Whatever that reaction meant, I didn’t know, but perhaps it was connected with her leaving the party last night. Douglas Tucker had been another guest.
Tucker talked at me, and I stepped half outside the department’s glass doors to regain my concentration. But I kept one ear on the conversation between Brenda, or Miss Braveheart because I now had her name, and the two women.
I didn’t like the way they looked at her. Superior and judgemental.
The older of the two, a manager, I imagined, indicated to Miss Braveheart’s bag. “I’m going to need to see what’s inside there.”
Smiling broader, Miss Braveheart inclined her head. “Perfect. That’s exactly why I’ve come?—”
The woman held up a hand, her upper lip curled like she’d smelled something bad. “I know you don’t have a receipt. You confessed it to my employee.”
“Wait, no. It isn’t like that.” She opened the bag and extracted a bra. A pretty, velvet-strapped, dainty thing in plush purple that I suddenly pictured peeling off her to wrap around my dick.
The manager recoiled. “No labels either. Did you cut them off? Where did you hide them?”
“Of course I didn’t. Let me start again. I’ve created?—”
“Are there more in the bag? Which display did you take them from? We both saw you lingering over there.”
The manager tugged at the bag, claiming it to peer inside.
Miss Braveheart stared wide-eyed. “What are you talking about? Those are mine.”
“They most certainly are not.”
“They are! You don’t even have those designs on your shelves.”
The manager stuck a finger in Miss Braveheart’s face. “I know, because you stole them. I’ve seen your type around here before. You finished your shift at the strip club then come here to con us into refunding products you slipped into your bag after distracting my staff. Alyssa, call security.”
Sour-faced Alyssa tapped something into her phone.
I forgot my call and pushed open the glass door. Something was wrong here.
My insta-crush snatched the bag back, but the manager wouldn’t let it go. In the tussle, a handle broke and underwear flew out, a cascade of bras and panties falling around them. Brenda snatched up a few of the scattered pieces.
“Stop!” the manager shrieked.
“No, you stop,” I added my voice to the mix.
“What’s going on here?” another voice boomed from behind—the security guard, already arrived.
But Miss Braveheart’s eyes had rounded in horror. She swung her gaze between Crowley’s hostile staff, clutched the underwear to her chest, and ran.
Chapter 4
Elijah
Outside the front of the building, I swung my gaze left and right, hunting the fleeing woman. I glimpsed her down the street and took off in pursuit.
She was fast, but I was faster.
The thrill of the chase boosted me, and in two blocks, I’d caught up with her, a glance back showing the security guard nowhere in sight.
“Wait,” I called.
Miss Braveheart peeked around then slowed, checking behind me before turning a bitter expression my way. “Oh hey, friend of Douglas Tucker. What do you want?”
“I saw what happened.”
