They were a funny-looking pair. It had been obvious the kid was adopted and of a whole different race, but still they looked somehow alike.
Kee was Trisha’s height, but with all of the curves Trisha had never grown. As a matter of fact, she was so generously built that Trisha wondered if that’s where the rest of her own figure had gone. With sun-kissed skin and almond-shaped dark eyes, she was clearly an exotic mash-up of the American melting-pot gene pool.
The kid was starting to come into her shape, though it was too early to tell how she’d finish. Her skin was significantly darker. Uzbekistani, someone had told her. Refugee.
They both wore dark t-shirts. Kee’s showed a large handgun. The words “Protected by Smith & Wesson” stretched wide over her breasts. Dilya’s sported a large feat
