"Just browsing," Maya says, moving toward the aisle with batteries and flashlights. I follow, keeping her in my peripheral vision while watching Davis.
He doesn't go back to whatever he was doing. He stands there, watching us with the kind of attention that makes my instincts scream warnings I don't fully understand.
I pick up a package of batteries, pretending to read the label while actually watching Davis's reflection in the small security mirror mounted in the corner. He's studying me, his gaze moving over my face, my build, the way I carry myself.
He recognizes me. Or suspects he does.
"Another storm's supposed to hit again tomorrow," Davis says, moving out from behind the counter. He walks toward us with the casual ease of someone who owns the space, but there's calculation in every step. "You got everything you need, Maya?"
Maya stiffens beside me. "We're fine."
"Good, good." He stops at the end of our aisle, leaning against a display of work gloves.
He turns his attention to me. "You settling in okay? Must be quite a change from wherever you're from."
"It's fine."
"Where was that again?"
The question is casual, but the intent behind it isn't. He'd already asked me the first time I'd met him. I didn't answer then and I'm not going to now. This is an interrogation disguised as small talk, and I recognize the technique because I've used it myself. The memory surfaces without warning.
Sitting across a metal table from a man in a cheap suit, his badge clipped to his belt. FBI, probably. Or state police. The details are fuzzy, but the feeling isn't. The careful dance of answering questions without actually saying anything. The way I lean back in my chair, relaxed and cooperative, while giving him absolutely nothing useful.
"I'm happy to help, agent. But I'm not sure what you think I know about this." The lie comes easily, smoothly, like I've done this a hundred times before.
I blink, and I'm back in the hardware store. Davis is still waiting for an answer, his hazel eyes patient but persistent.
Maya steps between us, her body language protective in a way that makes something warm unfurl in my chest despite the tension. "We should get going. Still need to stop at the general store."
But I'm not ready to leave yet. Not when Davis might have information we need.
"Actually," I say, keeping my voice casual, "we heard there were some men in town asking questions. You know anything about that?"
Davis's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or respect for the direct approach.
"Heard about that, did you?" He crosses his arms, and the gesture pulls his flannel shirt tight across his chest. He's lean but solid, the build of someone who stays active. "Yeah, couple of guys came through a few days ago. Driving a black SUV, in expensive suits. Stood out like sore thumbs."
"What were they asking about?" Maya's voice is steady, but I feel the tension radiating off her.
Davis's gaze moves between us. "Seemed mostly interested in finding a man. Said he was a friend who'd gone missing, but…" He shrugs. "Didn't feel like a friendly search, if you know what I mean."
"How so?" I ask.
"They were armed. Saw the bulge under their jackets when they reached for their wallets. And the way they asked questions, it wasn't concerned friends looking for someone. It was professionals looking for a target." He pauses. "Looked like theMob to me. But what do I know? I'm just a retired guy selling hammers."
The casual way he says it makes my skin prickle. He knows exactly what he saw, and he's telling us he knows what we are. Or what he thinks we are.
"Did they say where they were headed?" Maya asks.
"Nope. Just asked their questions and left. But I'd bet money they're still in the area. Men like that don't give up easily." Davis straightens, moving back toward the counter. "You folks need anything else? We've got a sale on generator parts."
"We're good," I say, already guiding Maya toward the counter with a hand on the small of her back. The contact sends heat through me despite everything, and I notice the way her body responds, leaning slightly into my touch before she catches herself.
We pay for the batteries and leave, the bell chiming behind us. The street is quiet, just a few locals going about their business, but I feel exposed. Watched.
"There's a cafe across the street," Maya says, nodding toward a small building with gingham curtains in the windows. "We should eat something before we head back."
I want to refuse, to get us back to the cabin where I can control the environment, but she's right. We need to maintain the appearance of normalcy, and maybe we'll learn more about the men who were looking for us.
