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Shay flitted through the racks of clothing in the back corner of the shop. There were some really good deals on shorts and tops, which was a godsend. Wearing the same pair of pants the whole time was out of the question; it was way too hot for pants, and besides, the motel didn’t have laundry machines.
“Oooh!” She pushed the hangers aside and grabbed one that showed off the cutest yellow bikini. “This is cute.” She felt the clerk—a half-witch in her late thirties—watching from the counter; she probably thought she was going to shoplift.
Shay gladly would have—if she didn’t need to keep a low profile while she was out here.
Okay, and if she didn’t pity the store owners, who probably struggled for business in a place as deserted as this one.
She flipped the hanger around to inspect the bikini bottoms—ruched in the center. These would make her ass look really good.
“Are you in trouble?” a voice hissed.
Shay nearly jumped out of her skin.
The clerk was standing right by her elbow.
Shay backed up a step. “Pardon?”
The woman leaned in. “Are you in trouble?”
“Why would I be in trouble?”
“I sense tension between you and that…that man you came in with.” She cupped a hand over the side of her mouth. “He won’t stop watching you.”
Shay looked over her shoulder to see Roman fumbling with a snow globe. There were three whole shelves of them, right next to spinning racks stuffed full with keychains, pens, and postcards. He caught the globe before it could smash on the floor, and eyed it with irritation as he set it back on the shelf—as if the snow globe’s near-demise was the fault of its own and not the clumsy idiot who shouldn’t be touching breakable things.
“Do you need me to call someone?” the woman persisted.
Shay blinked. “What? No! I’m fine, really. It’s funny, actually—you’ll never believe me, but I kidnapped him.”
The lady eyed her with uncertainty.
“How much is this?” Shay held up the yellow bathing suit.
“If he’s paying, forty-five. If you’re paying, it’s half-price.”
Shay grinned. “Oh, he’s definitely paying, if I have anything to say about it.” She placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Thank you for looking out for me.”
She patted her hand, her palm dry and cracked from living in constant heat. “It’s the most I can do, especially out in these parts.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Women disappear around here all the time. I like to keep an eye out, especially for young lookers like yourself.” She shot another wary glance at Roman.
“Have you heard of anything suspicious happening around here lately? Seen anything? Anything at all?”
She shook her head. “Nothing since the cops came around looking for that young woman who went missing in Yveswich.”
Shay swallowed the lump in her throat. “Anna.”
“Yeah, that’s the one. They kept their search quiet and quick—they were out of here within a day. Which tells me they didn’t find much.”
A sharp whistle cut between Roman’s lips.
“I’m not a dog!” Shay called.
“Let’s go, pup.” He whistled again—this time, as if actually calling a dog to heel, and he beckoned her by patting a tattooed hand against his muscled thigh, the asshole.
She rolled her eyes. “Thank you again for looking out for me,” she told the clerk.
