Only in Portland could you find organic beeswax lip balm sold at a stand directly next to rows of decorative butt plugs. Some had jewels, glittering in pretty pinks, greens, and blues. Others had tails attached to the end. I paused at one that had a simple rounded cap with an image of a red X like you would see on an old pirate map.
X marks the spot.
"How much?" I asked the little old lady sitting behind the booth. From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of my hair, stained brown instead of its usual orange-red.
The woman peered up at me. She looked like she spent her weekends baking cookies for her grandchildren's bake sales. "One of my finest. One hundred percent stainless steel." Her eyes dragged up and then down my body. "It's pretty heavy and not for beginners, sweetie."
I hated it when people used pet names before they knew a person. Sweetie. Hon. Babe.
Blech.
But, this old lady was interesting, which already made her cool in my book—nothing worse than a boring stick in the mud. And she was kind. She hadn't been judging me with her warning but cautioning me. I understood. My stupidly round eyes and fiery curls made me look years younger than my actual age of twenty-three. Even though I had brown curls today, I had the body of a broomstick. Or shovel handle. Either worked. I didn't rely on my muscles to live, and it showed.
"How much?"
Before she could answer, I felt the telltale heat at my nape. If I turned my head, I'd see one of my ghosts lurking in the crowd, trying not to be seen. I couldn't be too annoyed. I'd egged the ghosts on, but how could I have known when Hollister had contacted me asking if he could give out my number that this time, this group, would be different?
Every other team my father had hired to try and find me normally didn't make it within fifty miles of catching me. And if they had, it was because I was bored and had allowed it. But these guys were relentless. I'd lived with a target between my shoulders from the moment they'd gotten hold of my cell phone number. And they were intelligent too, which sucked for me.
My father had wised up, deviating from hiring run-of-the-mill meatheads with guns to the freaking Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles—if the turtles were angry brooding men led by a stupidly gorgeous, arrogant man.
Though the five—six, counting that evil dog that had nearly bit me the last time—were always on my heels, I'd never felt more alive than I had these past few weeks. My life wasn't about floating around and partying with the friends I had scattered over the country—while fun, a person can only party for so long. I had a goal, a purpose. Stay one step ahead, stay free, stay smart.
I dropped down to my haunches, balancing my arms on the tabletop. "I hate to ask you, but is there a man behind me staring like he's trying to drill a hole? Please don't be obvious when you look."
This wasn't her first sting operation, clearly. Her gaze slid over and then back just as quickly. "There is. He looks like a pretty strong guy. Are you in trouble, son?"
Not as long as I slip free. I knew my father hired these men to find me, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why. He hadn't especially cared for me growing up. He'd said I was the result of an impulsive night and that my mother had dropped me off on his doorstep before running. She hadn't wanted the trouble of raising a baby. My father hadn't either, but at least he had people to pay to raise me.
Our relationship hadn't improved since then.
I grabbed the slip of paper I always kept in my pocket. When I opened my hand, revealing the paper to the woman, she saw a picture of the men's leader. Knox. "Do you see this man behind me?"
She studied the illusion I projected. Though the photo came from my mind, every detail of the man's face was perfect. I didn't know how I could do what I did, just that I'd always been able to. If I got my hands on something—as long as it wasn't bigger than a large dog—I could make it look, and sometimes act, like anything. A piece of paper became a photograph. A stack of business cards became