CHAPTER TWO

1

"Good morning, Miss…" Mr. Foster held onto the greeting for several moments, as if hoping his guest would complete the sentence.

Karma didn't respond. She stood at the window in the family room of the largest house in San Alamos, having discarded both her mask and goggles as well as her cape. It was a house of stone, mounted on a base of solid rock, carved directly from a hillside overlooking the small town. This was the house Gerald Peirce—the wealthy businessman who had built this town fifty years ago—past on down to his only child, the beautiful Shauna Peirce, who married an attorney from December named Joseph Foster.

And this man behind her now, the first to see her face, was Joseph Foster. Or so she assumed. From her research back in December, she'd learned of Foster's retirement from service more than a couple decades ago, when he'd moved to San Alamos. Wealthy people could retire young, or so Karma had heard. After all, the rich didn't have to work. They could live solely off their fortune, if they so desired. Apparently the man had no difficulties living off his wife's family fortune, at the expense of the town's people.

Karma narrowed her eyes at what she saw from the window and wondered how the water was distributed about town…if at all.

"Are you even listening to me?"

Not really. Question is, do you listen to the people you're supposed to serve?

"I only wish to know your name." Foster came closer. Karma's jaw flexed ever so briefly. Anger at what she saw outside would only make her duty here all the more difficult, so she turned slowly away from the window and glared across the room at the man who had joined her.

A flash of fear shown briefly in his eyes. She saw that he held a glass of water. Her jaw clenched a little tighter. She had his attention, control of the situation, and he seemed to understand. He held the drink in his trembling left hand—he's left handed, the information registering in an instant before her eyes moved on. The surface of the drink rippled as his hand shook. He was short and obese. No surprise there. The wealthy spared no expense in stuffing their faces while lesser citizens could barely scrape together enough to lead a normal life. She wondered how much the girl she'd saved in the general store actually made when business was good.

Karma's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Probably doesn't even care about the girl, the fat fuck. Just so long as his precious general store keeps its doors open. Shithole is a magnet for the unsavory. She brought her arms up and crossed them over her breasts. Her glare burned into him; he flinched and pulled back slightly. Considering he was the first person in town to see her face, she was pleased to see his reaction.

She wondered how close he was to actually wetting himself.

"I…just wanted to thank you for your help at the general store this morning. You've done our humble little town a great service…"

Karma scoffed. "Humble little town," she growled, and snatched the drink from his hand. She downed the water in a three huge gulps and thrust the empty glass back into his hand. "Bullshit."

Foster blinked. "I beg your pardon…"

"You heard me," she quipped and turned away. Again, she found herself looking out the window. She drew a slow breath. "There's a man coming this way. Tall, jaw-length hair. Jet black. Walks with a limp in his left leg. Tan cowboy hat."

"A badge?"

"Star. Who is he?"

Foster shrugged. Either the man was afraid he'd make her mad and wanted her to think he could keep his emotions in check, or he was downright arrogant. Probably both, Karma decided. "Town sheriff. Everyone knows him. Quick with a gun, quicker with his mouth. Name's Raymond Bolenski."

Karma frowned. "Bolenski?" She turned the name over and over in her mind, wondering why it sounded so familiar.

"I don't know. Ray's lived here all his life. His parents came into town thirty years ago. His father took over the sheriff's job when he arrived, and Ray took over when his father was killed in the line of duty about a decade ago."

Killed in the line of duty? Karma wondered who would take out a sheriff in a no-name town this far west of real civilization. It seemed a pretty peaceful town, despite the men she'd dispatched earlier. Those men were undoubtedly not from around here, she mused. But that didn't explain a murder of the sheriff of a peaceful town twelve years ago. Somebody going after the water supply, maybe? That wouldn't really surprise her, depending on how long the Peirce-Foster family had been hoarding the reservoir.

"You'll let him in and bring him to me," Karma said quietly.

