Page 20 of Guilty as Sin
She got another of the almost-smiles the Milker specialized in. “I’d have thought of something.”
“I’ll bet.”
Hailey said,“Well,”and looked like she wanted to say more. “How did you know? I’d never have suspected Madison Knightley. Heaven knows she doesn’t need to shoplift.”
Paige didn’t answer, because she couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t some form of, “Because I’m a cop.” The silence stretched out until Hailey said, “I’m surprised you didn’t wait until she was outside so wecouldhave held her for the police, though.”
Paige asked, “What would be the point?”
Hunter said, “Interesting. If she doesn’t have a record, if her lawyer daddy pays for what she stole, and if the police can’t do anything next time either, because shedoesn’thave that record? Is that better?”
“The cops pick their battles,” Paige said. “She’s not worth it.”
“Why not?”
It was low. Quiet. From the Milker. And it wasn’t a challenge. It was a question. Paige said, “That much entitlement isn’t going anywhere. Not when it’s been grown at home, which I’ll bet it has. She doesn’t matter. What matters are the two girls with her. Or maybe one and a half of them.”
“The one who was upset,” the Milker said.
“And possibly the girl who dropped her purse. Maybe. If they’re ready to learn something, they may have done it today. Meanwhile, I saved us some time and trouble, I saved the cops more, and I got the clothes back. What’s not to like?”
“Interesting,” Hunter said. “Pragmatic.” And Paige realized that Lily would’ve handled this completely differently. Would’ve hugged Sad Girl, probably, which might have worked and might not have. Sad Girl needed her eyes opened while she could still distance herself. Which was now.
And if it hadn’t been a good Lily-imitation in front of Hunter? If he thought Lily was tougher than he’d imagined, more—yes, pragmatic? That wasn’t a bad thing at all. This was all getting pretty subtle for Paige, though. She was better at action than the after-action report.
While she was still trying to work it out, Hunter said, “I’ll come by tomorrow, shall I, and we can talk again while you’re not so busy.”
“You can do whatever you want,” Paige said, offering up some more of the new, tough Lily. “It’s a free country, and I haven’t bannedyou.Yet. But my answer will still be the same.”
“Ah,” Hunter said, “but you haven’t seen my parcel. It might be worth a look.” He pulled a slim black wallet out of his back pocket, extracted a white business card, and dropped it on the counter. “In case you’ve forgotten my number,” he said with a faint smile. “Heartbreaking as the thought is. Nice to see you, as always, Hailey,” he added, and then he, too, was at the door, stiffening just a bit as he passed the Milker.
Paige didn’t need a degree in Man to figure out that body language, either. That was pure circling-male-dog. And unless she was very much mistaken, it was about her. At least on the Milker’s part. She couldn’t tell about Hunter.
Jace watched her, and he kept watching. She’d responded to that diversion in exactly the same way he would have. Recognizing it for what it was in a heartbeat, looking for the reason, and dealing with it on the spot. He’d swear, in fact, that she’d made the blonde as soon as she’d walked into the shop. But then, she was a retailer who sold expensive goods small enough to vanish into a bag the moment her back was turned. The awareness probably came with the territory.
Still, though. Still. This woman was heaps more complicated than she’d seemed.
He could have left when the girls had. He could have left anytime since. He hadn’t. Partly because he’d come here to see Lily and he wasn’t done seeing her, and partly because he’d wanted the other bloke to leave first.
People said life wasn’t a competition. They were wrong.
The thin woman, whom he vaguely recognized—around the gym, he thought—was still standing near the register, all but forgotten. As he watched, Lily shook off the harder persona she’d been showing, smiled at her, and said, “I’m sorry. You had something you were saying to me.”
The woman looked rattled, and no wonder. Jace recognized that tactic, too. Classic de-escalation. “If you don’t want to listen,” the woman said after a moment, her anger lowered a notch, “if you don’t care, what else can I say? Maybe I was too… but I can’t see why you don’t get how much it matters to us. It’s like you really don’t care. Like you want us to go under. Why? Why would you want that?”
She looked near tears now, if angry ones, and the other woman, the assistant, made a sympathetic noise, but Lily didn’t. If anything, she stiffened. “Maybe I care,” she said, “but I still don’t want to move from someplace I love, that’smine. Maybe I don’t like feeling pushed to do it, either. Maybe I think people don’t get what matters tome. And whatever the problem is for you, or for anybody else, maybe there’s another answer to it. Maybe you should look for that.”
The woman gasped. Actually gasped.“Whateverthe problem is?Whatever?”She threw up a hand. “Never mind. I’m going. No point. I tried. I can say I tried.”
Jace held the door for her, too. You’d think life in an American small town would be uncomplicated. No gangs, no wars, and a “crime wave” was when a moose started hanging around the school bus stop. He hadn’t counted on the undercurrents.
Now it was just him, the shop assistant, and Lily. Who glanced at him, lifted her chin, and said, “If you’re here to tell me to sell, too, go ahead. I’m ready to go three-for-three.”
She was still dressed soft, although that dress was sexier than anything he’d seen her wearing in the past, what with being able to see straight through it to at least four inches of thigh. Her hair was still golden blonde and wavy, her eyes were still a liquid brown, and her lips were still pink. Looking barely painted, like they came that way. And she still had dimples when she smiled. Soft all the way, except when she wasn’t. There was toughness under those clothes of hers.
He liked brunettes. He always had. Blondes could look too obvious, somehow, even if their color was natural. Shallow of him, he was sure, and unfair, too, but your taste was your taste. So what was going on?
He got the memory then, the kind that came to you out of nowhere. Of a training exercise years ago, storming a squatty cinderblock house with his squad. He’d gone in first, had seen the shadowy figure in black to his left, had fired, and had seen the wall go black even as he’d felt the hard sting as the paintball hit the back of his neck.
