Fallen by Laury Falter Read Free Book Online Page A

identify them.”
    H e leaned back in the chair, quietly assessing me . I noticed that his behavior had changed almost instantly. His grin was gone completely now, replaced with a tight, thin line . The kindle in his eyes h ad changed too, becoming muted. T hey looked vacant, dead. Now he didn’t lo ok friendly at all , and I felt that I was finally seeing the true Sharar.
    “W ell, was bloody good to meet ya ,” he said flatly, standing to leave.
    “Did you want me to deliver a message?” I asked , confused.
    His response was cold, distant. “Nah… Just wanted me confirmation .”
    “Confirmation about what?”
    He didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he strapped on his helmet and picked up his canvas bag. As he sauntered away, he called over his shoulder with an offhand comment. “You’re an interesting one, Messenger. I’ll give ya that.”
    I couldn’t be sure because his voice was muffled, but he almost sounded wistful to me .
    I watched him walk away, toward his bike parked not far from us at the curb.
    That was when I noticed The Square was completely empty and the gas lamps lining the street s of the French Quarter were now lit and flickering hazy shadows against the old buildings. I tensed, and my body reacted , as I heard Sharar’s bike start with a rumble. I glanced in his direction to find him taking off down the street.
    He was gone, I told myself. Gone. Yet, the odd sensation I was having in re sponse to him hadn’t ebbed at all .
    Wavering between whether I should begin to figure out why I was having these sensations or if I should simply ignore them altogether, I took my chair and folded it . Shoving it between the slits in the fence panels that encircle The Square , I hid it behind a shrub; this will be my free storage space during my stay in New Orleans .
    The last bit of light from dusk slipped away then . I was completely alone in the dark. The storefronts surrounding The Square were now closed. Even Café Du Monde, a coffee shop that stayed open year round, was vacant, sending an eerie reminder that even when it seemed that others were nearby…they really weren’t.
    As I bent down to pick up my other chair – this one for the customers – I heard a slow, quiet whistle begin a few feet behind me.
    I was instantly on guard.
    This hadn’t been the first time someone – even someone with ill intent – had walked up behind me in the dark . Only this time I wasn’t perfectly calm like I normally would be, as ludicrous as that seems . Yet, the hair was still standing on the back of my neck and I was dwelling on the odd meeting with Sharar. I wasn’t sure if either one of those was the reason but …I was shaken.
    In one smooth motion , I turned around , lifted the chair, collaps ing it with a slam , and held it up defensively . The weight of it in competition with my slim fr ame almost took me down with it. I stumbled ; realizing I must look like a bungling defender and wanting to kick myself . Steadying my balance , I looked up and planted my feet in preparation, only to find out it wasn’t Sharar at all.
    Beneath the halo of the street lamps, I found that i t was someone far more annoying - the lofty guy I ha d nearly ran over the night before.
    My breath caught in my throat as I recognized him. I couldn’t mistake the elegant contours of his facial features or the way he stood straight , being so comfortable in his own skin. He swaggered toward me, thumbs tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans – jeans that fit him perfectly in all the right places. His blue shirt was pulled out to cool him off because he wore a buttoned up black vest . The clothes he wore fit the mold of his muscles and defined his body , which beneath them was clearly perfect. I watched him approach, my breath still caught, knowing that only he could pull off that type of style on a summer evening in New Orleans.
    He was smirking at me . “What are you planning on doing with that?” he asked in his thick English