The man blinked, and she thought for a minute he might argue. Then, he nodded his head and slipped silently from the room.

Alone, Karma stretched her arms up over her head. Again, she peered about the room, taking in each detail as she contemplated what she would do if things went sour with the sheriff. There seemed to be a lot of terror in this tiny backwater town. People had a tendency to fear aggression whether it saved their asses or not, and there was no doubting that Karma was the most aggressive thing these people had seen in quite a long time.

Two long couches faced each other on opposite sides of a low, oak coffee table, decorated with several crystal sculptures. The carpet was burgundy with an elaborate design of gold flowers and vines. The walls were whitewashed and displayed portraits of various men and women, probably ancestors of the Pierce bloodline. Pink curtains flowed from each of the three windows overlooking the reservoir.

Water wasn't exactly the most abundant resource on the planet. Karma wondered how much Foster charged for its use. She moved away from the window and approached the couch facing away from the door. Karma Saverem lowered herself into the soft cushions and leaned back, arms outstretched along the back of the couch, making herself comfortable. She wiggled her fingers, stretched one long leg out and rested it atop the table in front of her. A small smile played on her lips as she waited.

Her mother had once told her the secret to negotiation. Take the upper hand, no matter what the position might entail. Mostly, for Karma, that meant intimidation. However, the man that Foster was bringing up to her was a lawman, and intimidation would likely cause more harm then good. She decided it would be best to take another path. First, there was the matter of understanding whoever it was she was to negotiate with.

After a time, a single set of footsteps came down the hall toward her and stopped in the doorway. Karma rested a hand on the side of her head momentarily before pushing her fingers through hair, brushing it back and off her face. She bowed her head, listening for him to make a move. He seemed determined to make her wait, however, and though she knew he stood there, observing her, he apparently didn't realize she'd already detected his presence. Her tiny smile grew ever so slightly. A fitting advantage. Let him think he has the upper hand, her mother had said once, a long time ago. And then, when he pounces, strike without mercy. There was power in deception, too. She'd taught herself that much. Mom certainly couldn't deny that.

Or, at least she wouldn't if she were still alive.

The man behind her took a step forward and opened his mouth to speak. Karma smirked to herself. It was time to take the initiative. "Why don't you have a seat, sheriff. There's a few things I think we need to talk about."

Silence. Time crawled to a halt. She pictured his face, bright red with the shock that she seemed so relaxed, so oblivious to the world around her, and yet it was she, not Ray Bolenski, who had seized control when he walked into the room.

Finally, the sheriff cleared his throat. "If you don't mind, I'd prefer to stand."

"Suit yourself, sheriff. If you don't mind, I'm rather comfortable right where I am."

The sheriff didn't move from his spot just inside the room. "First thing's first: who are you?"

Karma smiled slightly. "I've been called the Phantom Mistress. In the last town they called me White Shadow. I guess maybe both names suit me." She wiggled her fingers again. Comfortable couch. A glass of water would be nice, though. Oh well. Business first, as always. "And your name is Ray Bolenski. Sheriff of this godforsaken town. Stuck in the middle between your employer and the people he oppresses."

"We're not talking about me right now," Ray said slowly.

"And I'm not here to discuss who I am, either." Her tone was like ice. Slowly, deliberately, she brought her hands down, leaving her elbows in place. Her head came up ever so slightly. She drew one leg up so that the bottom of her foot rested against the corner of the coffee table. "Truth is, I think I'm being followed. It's my fault those men attacked the girl in the general store."

Silence. She heard the faint sound of the man swallowing a lump in his throat. "I kinda already figured that out," he said quietly.

Karma frowned deeply, staring straight ahead.

He took a step forward. "I need to know who those men are."

"They call themselves the Matadors."

"The Matadors?"

She scowled. "I'm pretty sure that's what I said."

"Okay, okay. Fine. The Matadors. Who are they?"

