“Until today.”
“Yep. I won't blame you if you run out of here screaming.”
“I think there's been enough screaming in the last five minutes.”
She laughed. “You must have thought I was absolutely crazy. I'm really sorry. To express the depth of my apology, I'd love to give you any item in this store.”
“Thank you, but I'm actually not here to shop.”
“Oh?” Confusion tweaked her forehead.
Her smile was like summer to him. Sunny and bright. He was hungry for more summer in his life—especially during Maine's literal winter—and was sorry already because he knew telling her the name of his employer would erase that smile. He pulled free his wallet and flipped it open to show his badge. “Special Agent Jude Camden, FBI.”
The warmth that had been living beneath her expression drained. “FBI?”
“Yes.”
“You're telling me that I attacked an FBI agent?”
“Attackedis too strong a word. It was more like you cleaned my neck really, really well.”
She wrinkled her nose. Scratched the side of her head. “May I see your badge?”
“I don't pass my credentials over. But feel free to look as long as you'd like.”
She scrutinized his ID. “Badge number?”
Smart question. He couldn't see the numbers on his badge from this angle and a fake FBI agent likely wouldn't have memorized the numbers. He rattled off the digits, watching her irises move as she tracked the same numbers on his badge.
“Do you have a business card?” she asked.
Ordinary people didn't take this much time confirming his identity, but he understood it coming from her. This wasn't her family's first dance with the FBI.
He passed over a business card.
She studied it, then tucked it away as three grandmotherly women let themselves into the shop. “Welcome,” Gemma said to the women. More quietly to him she said, “What brings you here today, Agent Camden?”
“I came by to speak with you privately.”
“With me?”
“You're Gemma Clare, correct?” He asked not because he needed confirmation, but to prove to her that he wasn't mistaking her identity the way she'd mistaken his.
“Yes, I'm Gemma.”
“You're the one I came to speak with.”
Gemma kept her body motionless even as her thoughts began to whirl like an amusement park ride. “Would you mind waiting in the back while I help these ladies?”
“Not a problem.”
The FBI had come knocking.
The FBI. Had come knocking.
She led Agent Camden into the multi-purpose room, which contained shelving units for product followed by a kitchenette that faced a long table and chairs.
“Anyone back here but us?” he asked.
