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.”

Cold sweat began to slide down my back as my gaze snapped between the front door—the figures moving outside—and the back. He was bigger than I was, but I had magic, and enough time might have passed that I could use it again without hurting myself.

He must have guessed my plan. “Don’t even think about it,” he said, lifting his shirt enough to show muscled abs and the gun belted at his waist. It was the same model carried by Containment agents, and I hoped I hadn’t made a huge mistake.

“I don’t want to use this,” he said, “but I will if you try to use magic against me.”

He cast a glance behind me at the store windows, at the bobbing flashlights that signaled Containment’s arrival.

“Damn it,” I said, panic rising, but I pushed it down. I’d been in trickier situations before, and probably would be again. As much as I hated to admit that my father had been right, that it was better not to get involved, the evidence was piling up. “This is your fault. I’m going.”