Karma's head slumped forward. Golden hair fell in waves before her eyes, covering her face. She gritted her teeth tightly as she glared at nothing. Her chest heaved in anger. The Matadors. They were the reason she'd found herself out here. But honestly, that wasn't Ray Bolenski's business. Sheriff or not. She brought her arms down and dug her fingers deep into the belly of her jumpsuit, giving it a tug, stretching the smooth, titanium-weave fabric tighter against her skin. Her anger lasted only a moment, though, before it subsided. She gave her shoulders a tiny shrug, letting the material conform back to the natural shape of her body.

Her hand rolled slowly over the taut, muscular ripples of her abdomen as she calmed herself. What could it hurt if Ray knew something more of the Matadors? She didn't have to tell him anything about herself. But maybe if she told him something of the Matadors, he could better prepare his town to defend against them.

"They're the reason the Phantom Mistress exists," she growled softly, and brought her legs down from the table, sitting up straight.

"And…where did they come from?"

Karma closed her eyes, giving a weak sigh, supporting herself with one arm as the hand of the other pushed her long hair back and out of her face. "I don't know for sure," she said quietly, "but I think they followed me here from the north."

2

She spoke only briefly about the Matadors, about how she'd first encountered them in the town of Desperation ten months before. It'd been one hell of a hairy situation, according to her story. Ray listened intently, never moving from his spot just inside the door, eyes fixed on the back of her head. She seemed to be telling the truth. Ray didn't know if she'd have any reason to lie to him.

"They're the shit of the land," she said quietly. "They hit a couple towns pretty hard. Did what I could to stop them, but it seldom amounted to anything. Took out Desperation, Devil's Bluff, May City, Lewiston Town, and several other towns before they reached December. Then they hit that city too."

"I didn't hear about anything about that." Ray ran his fingers through his hair. In fact, as he recalled, rumor had it that the Phantom Mistress was responsible for all the damage.

"I figured I was done with them after that fiasco. Get out while the getting's good, or so they say, right?" The woman snorted. "It's been six weeks, and not a sign of them til today."

Ray thought it was lucky the Phantom Mistress showed up when she did. Otherwise, Ashley Hahl would be dead. The thought of losing a dear friend to those bastards made what this woman did seem an act of heroism. Still, he couldn't discount the fact that her tactics—whatever she had done, no matter how she had accomplished the feat—were frighteningly efficient.

Flat out crippled them on the spot.

Hank's words. Ray shuddered recalling them.

"They seem to show up wherever I do," she grumbled after a time. "So I figure they're following me."

"In other words, you're a shit magnet." That brought a smile. The corner of his mouth curled up into a half-smile of his own. "So, these guys have been following you around the planet and hitting every single town you make a stop at?"

"Before today, not since December," she replied. "Which means…"

"They lost you."

She nodded. "Or they were distracted."

Ray considered her story for a time, unmoving as he settled his gaze on the wall. He bit his lower lip, thinking about what Hank had told him about this woman. It wasn't much, but it was enough to scare the hell out of him.

Good thing he was a brave son of a bitch.

Hank had told him that, too. "Something was different about it today, wasn't it?"

She blinked and spun about on her hip to glare at him from the corner of her left eye. Half of her face was revealed to him as blonde hair flew back and off her cheek and spilled over her right shoulder. He saw the silky smooth pale skin of her face, her slender, luscious neckline, the piercingly dangerous gleam in that one emerald eye as she glowered up at him.

Ray swallowed, but not because he was intimidated by the heat of her anger. As harsh as her glare was, he found everything about her to be devastatingly attractive.

That was what he found intimidating.

He fought to keep his voice level as he watched her, though his heart was racing inside him. "Please. You gotta tell me the truth. At least about them." Ray held his arms out and let them fall with a loud slap against his thighs. "I can't help you if you don't help me."

The woman closed her eyes and turned so that he was watching the back of her head again. That much helped to slow his heart rate…for the time being. "These guys were different," she explained, her voice low. "They weren't wearing any of the same things that the Matadors do."

