Page 23 of Guilty as Sin
“Deterrent. It works. Don’t try to hide them. Make them obvious. Post a sign. ‘Security cameras in use.’”
“What kind of impression would that make, though?” Lily asked. “I want the store to be welcoming, a luxury experience even if you don’t buy. I want walking through it to feel like wandering through the best kind of flower garden. A sign sayingWe’re watching you, so don’t get any funny ideasdoesn’t quite give off the relaxed ambience I’m going for.”
“You could give off the ambience that people shouldn’t try to rip you off or you’ll take them down. That’d be a good one. I can get that going for you, if you want.”
Lily paused a minute, and Paige forced herself to shut up and started to work on her hamstring, always the tightest and toughest. Finally, her twin said, “Maybe the cameras, not hidden, but no sign. If you’re looking to shoplift, you’ll see them, and if you wouldn’t shoplift anyway, you probably won’t even notice as long as the sign isn’t there to put you off.”
“Could be,” Paige conceded. “I tend not to think about the law-abiding people as much.”
“I’ve noticed. Since they’re my customers, I have to think about them. And if you’d talk to the security company and get it scheduled, that’d be helpful. Hailey will know where to put the cameras. Ask for her opinion. She likes to be consulted, and I want to hang onto her.”
“Gotcha. I’m on it today—well, tomorrow, I guess. Monday. And while we’re on the subject of women who don’t like you much—who’s mid-to-late forties, Caucasian, five-six, one-thirty, brunette, and has some kind of weird extra stake in all of this?”
“I’m not sure. How? Where?”
“In the store. She was buying underwear. Overemotional.”
“Still not sure. You could ask Hailey.”
“I don’t recall this woman, who probably cuts my hair or something, because of what, my amnesia? Does Hailey know we’re twins, by the way?”
“I don’t remember if I told her or not. I think I just said ‘sister.’ I’m sure I didn’t say we’re identical. People are so weird about it. Why?”
“Because she knows about my injury, and I haven’t exactly been covering myself with glory work-wise. She’s probably thinking you got hit on the head on your vacation.”
“Oh, I see. Do you think you should tell her? That way she could help you.”
“I sure don’t.” Paige had thought about that. “She’s chatty, and that’s an awfully juicy piece of gossip to keep to yourself. If everybody knows I’m not you, I can’t speak for you, and all this toughness I’m putting out there doesn’t help you at all, does it?”
“Well,” Lily said, “I’ll let you decide. This isn’t really my specialty.”
“I’ve decided I’m not as good at it as I thought, either,” Paige said. “I’m better than I was at being a hooker decoy when I was working Vice, though. So there’s that. The guys on the squad said I was the worst they’d ever seen. They made me a medal.That’sa precious memory.”
“That’s not possible,” Lily said with her usual misplaced loyalty. “I’m sure any guy would— oh, wait. I’m not sure it’s good to say that you’d be a very appealing prostitute.”
Paige was laughing, feeling so much better, feeling like herself again. “Street hookers don’t tend to be great-looking. It’s not like the movies. They have drug habits, and sad backstories, too, or they wouldn’t be doing it. Their pimp is abusing them, and he’s only the latest in a long line. They’ve checked out, because they hate it. Who wouldn’t? I was way too focused. Way too healthy. I’d do better now. The limp would be good. Kind of like those birds that drag their wing so the predator will follow them instead of looking for the babies in the nest. Now if I could only develop a skin condition…”
Lily was laughing, too. “That’s just gross. I don’t want to know. Go sell underwear for a while and think happy non-law-enforcement thoughts. And I’ve thought about your hostile customer. Raeleigh Franklin, maybe? Owns the Timberline Motel. Or possibly half of the couple who own the gym. I think they may have a plan going for the new resort—spa, or something. Just a rumor. I can’t remember her name. Jennifer something. And really? People are coming up to you and saying they hate you? Maybe Ishouldjust sell my place. It’s good money. But I hate to let them make me.”
“Why should you? OK. I’m starting to know the players and the stakes, which is good. And yes, even though you didn’t ask, Brett Hunter, too. I’ve got his number. Literally. Don’t worry, and have fun. But I’ve got to go. Things to do. Goats to milk. A store to open all by myself.”
“Just don’t burn it down,” Lily said. “With the steamer. Try to keep me in business one more week.”
“Don’t worry,” Paige said. “I’m on it.”
When Jace woke on Sunday morning, his first thought, even before he opened his eyes, was,Goats.
Or maybe that wasn’t the exact word, because he may have had a few dreams in there. He remembered some details from one of them, when he put his mind to it. It had involved a certain blonde sitting on a bar, for some reason, in that flowery dress, the one you could see through. He’d had his hand on her knee, was shoving her skirt up, moving slow. When his thumb had moved over the silk of her inner thigh, she’d moaned, her head had gone back, and he’d shoved her straight on down. And he’d thought,Oh, yeah. We’re doing this right now.
Wishful thinking. Wishful dreaming. Of a woman who’d let you do her on a bar, who’d surrender that hard and that completely, but only after she’d made you earn it. A woman who was tough right up until the moment when all she wanted was for you to be the tough one. He hadn’t found that dream girl so far, a warrior queen with a secret soft side—all right, a submissive side—that only you could touch. Probably because the dream was a few centuries out of date. Or possibly out of a video game. Fantasy could be a bastard.
And all the same, he was rolling out of bed, pulling on his jeans, shoving a hand through too much thick black hair, planning to milk goats, and hoping Lily liked wild men.
He let Tobias out the back door, fed him his breakfast, and started the coffee. Two cups drunk standing up, and real life filling the spaces of his mind, shoving out the fantasy. He took his cup over to the windows and looked over the front porch onto the valley. The dark shadows of Douglas fir and ponderosa pine, the patches of brighter green that were the aspen beside the creek, which were leafing out now. Dots of yellow scattered around, the avalanche lilies that bloomed first after the snow melted. Pale-blue sky, and all the promise of spring.
And something else. Something closer. Something wrong. He opened the heavy front door, the one he’d locked last night as always, the habits of a lifetime refusing to die, and headed onto the porch with Tobias on his heels. He studied the thing for a minute, then bent to pick up the padded envelope and stared down at it, his thumb running over the address, another wrong thing clicking into place.
Stamps. But they weren’t cancelled. No postmark, either.
