Chapter 4

The click of the lock echoed in the quiet room.

"Why are you locking the door?" I tried to keep my voice steady, the way Emily would sound—calm, careful.

"For your safety," Damien said. "The people who killed Marcus might come looking."

Liar. He probably killed Marcus himself. But I nodded like a grateful blind woman. "Thank you."

Chloe started moving through the shop. Drawers opening. Papers rustling. Furniture scraping. She was searching for something.

Damien's hands moved in my peripheral vision. Signing to Chloe: "Look everywhere."

I kept my eyes unfocused, staring at nothing.

"What is she looking for?" I asked, turning my head toward the sound.

"You borrowed something from us, Emily," Damien said. "A gris-gris. We need it back."

Emily. He called me Emily.

Good. He believed it.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe you forgot." His voice stayed calm. "Or maybe you're hiding it."

"I'm not hiding anything."

"Then you won't mind if I check."

He walked toward me. Stopped right in front of me.

"I need to look through your things."

My pulse was racing, but I forced myself to sound annoyed instead of terrified. That's what Emily would be. "Fine."

I handed him the bag—Emily's worn canvas messenger bag.

He dumped everything out. Items hit the wooden floor.

"Wallet. Keys. Phone. Lip balm." He picked up Emily's phone, checked it, then slipped it into his pocket. "Nothing else."

My real phone was still hidden in my bra. They didn't know about that one.

"Told you," I said.

"Your pockets."

I turned out my hoodie pockets. Empty.

"Jeans."

Just some crumpled bills and a receipt.

Damien wasn't satisfied. I could feel him staring.

Chloe's hands moved. I caught it from the corner of my eye: "Strip search."

My heart stopped.

Damien signed back: "If we have to."

"What?" I asked, pretending I hadn't seen their conversation.

"We need to be thorough, Emily," Damien said.

"You want me to take off my clothes?"

"Just your hoodie. For now."

For now. Jesus Christ.

I needed to buy time. Think.

"Fine. But I need to use the bathroom first."

Damien and Chloe exchanged glances.

"There's a bathroom in the back office," Damien said. "Chloe will go with you."

Of course she would.

Chloe took my arm. Led me through the massage area, past the folded sheets and essential oils, into a tiny back office.

The bathroom was barely a closet. Chloe stood in the doorway, watching.

I felt my way to the toilet. Sat down without actually using it.

My real phone was still in my bra. If I could just get a signal—

I pretended to adjust my shirt, turning slightly away from Chloe. Slipped the phone out under my t-shirt. Screen already on lowest brightness.

Typed one-handed, fast, phone hidden against my body: "911. Emily's massage shop, Dauphine St. Send police."

Hit send.

Nothing.

No signal. These old French Quarter walls were too thick.

Fuck.

I carefully slipped my phone back into my bra, making it look like I was just adjusting my clothes.

Chloe knocked on the doorframe—not to make sound, but because she knew I'd hear it.

"Coming!"

I flushed the toilet. Washed my hands. Took a breath.

When I came out, Chloe led me back to the main room.

Damien was standing by the window, still holding Emily's phone.

"Now," he said. "The hoodie."

"This is ridiculous."

"Just do it, Emily."

I pulled off the hoodie. Stood there in my t-shirt and jeans. The room felt cold.

My real phone pressed against my ribs under my bra. If they made me take off my shirt—

Damien checked every inch of the hoodie. Felt the seams. Checked the pockets again. Found nothing.

"Satisfied?"

He looked at Chloe.

She signed: "The shirt."

Oh God.

"What did she say?" I asked.

"She thinks you might be hiding it under your clothes."

"You can't be serious."

"Fine, that's all."

I heaved a sigh of relief, but the matter wasn't over yet.

Chloe walked over to me. Stopped maybe six inches from my face.

She was staring directly into my eyes.

My instinct screamed to focus on her. To meet her gaze. But I forced my eyes to stay unfocused, staring past her left shoulder at nothing.

Don't blink. Don't react.

She raised her hand. Waved it fast in front of my eyes.

I didn't flinch.

My eyes were starting to burn. Getting dry. I wanted to blink so badly.

She waved again, closer this time.

Still nothing from me.

Chloe stepped back, signed something to Damien. He nodded.

I exhaled slowly. That was too close.

"Sit," Damien pointed at the massage chair.

I felt my way over to it, using my cane. Sat down. My legs were shaking.

They went back to searching the shop. Opening drawers. Moving furniture. Checking behind picture frames.

I sat there with my hands folded in my lap, trying to look patient. Trying to look like someone who couldn't see what they were doing.

But I could see everything.

Damien pulled out a box from under the reception desk. Started going through papers. Files. Photos.

He held up one photo, showed it to Chloe. Even from where I sat, I could see it was Marcus. Chloe signed something. Damien signed back.

Their hands moved fast. I only caught fragments. A word here and there.

"...tomorrow..."

"...four..."

What did that mean?

Outside, sirens wailed past. Ambulance or police. The sound got louder, then faded.

Red and blue lights flashed through the shutters. Just for a second. Painting the walls.

I almost turned my head to look.

Caught myself just in time.

But my shoulders had tensed. Just slightly.

Damien glanced at me.

I kept my face blank. Staring at nothing.

He went back to the papers.

Jesus. That was close. Blind people don't react to light like that.

Chloe moved to the back office, still searching. I heard her opening cabinets, moving things around.

Then she knocked something over.

Glass shattered.

Right next to me. Maybe three feet away.

Every instinct screamed at me to look.

But I forced myself to just turn my head slightly toward the sound. Not looking. Just listening.

"What fell?" I asked.

"Massage oil," Damien said from across the room. "Stay where you are."

I nodded.

Inside, my heart was hammering. Another test. Had to be. And I'd almost failed.

The light outside was fading. Dusk settling over the French Quarter. Through the windows, I could hear Mardi Gras music getting louder. The night parade was starting.

Damien turned on the shop lights. Dim yellow glow.

Chloe came back from the office empty-handed. She was frustrated. I could see it in her body language. She signed to Damien, big angry gestures.

I caught one word: "nowhere."

Damien signed back: "...must be on her..."

They both looked at me.

My stomach dropped.

"We've been looking in the wrong place," Damien said.

"I already told you I don't have anything!"

"Then you won't mind if I check more carefully."

He reached for my shirt.

I jerked back. "Don't touch me!"

"Hold her," he signed to Chloe.

Chloe grabbed my arms from behind. Her hands were like steel.

"No! Stop!" I was thrashing now. "You can't—"