Coyote: The Outlander (with FREE second screen experience) by Chantal Noordeloos
Authors: Chantal Noordeloos
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her teeth and poured in little specks on her tongue. She spat out the head and lit the cigar.
The scent of the smoke soothed her. She liked the feel of the tobacco leaves against her lips, like being kissed by a comforting friend with rough, dirty lips. A nice cigar was appropriate for so many occasions, and one of those was the start of a profitable deal. And this, she knew, was going to be a good deal.
“His real name is Qu’arth Slevanko.” Pinkerton’s eyes darted around the saloon while he spoke, though he kept his body still and inconspicuous. Coyote admired the man and his regal posture. He’s a lot more cunning than he lets on . The saloon was empty except for the curious bartender and three drunken customers out of earshot. Pinkerton threw the barman a warning look, making it clear that the beer-slinger ought to keep his distance. From the weary expression on the man’s ruddy face, he understood what Pinkerton wanted from him. He was probably glad that this place, like most saloons, was quiet during the afternoon hours. There would be no trouble. Pinkerton was the sort of man who abhorred trouble. Most lawmen were. Coyote, though she often mingled with the law, still liked a little bit of trouble now and then. She liked to play her own game and felt no qualms about rubbing people the wrong way. Yet she respected Pinkerton and was willing to play by his rules. Up to a certain point.
“What kind of Outlander is he?” she asked, motioning in the direction of the warrant poster in Caesar’s hand. A ring of smoke freed itself from her soft, shapely lips, hovered in the air, then grew larger and larger until it dissipated.
“A different species from the ones we have encountered before.”
“Crimes?” Coyote gave him a hard stare, and her eyebrows furrowed together at the bridge of her nose. She had a rule, and was unrelenting when it came to it: She only hunted Outlanders that were guilty of a serious crime.
The Pinkerton Agency was the largest of the U.S. fronts for the IAAI, the International Agency of Alien Investigation, which killed all Outlanders, without exception. Under their cover of a prestigious private investigation agency, the Pinkertons were famous throughout the whole country. Everyone knew of the prestigious agency. They had a lot of authority and often quipped that they were the law. No one argued.
Not every Outlander posed a direct threat, but the IAAI refused to take risks. Their agencies had a lot of connections, and they were tied to several bounty hunters. There were a few special hunters the agencies particularly liked to work with, the kind who knew the ins and outs of the trade, and Coyote was one of those hunters. She never failed her assignments, no matter how tough her foe was. There was only one disadvantage to working with her: She played by her own set of rules. She knew that not all Pinkerton agents appreciated that, but she and Allan understood each other well. She was quite stubborn, and the agency knew she would turn a job down flat and charge a hefty fee for wasting her time.
Pinkerton nodded gravely. “I wouldn’t have called for you if this guy wasn’t a danger.”
“Good.”
“At first, he only killed cattle, young cattle,” Allan said. “Baby cattle.” His voice was low, and he looked from Coyote to Caesar and back again. “But it seems this creature has a craving for anything young.” He paused for dramatic effect, and then added, “Likes children too. Very young children. Anything under four.”
It was enough to draw her in. A familiar heat burned in her mind and flashed under her skin, warming her cheeks with anger. Her eyes aflame, she leaned toward him. She didn’t want to miss a single word he had to say. In her mind, she already had a bullet with the name Qu’arth Slevanko on it, but Coyote saw something on Allan’s face, a glint in his eyes that told her he had something to sweeten the deal, to make her really want this job. He sat up
The scent of the smoke soothed her. She liked the feel of the tobacco leaves against her lips, like being kissed by a comforting friend with rough, dirty lips. A nice cigar was appropriate for so many occasions, and one of those was the start of a profitable deal. And this, she knew, was going to be a good deal.
“His real name is Qu’arth Slevanko.” Pinkerton’s eyes darted around the saloon while he spoke, though he kept his body still and inconspicuous. Coyote admired the man and his regal posture. He’s a lot more cunning than he lets on . The saloon was empty except for the curious bartender and three drunken customers out of earshot. Pinkerton threw the barman a warning look, making it clear that the beer-slinger ought to keep his distance. From the weary expression on the man’s ruddy face, he understood what Pinkerton wanted from him. He was probably glad that this place, like most saloons, was quiet during the afternoon hours. There would be no trouble. Pinkerton was the sort of man who abhorred trouble. Most lawmen were. Coyote, though she often mingled with the law, still liked a little bit of trouble now and then. She liked to play her own game and felt no qualms about rubbing people the wrong way. Yet she respected Pinkerton and was willing to play by his rules. Up to a certain point.
“What kind of Outlander is he?” she asked, motioning in the direction of the warrant poster in Caesar’s hand. A ring of smoke freed itself from her soft, shapely lips, hovered in the air, then grew larger and larger until it dissipated.
“A different species from the ones we have encountered before.”
“Crimes?” Coyote gave him a hard stare, and her eyebrows furrowed together at the bridge of her nose. She had a rule, and was unrelenting when it came to it: She only hunted Outlanders that were guilty of a serious crime.
The Pinkerton Agency was the largest of the U.S. fronts for the IAAI, the International Agency of Alien Investigation, which killed all Outlanders, without exception. Under their cover of a prestigious private investigation agency, the Pinkertons were famous throughout the whole country. Everyone knew of the prestigious agency. They had a lot of authority and often quipped that they were the law. No one argued.
Not every Outlander posed a direct threat, but the IAAI refused to take risks. Their agencies had a lot of connections, and they were tied to several bounty hunters. There were a few special hunters the agencies particularly liked to work with, the kind who knew the ins and outs of the trade, and Coyote was one of those hunters. She never failed her assignments, no matter how tough her foe was. There was only one disadvantage to working with her: She played by her own set of rules. She knew that not all Pinkerton agents appreciated that, but she and Allan understood each other well. She was quite stubborn, and the agency knew she would turn a job down flat and charge a hefty fee for wasting her time.
Pinkerton nodded gravely. “I wouldn’t have called for you if this guy wasn’t a danger.”
“Good.”
“At first, he only killed cattle, young cattle,” Allan said. “Baby cattle.” His voice was low, and he looked from Coyote to Caesar and back again. “But it seems this creature has a craving for anything young.” He paused for dramatic effect, and then added, “Likes children too. Very young children. Anything under four.”
It was enough to draw her in. A familiar heat burned in her mind and flashed under her skin, warming her cheeks with anger. Her eyes aflame, she leaned toward him. She didn’t want to miss a single word he had to say. In her mind, she already had a bullet with the name Qu’arth Slevanko on it, but Coyote saw something on Allan’s face, a glint in his eyes that told her he had something to sweeten the deal, to make her really want this job. He sat up
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