Like I’m going on a fucking date instead of tailing a suspect.
Need a new pair of jeans anyway.
That’s what I’ll tell Grimm if this blows up in my face.
I step out of the car.
Lock it.
And follow Juliet Lovelace into the mall.
She stops at the lingerie section.
Of fucking course she does.
Pink lace. White silk.
She holds up a bra, considers it, shakes her head.
Too boring, probably.
She picks something else.
Bright pink. Little bows.
I watch her stroke the fabric.
Wonder which one of her men will see it first.
Wonder if I could be number four.
She glances over her shoulder.
Not at me. Not directly.
But close enough that my heart kicks up.
Close enough that I step behind a rack of jeans and pretend I’m shopping.
Because if she catches me now, if she recognizes me from the station, I’ve got nothing.
No excuse.
No cover story.
Just a detective who followed a suspect into a mall.
And couldn’t look away.
Chapter Five
Juliet
The bra is hot pink.
Not blush. Not rose. Hot.
The kind of pink that screams fuck me in a foreign language and bites when kissed.
