Zoe slipped into town under cover of the miniature snowstorm the hovermule made, following them into town and watching as they took a right turn down one of the side streets and away towards the hills. Her own easy skill made sure nobody saw her as she made her way around the back of the saloon Mal had described as Vic Carroway’s place.

Unwinding the pale scarf from her hair and face, her dark beauty would have immediately stood out from the surroundings if she hadn’t found the perfect shadowy corner, protected enough that there was barely a scattering of snow on the hard-packed earth. It even had a small window that overlooked the main body of the saloon, where she could see the two men described to her sitting at a table, tossing cards about and calling loudly for more beer.

“They’ll look like they own the place. Which they more or less do. Vic had a mortgage with their Ma, and I don’t see her letting him pay it off much before he ends up being cared for by Mordecai.”

Mordecai Hampton, the cemetery keeper. Sometimes Jayne had an interesting turn of phrase. But he wasn’t wrong about this pair: Wes and Brad Tanner, the life and souls of the party.

Something about the way they were making a lot of noise and generally a nuisance of themselves had her wondering if they were also making sure they had lots of witnesses to their being in this place at this point in time, and a suspicion crawled up her spine, settling in the base of her brain and pulsing nastily.

She’d felt it a lot during the war, and more than once since, when she just knew things were going to go wrong. Mal mostly listened to her, at least after the first time on Clarendon, when he’d been badly wounded. He’d spent a while flat on his back, wondering if he was going to walk again. In fact he’d been lucky, and a lot more respectful of her gut feelings. And right now they were pinging painfully.

She fingered the comlink in her pocket. Trouble was, if she told Mal, there wasn't a hell of a lot he could do, apart