I looked around the room, blinking back tears. Hatboxes, tins, suitcases, books piled in columns around the room that stretched to the rafters. Vintage clothing hung from racks, vintage oil and gas signs—including that damn star—leaned against a brick wall. There was a labyrinth of French secretaries, chests, and armoires brought to New Orleans once upon a very different time to outfit majestic homes.
My chest ached with the heavy sense of failure. I hadn’t managed to hold on to the stuff, to the store—to my family—for nearly long enough. Not enough to keep my family’s memories alive, to safeguard the treasures they’d found. Maybe someday, when Containment wasn’t looking for me, I could return. Maybe—if they didn’t take the shop.
I shook my head, fighting back tears. It couldn’t be helped now. It couldn’t be changed. War had taught me enough about that.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to the ghost of my father, and walked out of the room. It was time for Step Five.
Run.
CHAPTER FOUR
I crept down the stairs, ears straining for the sound of sirens that would signal Containment’s arrival, and the official end of the life I’d known. But the world was quiet, the only sound from the first floor the steady tick of antique clocks. War Night must have kept them busy tonight.
I rounded the stairwell, stepped into the store’s first floor, decided the back door and alley were a better bet than the front. I stopped short when I realized a large body filled the doorway.
My heart hammered against my chest like a frightened bird, which wasn’t much different from my own emotional state.
“Going somewhere?” he asked.
Damn.
The man was backlit by the bright shard of moon, so I couldn’t see his face. But he was a big one. Broad-shouldered, easily six foot two or three. Larger and probably stronger than I was. I wouldn’t be able to best him physically, and I’d have to wait to recharge before I could move something again. That meant I’d have to talk my way out of this. Fortunately, I had eight months of fibbing under my belt.
I schooled my expression into nonchalance and walked toward the counter. My gaze was on him? but I was thinking about escape, about making it to the back door, then the alley, then Royal, where I’d run until my legs couldn’t carry me anymore.
“The store’s closed.”
“Be that as it may, the door wasn’t locked.” His voice was deep, strong, and just a little accented. Cajun, I guessed.
I cursed myself silently for failing to lock the door. “My mistake. But we’re closed for War Night. Open again tomorrow.”
He took a step forward, slipping into the spear of light, and I stared at him. He was the man from Bourbon Street, the blue-eyed guy who’d looked at me before disappearing into the crowd.
The impact of that dark hair, those vivid eyes, was even stronger up close. Not just because he was handsome, but because he now seemed to be a threat. I pushed down the warring attraction and fear. Neither would help me.
His gaze dipped to the valise. “You taking a trip?”
Concentrate, I demanded, my brain beginning to unknot as nutrition moved through my body. As casually as I could manage, I pulled off my bag, put it on the counter.
“Just moving some things around.” I crossed my arms, gave him the rudest look I could manage. “But since that’s none of your business, and we’re closed, why don’t you get the hell out of my store before I have to call Containment?”
“Since you’re a Sensitive, I seriously doubt you’ll do that.”
I froze, hoped he hadn’t seen my body jerk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I didn’t think he was Containment. Anyone here to arrest me wouldn’t have bothered with coy questions.
He could be a bounty hunter, a freelancer who hunted down fugitive Sensitives, wraiths, and Paras, who had decided I was his next bounty. There were plenty of bounty hunters in the Zone—folks who’d stayed behind because they wanted to live in a new version of the Wild West.
Or he could be a run-of-the-mill crazy asshole.
I wasn’t sure any one of those options was better than the others.
“I saw you disappear into that alley, and then I saw the sign.” He glanced at the bag. “I suppose your plan was to run away.”
No point in lying about it now. He’d clearly seen something. “That’s what I was trying to do. Until someone got in my way.”
“You better be glad of that. You can’t run from Containment.”
“You’re one of them?”
“Containment?” He said the word with enough derision that I felt a little better. “No.”
My anger flashed. “Then I’m none of your business. You want to report me, report me. Otherwise, get out of my store and out of my way.”
His mouth twitched. I wasn’t sure if it was anger, frustration, or amusement. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d given someone one or more of those feelings.
“You’ve got a smart mouth, cher.”
Definitely Cajun. “That’s what I hear.”