CHAPTER TWELVE
Dakota stood outside the gas station, under the noonday sunlight. She shifted uncomfortably, kicking a stray aluminum can skittering across the ground. She peered through the smudged, glass window at the white-bearded man behind the counter. He resembled an Indian Santa Claus with crinkled eyes and bushy, well-trimmed facial hair. Her eyes skipped to the selection of bottles behind the counter.
Whiskey was on the top shelf. Her poison of choice, though, was the straight tequila. The clear, blue bottles of the cheapest brand were in the middle of the display case.
Eyes hooded, she peered through the glass, staring at the siren's call of the motionless bottles. She deserved a bit of a break, didn't she? It had been a long day. Well... she glanced at the mid-day sun... at le
