She wandered over to the small dresser in the corner of the room. Sliding through the layer of webs, she ran her finger along the surface. It was silly really, that they’d put a dresser in the small apartment. Trap knew she was staying there and there was no doubt in her mind that he’d done it for her. She didn’t have any clothes. Two stolen pairs of jeans. Two camisole tops and a sweater. One shirt she had from before that she didn’t wear, but wanted to keep. And his jacket. That was it. That was the extent of her wardrobe. The rest of her own clothes had long since been ruined in the muddy swamp.

People making their homes in the swamp and bayou didn’t have tons of money. Stealing from them was not only immoral, but risky. If a woman only had a few clothes, she knew what those precious clothes looked like. Cayenne didn’t dare go into town and shop with the money she’d stolen. She was afraid someone would recognize what she was wearing. In any case, the idea terrified her. She wouldn’t know how to go into a store or make a transaction like that. She had no experience.

Sighing, she skimmed her finger over the polished wood. Still, she loved the dresser. Carved wood. So beautiful. Heavy. She wished for a little box, just like the one she’d seen on Nonny’s dresser. Her hand hovered just above the sturdy piece of furniture, as if she could touch that box. She mimicked opening the lid with her fingers. The box made music, a soft song, the notes filling the air around her when she’d peeked inside. Her heart had stuttered in alarm when the notes drifted into the room.

Hastily, she replaced the lid and thankfully the music had stopped. The woman Trap called Nonny stirred and then rolled over and looked toward the dresser. Cayenne was already up in the corner, clinging to the ceiling, holding her breath and whispering softly for Wyatt’s grandmother to go back to sleep. She’d never dared open the box again – but she wanted to. She thought about it a lot.

There was no more stalling. She had to go. She had to see for herself that Trap was all right after she’d stupidly and childishly injected venom into him. He wasn’t going to ever kiss her again. Cayenne touched her lips with the pads of her fingers, found them trembling, and hastily leapt up to the vent to exit the building. They’d even done things to the ventilation system, installing doors every so many feet inside the pipework. She knew eventually those doors would be locked with a security code. So far, that hadn’t been done, but it soon would be, and the ventilation systems were her exits and entrances.

She moved quickly through the narrow shaft to where she emerged just outside the building and very close to the high chain-link fence. At the top was razor wire. She detested that stuff. This exit was the closest to the fence of all the ventilation doors. She could practically leap from the opening and catch the chain, it was that close.

Cayenne went up and over the fence in seconds. She didn’t leap over it like she’d seen Trap’s team do, but she could go over it just as fast. She knew the way and went unerringly. Trap’s workers had opened a trail through the swamp, cleverly concealed, but since she’d watched them, she knew exactly where the faint trail was and she used it, rather than the boat, to make her way to the Fontenot property.

She made certain to come downwind of the dogs so they wouldn’t catch her scent. If they did, she was putting out more of a spider vibe than a human one. They might grow restless, but they wouldn’t sound the alarm. She studied the seemingly and very deceptively dark home. It looked as if the occupants were all asleep.

No one appeared to be in the laboratory, which Trap and Wyatt often spent many nights in. She didn’t bother to enter the house when they were working, and she’d never found an entry point into the lab in order to see what they were doing. She could guess, though. Wyatt’s toddlers were cutting their teeth and they all had venom, much like she did, but they were babies and theirs was snake venom.

She studied the house. They were aware that she bypassed their security, and they wouldn’t like it. She’d woven a few webs inside the extremely narrow chimney on the roof. She knew men wouldn’t consider that a human being could make oneself so small they could fit in such a place. She was also very curvy and men tended to look at her curves, not realizing how limber she was, how her body could flatten itself, her bones soft, allowing her to become so much smaller.

She knew they had someone on the roof. It was a matter of locating him. These men didn’t make mistakes. There was no restless movement. No cigarette smoking, or whipping out a cell phone and playing on it. They remained still and silent for hours on end. Normally, she liked the thrill of pitting her skills against theirs. It kept her sharp and she thought of it as a game.

She could move slow or fast, go up impossible angles and extremely high buildings. She possessed the same stillness and patience these men had. It was fun to slip past them and enter the house, knowing she could. They were highly trained and motivated to keep the girls safe. If she was being strictly honest with herself, she identified with everyone in the house – especially those little girls. She watched over them as well, but she would never admit that to anyone.

She went up and over their security fence. It wasn’t that difficult. She knew they sometimes ran electricity through it, but never unless they were on high alert. They didn’t want stray animals or a neighbor to get hurt. The moment she cleared the fence, she stayed very still, crouching low to the ground. There was a long, open stretch that was the most difficult area to get through leading to the house itself.

Like most places in the swamp or bayou, the Fontenot home was built up to keep from flooding when the river rose. Made entirely of cypress, she knew it would withstand the water and elements for many years. She could see the craftsmanship and the loving hands in the work. Everything about this place appealed to her.

She had nowhere to go. No one to turn to. These people were like her. Different. Pepper and the three little toddlers had spent their lives – like she had – in a laboratory. Although Pepper had a different education and had been allowed out much more, they weren’t like other humans, and they never would be. She had never felt that more acutely than she did right then.

She wasn’t part of the GhostWalker team, but she was no longer in her cage. She didn’t really fit anywhere. She didn’t know how to act. She had to watch others and follow their examples. She often made mistakes. Her training helped her to quickly cover those mistakes, but she learned fast to minimize her contact with locals – other than when she went hunting. She had to eat, so she had no choice but to get money someway, although she went hungry for long periods. She wasn’t about to sleep with men like the Comeaux brothers for money, and her particular skill sets weren’t very marketable. That left robbery.