Hettie twisted her skirt in a knot, digging her nails into her thighs. This man whom she’d trusted most among her companions—a man her father had vouched for—had turned out to be a liar too. She wanted to lash out at him, but she was too weary, too filled with grief and anger and exhaustion. And she couldn’t blame him for anything. He hadn’t known about Pa or Diablo. He couldn’t have known the men who’d attacked him in town were Butch Crowe’s men. And the government wouldn’t have had any soothsayers who could tell them this would happen because of the blackout.
None of these facts soothed the sting of betrayal though. “So, Agent Tsang, how’d you get all this?” She waved around, indicating the military might surrounding them.
“That was mainly your uncle’s doing. And Miss Favreau’s. I only
