Page 67 of Allure

“Yes. With the thumb up top, you—”

I yank up with my arm, bending my elbow, but I have to yank super hard to break free because his grip remains tight, and he doesn’t loosen it at all.

“Maybe we should add this to the self-defense workshop,” I murmur.

“I’m not worried about that,” he says, his light brown eyes looking darker than ever before, clearly saying he’s worried about something else instead.

That he’s worried about me.

“I know how you feel about me,” he says, “and that this is the last thing you want, but if you want to keep a watch over New Age Grocery and the surrounding stores, you shouldn’t do it alone. I’ll go with you. Two sets of eyes are better than one.”

“No, it’s fine,” I mumble. “We don’t… We shouldn’t. The police can handle it, right? I mean, you aren’t going to bother to tell the detective what I told you.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I’m an outlier. I saw green eyes.”

“Determining eye color late at night isn’t easy,” he says.

“How many?”

“Hmm?”

“How many victims?”

Declan grimaces. “Brooke…”

“How many!”

"Nine, including you."

“Fuck,” I mutter. “I didn’t realize it was that high.”

“It might even be higher than that. There’s some speculation that other muggings involving a knife had been him, but he got his hands on a gun somehow.”

“He’s becoming more violent.”

“He’s desperate. Honestly, it makes me wonder if he needs the money for something. To save his house? Medical bills? Who knows, but he’s not going about making money the right way.”

“Far too many people try to make a quick buck,” I mutter, thinking of my father and his dirty hands.

“I’ll talk to Detective Rivera—”

“If I’m the only one to have seen green eyes—”

“You aren’t the only one to mention the mole, though,” he says. “Which nostril again?”

“His left nostril.”

“Yes, that’s what a few of the others said, so that matches. I wish you would’ve seen his car or truck. We don’t even know for sure that the asshole drives.”

“Do you think…” I swallow hard. “The first night I didn’t go to the grocery store and sit for hours trying to get his attention, he struck again. He might recognize my car, so maybe... if you want... if you’re willing…”

“You want to have a stakeout in my car.”

“I get it if you don’t want to,” I say in a rush.

“You’re damn straight I don’t want to,” he says grimly. “I don’t want us to have to worry about this fucker, but we don’t have that luxury, but how about tomorrow? You look as exhausted as I feel, and I don’t know how long I would be able to stay awake for a stakeout.”

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