time, Pippa had been searching for Celine, her concern for her friend causing her to be heedless of all else, even her own well-being.
If Celine ran away now, the killer might never be caught. He would likely continue wreaking havoc on the world she’d left behind. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to witness it with her own eyes anymore or be terrorized by its possibility. But she would always know. Would always wonder.
And her friends would remain in danger.
Rage is a moment. Regret is forever. Celine had enough regrets on her head. Running away like a victim would not be one of them ever again. She was not a victim.
She was a survivor.
“I want to stay in New Orleans,” Celine said. “But I have one condition.”
THE HAUNTED PORTRAIT
An hour later, Celine, Michael, and Odette stood in a corner of darkly veined marble, ensconced in the farthest reaches of a deserted hotel lobby.
Above them, crystal-and-brass chandeliers hung like silent sentinels, chiming softly in a ghostly breeze. Lanterns housed in spheres of opaque glass glowed around the room, resembling will-o’-the-wisps floating through the night. Purple orchids and white jasmine perfumed the air, the scent hinting of wealth and far-flung locales. Positioned at either end of the entrance hall were large chinoiserie vases overflowing with long-stemmed roses so deep a shade of red, their petals appeared black in the shadows.
Were Celine’s exhaustion not an anchor about her shoulders, she would have whiled away a moment marveling at the grandeur of the space. Everything about it felt like it had been decorated to suit a queen of darkness.
“We’ve waited long enough, mon amie,” Odette said, her voice scratched and weary. “Tell us your condition, s’il te plaît.”
Michael stood a healthy distance from Odette, his long arms crossed, his dark curls mussed by the rain. Though his face was lined with distaste, his pale eyes blazed bright.
In a barely audible whisper, Celine informed them of her plan. Once she was finished, they stared at her in stunned silence, Odette blinking rapidly, as if her mind intended to flash through every possible outcome in the span of a single breath.
“Over my dead body,” Michael announced in a flat tone.
“Here’s hoping, mon cher,” Odette quipped. She turned toward Celine, her sable gaze uncertain. “But I must agree with the boor’s sentiment. Using yourself as bait to catch a crazed killer . . . sounds unduly foolish.”
Michael sniffed with unmistakable scorn. “Finally a semblance of sense.” He nodded at Odette, who offered him a mocking bow in return.
“I knew you would not agree at first,” Celine replied. “But by tomorrow, I hope you will see the logic of it. How it makes sense for us to take action rather than be forced into a corner.”
“Logic?” Odette snorted. “It’s madness, mon amie. Sheer madness. I finally understand why you lied to Pippa before we left the convent. You must have known she would never accept this as an option.”
“Pippa is . . .” Celine exhaled with great care. “I don’t want Pippa anywhere near me, at least not until this ordeal is over. She’s not selfish enough to worry about her own safety.” The image of Pippa trembling in a puddle—her eyes shining and streams of blood trickling down her cheek—was one Celine would not soon forget.
“Failing to worry about one’s own safety isn’t selfless. It’s foolish.” Odette quirked a brow, her lips puckering in judgment.
Celine nodded. “I agree. But I don’t have the patience to argue with Pippa about it. It isn’t my place to dissuade her. And I’d rather be the hunter than the prey. Wouldn’t you?”
A contemplative look settled on Odette’s face at the same time a frown tugged at the corners of Michael’s mouth.
“Then I have your support?” Celine asked Odette.
Inhaling slowly, Odette nodded. “Though I’m certain I’ll live to regret this.”
“You won’t,” Celine said, infusing her voice with a surety she did not feel. “Thank you, Odette.” With that, she shifted her attention toward Michael.
His displeasure deepened at her scrutiny. “I have no intention of agreeing to this plan, so spare yourself the effort,” he said, his words characteristically curt. Unfeeling. “It was folly to come here. For both of us.” Michael pivoted in place and began walking toward the double doors at the hotel’s entrance. “I’ll send for your things in the morning, then make my way to the Dumaine shortly afterward to collect you,” he said over his shoulder.
A crick in Celine’s neck sent a surge of discomfort down her spine. She tilted