs in front of the fireplace. I even leaned over, giving them a good, long look at my cleavage, once again hoping that my spider rune necklace wouldn't pop out and land in one of their laps. The men all grinned, their gazes locked on my chest, even as they reached for the champagne flutes. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Roxy nod her head in approval, thinking that I was sufficiently cowed, and turn her attention to another waitress.

I handed out all the drinks on my tray, went back into the kitchen, and got another round. By the time I stepped back out into the lobby, Roxy had decided that the staff was up to snuff and was standing off by herself beside some of the decorated Christmas trees.

I glanced around, but I didn't see Brody or any of the other giants. If not for all the tourists, this would be the perfect moment to pull my knife out of my dress pocket, sidle over to Roxy, and stab the bitch in the back. Despite the potential witnesses and collateral damage, I still seriously considered it, wanting to eliminate at least one dangerous enemy, and I even went so far as to take a step in her direction—