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and pulled two pairs of jeans out of the dryer. He moved to another dryer where he found a white t-shirt. Praying that for once his halfway decent luck would hold, he took his purloined clothes to the bathroom. Once inside, Slade pulled the t-shirt on. It was a little tight, but long enough. Now for the jeans.
    He grinned as he checked the tag on the first pair he’d pulled out. Thirty-two waist with a thirty-six inseam. They’d be a little short, but hopefully a decent pair of boots would cover that. He pulled the jeans on, then checked the second pair. Nope, they’d never fit. Slade balled them up and tossed them into the trash can in the bathroom. He walked over to the sink and studied his reflection.
    Aside from bloodshot eyes, he looked okay. Still, small towns didn’t take kindly to strangers who carried danger on them like a second skin. Slade studied the blinds covering the small window, then yanked hard on the cord on one side. He pulled a small amount of it loose, then bit through it.
    He washed his face and slicked his hands through his hair, pulling it back into a tight ponytail against the back of his head. Tying the string tightly around the ponytail, he studied his face again. Better.
    Now it looked like he had shorter hair. Well, until he turned around, anyway. The ponytail fell nearly to the middle of his back. Not so uncommon in New Orleans, or even among the Pack, but he hoped he didn’t draw too much attention here.
    Slade left the bathroom clothed but still barefoot. Next order of business—a pair of shoes and then he’d deal with his cash shortage. Slade thought back to his youth. He’d survived running away from what passed for home with just the clothes on his back and a couple of bucks in his pocket at the age of fourteen. He’d learned a hell of a lot in the intervening years. With enough care, no one would find him.
    Slade found a public pool and watched the people there for a few minutes. He moved slowly along the fence line until he found what he was looking for. As soon as he was unobserved, Slade snaked his arm under the fence and pulled a pair of flip-flops toward him.
    A few minutes later, he entered First State Bank. The teller looked aghast when he asked to see the bank manager, but became much more amenable when she pulled up his account information. Within a few moments, Slade found himself seated across from a fat guy in a suit who could have been a suit in any bank, in any city, anywhere.
    Slade had set up several accounts over the years that could only be accessed with certain codes. He’d never told anyone about these accounts. Tonio said, “You never, ever broadcast the fact that you’re always ready to run, kid.”
    An hour later, he left the bank with a substantial amount of cash. He’d just laughed when the bank manager suggested that he open a checking account with the bank since it wasn’t safe for anyone to carry that much cash around. Suits—as predictable as Joie wanting to help any hurt animal. He flinched.
    No need to think about her. That attraction had to be an aberration. She was human and humans were not to be trusted. Ever. His uncle had taught him that lesson a long time ago. With his fists.
    Pausing, he looked around. His nose caught a scent of something good, so he followed it. He found a place that said it had “world-famous andouille”. Fond of the spicy sausage, Slade bought several pieces and ate the hot, smoked meat quickly as he made his way to a local discount store.
    Licking his fingers clean, he went inside where he selected socks and, since he couldn’t find boots to his taste, a pair of tennis shoes. He also grabbed a few necessary items like a hunting knife, a toothbrush, toothpaste, sunglasses, a hairbrush and some elastic bands for his hair.
    He splurged on a nice backpack. Never did like buying cheap ones that wore out in a few months. And he planned to do some hard traveling, so he needed something that would keep up with him. He