Ray frowned at that. "What do they usually wear?"

"Typically black and armed with six-shooters. And usually they're looking for me."

"Today they didn't even act like you were there until it was too late for them."

She gave him a heated glare. "Think I didn't notice that? God gave you ears didn't he? Pay attention to what I'm saying!"

He wasn't quite sure what she was angry with him for. He'd just made an observation, based on what Ashley had told him. The men she'd taken out hadn't been willing to talk about the basics. They'd simply ignored him.

Obviously they hadn't been frightened of him. He was unworthy of their attention.

Flat out crippled them on the spot.

Ray drew a slow breath. Fear was certainly a useful tool. "Think you could get them to answer a few questions?"

3

Karma considered his question. She knew a couple things. First off, she didn't like how this man approached her, unafraid. If there was one thing about Karma Saverem, when she was in the frame of mind that had earned her the alias "Phantom Mistress," it was that she enjoyed how it felt to be feared. She enjoyed having the upper hand.

It wasn't the same with Ray Bolenski. She didn't know much about him, only what little she had gathered from their meeting, along with Foster's reaction to his involvement. He hadn't said anything verbal against San Alamos's young sheriff, but Karma had a keen sense for human emotion. She knew without a doubt that Joseph Foster wasn't fond of Ray. Why that was didn't matter, only that it did, and she had used that knowledge against him, to gain the upper hand.

With it, came Ray Bolenski. Now, potentially, she had something to use against both the sheriff and the town's tyrannical benefactor, if it came to it. But first she needed the upper hand in handling the sheriff. It wasn't going to be easy, because this man didn't seem to fear her.

Meaning she was going to have to find another way to handle the man with the badge.

Secondly, she knew there was nothing to gain by speaking to the patsies who claimed they were Matador material. The guys she had cut down…shit, they weren't really Matadors. Real Matadors liked to lay low and strike when they were least expected. Real Matadors would have been somewhat of a challenge. They would have been able to fight back.

Slowly, she rose to her feet. "A few questions? How could I possibly benefit from facing my enemy one more time to ask them a few questions for a backwater town I don't give a damn about and a piss-poor sheriff I have no reason to trust?"

Ray watched her for a moment, emotionless. She waited for an answer he couldn't give her.

"Fucking typical," she grumbled after a time, and started toward the window. "Tell you what, sheriff. I'm leaving this godforsaken shithole the moment I get a chance. I think once I'm gone the Matadors will leave you be." She watched the sparkling waters of the reservoir below as the wind sent small ripples across the surface. Twin suns shimmered up at her, reflected in the waves.

"And if they don't?"

She spun about, fists clenched. In several, long strides, she found herself within an arm's reach of him and snatched his wrist. "You just might have to do your fucking job, then, won't you?" she sneered.

He blinked. For a moment she thought that had never occurred to him, but then she saw the flash of pain in his eyes. She felt a twinge of guilt, but didn't understand why.

And then it hit her. This man had lost his father in the line of duty.

She remembered wondering how a sheriff could possibly get himself killed in the line of duty out here, in a backwater town where even the simplest happenings must seem big news. This thing with the Matadors, and herself, was probably the biggest thing to happen in San Alamos since the day this man's father had lost his badge and his life.

Karma swallowed and released his arm. "Listen to me. I'm pretty sure the Matadors will leave you be if I just go on my way." She started to turn away. "Now, if you don't mind, there's a few things I want to do before…"

It was Ray's turn to snatch her arm.

"Fine. We'll do this the hard way." He drew a slow breath and fixed her with his most demanding stare. His grey eyes were as intense as any she had seen in a long time. She found she couldn't look away. They were just another reason she found herself disliking the young sheriff. They were distracting. And irritating. And compelling. And…

He slapped a pair of handcuffs on her wrists before she could blink.