It was winter. The skies were like a painting, many shades of gray all blended perfectly to form one beautiful masterpiece. The roads bled together in blurring strips of black, gold, and white. Greens and browns, yellows, reds, beiges, oranges; they were the streaks in between the painting of the sky and the strips of tricolor beneath the car.
Tinsel Matthews tensed at the sound of a gun cocking. Gatlyn laughed, even though he understood her tenseness. "It's just a sound on the radio," he said casually.
Tinsel could shoot him for his nonchalant attitude. He'd made a big mistake by sparing her life two weeks ago. Ever since, they've been on the run and haven't stopped. "We've got to change our appearances," she whispered.
Grimacing, Gatlyn nodded his head and looked in the rear view mirror at Jenny. She was sound asleep without a care in the world. She had no knowledge of what was going on, or who Tinsel really was. Gatlyn had told her that Tinsel was her aunt. "Assume new identities,"
"New habits and personalities," Tinsel added, knowing that habits and personalities were the first thing an assassin looked for. You were trained to know how your target acted just in case they ran off and changed their appearance. She could almost laugh at the irony of it all. Still, she needed to find a way to deal with her siblings' captivity. "I know someone in Seattle that can get us id's, birth certificates, drivers' licenses; the works."
Gatlyn nodded. "As do I. He's Jenny's brother."
"Your son?" Tinsel asked.
Gatlyn nodded yet again. "Unofficially. He and Jenny are adopted by me."
Tinsel paused, wondering why he was telling her this. After all, she could turn on him at any moment. A few more years in Master's service wouldn't kill her. At least, she didn't think so. But then, did it matter? "You should learn to keep your life secret. You never know who might be listening and what they might do with that information," she warned.
Gatlyn laughed, obviously finding her words amusing. "I've learned a long time ago, kid, that if someone is going to get you, they're going to get you. The Fates choose our destinies, not us."
Tinsel snorted. "Whomever told you that should be lynched."