Deeply-tanned skin the color of cinnamon, there was something odd about the skin texture on the left side of Jesse Vega’s face. Heavy makeup concealing a blemish of some kind. Scar tissue. But her eyes drew him past it without close scrutiny. She was the sort of woman, he suspected, could be trouble without even trying, and the tone of her voice combined with the look in her eyes told him that she was probably trying.