Verboten

Epilogue.

Yours and Harry's names had become notorious in a relatively short period of time. Since nobody in this country knew your actual given birth names, you became infamously known across the United States as The Phoenix Dyad; in the name of the mythical bird that never truly dies, withholds great beauty, creates intense excitement and immortal inspiration. It was fitting mostly because you had both been reborn and risen from the ashes of your past, gaining strength in numbers and loving one another with outstanding patience and compatibility.

The two of you traveled together eastward across the country for three months, collecting wanted posters from deadbeat towns and working side by side to amass the sniveling parasites pictured on the ads. You had become filthy rich by the time you were to return with Harry back to England, with sacks full of over $200,000 cash from his reclaimed insurance money and for apprehending thieves, murderers, armed robbers, raiders, escaped convicts and any other crime you could possibly imagine.

You had also purchased a horse so that you and Harry could ride side by side, an Appaloosa with a snowcapped chestnut coat of which you lovingly named Alice after your mother. Harry taught you everything about horse care that his father has instilled in him at such a young age, including feeding and bathing, sheltering and safe tying, grooming and hoof care.

You had a system of capturing and arresting fugitives down to a science; you would split up and infiltrate bars and saloons, talk to people that reside in the small towns and gain information deceptively. Harry would often sit at a bar or a table in one place and simply listen and observe for clues. He was exceptional at picking up on body language and collecting information about his environment and the events unfolding within it.

Your role was to be your seductive and sensual self that you had become so practiced at fabricating, luring narrow-minded criminals into dark corners or isolated hotel rooms where Harry would burst in and handcuff the startled and baffled fucker to deliver to the closest town sheriff. Only a dozen times did events turn violent or frightening and even less did it end in death, but one of you always had the upper hand and one of you always saved the other's neck.

There was only one instance where Harry's jealousy got the better of him. He had narrowed in on your target and passed the buck to you to lure him into the shadows for apprehension. The criminal seemed to have taken quite a liking to you and your flirtation as Harry watched from the corner of the room, his hand landing atop yours on the bar before stroking his fingertips up and down your forearm. He rolled you a cigarette and bought you a drink, his filthy gaze glued to your cleavage and the soft skin around your neck and shoulders.

The slit of your skirt caused it to fall open and bear an entire leg to him, his eyes widening as his sweaty palm landed on your kneecap and began to smooth upwards. You drank your whiskey coolly and glanced at Harry in the corner at the same time, but he was already stalking towards the two of you. Before you could warn the criminal or shout at Harry to stop, he was kicking his barstool out from underneath him so viciously that the criminal flailed and dropped to the ground, catching his chin on the bar on the way down.

Harry dug his fingers into the collar of his shirt and dragged him outside with you close behind, wanting to tell him to stop overreacting since he knew that enticement was always part of the plan. It was too late though, Harry was already kicking him in the ribs and drawing a gun to his face, ending his life with a single bullet in the street while his chest heaved with envy.

Aside from that case, you were quite enamored with the scene within the saloons: Harry's hat tipped down towards the bridge of his nose to shadow his face while he drank neat whiskeys from tumbler glasses, rolling cigarette after cigarette and smoking them like a chimney, shuffling through novels to pass time when establishments were slow and gathering information by simply absorbing it.