Page 6 of Flare

I still couldn’t believe I’d done it. Gone out on my own. Risky as all hell, but I was determined. The lease was ridiculously expensive, and my mother had helped by jumpstarting the bond, but being downtown was crucial to give my label the best chance of success.

I hurried across the street with the coffees precariously balanced in my hands. If it was quiet, I could get in some design work before we closed. I’d almost made it to the front door when I registered the police car parked in the loading zone directly outside. I looked through the store window and...fuck.

Kip threw up his hands the minute I walked in. “Mobile phones are calledmobilefor a bloody reason, Boss. They’re no good sitting on your desk.” Kip rarely, if ever, called me Boss—it was his nod to the rise of the proletariat—and it only ever happened when he was flustered.

“What’s going on?” I set the coffee crate on the service desk and peered through the glass of my office where a miserable, shaggy-haired teenager was being spoken to by a police officer.Damn.“Shoplifting?”

Kip nodded. “I was finishing Kent’s sale when I caught the kid trying to sneak out the door with two of those Stefan Hamilton black leather cuffs. The ones with the beaten silver working on his wrist.”

“Shit. They’re over four hundred dollars a pop.” I arched a brow. “And also, Kent?”

“Don’t.” Kip threw me a warning look. “Stupid boy left the tags hanging. I tried to call you, but...” He waved a disgusted hand toward my phone, now sitting on the service desk. “I called the police. I didn’t know what else to do. First time I’ve actually caught someone red-handed since we opened.” He scrubbed a hand down his face and stared into the office. “What the fuck is wrong with these kids? Why the hell would anyone choosethisstore to steal something? He’d have had a better chance at K-Mart.”

I was wondering the same thing. “Did he give you any trouble?”

Kip grimaced. “Told me to keep my fag hands away from him when I asked him to show me his wrist.”

I rolled my eyes. “Charming.”

“Other than that, he was okay. And don’t worry, I never touched him and I didn’t check his bag. I know we’ve got no legal right to do that.” Kip’s attention drifted to the office window. “I just asked him to take a seat and he did, which kind of surprised me. Most of these kids know we can’t force them. When I said I was calling the police, he put on a good act of not giving a fuck but went pale as a ghost, and his hands haven’t stopped shaking since.”

I studied the kid sprawled in one of my chairs as if he did this every day. But his expression was panicked, his eyes suspiciously shiny. Shit.I almost felt sorry for him.

I tapped on the glass and motioned for the police officer to come out.

“You the owner?” she asked.

“Yes. Rhys Hellier.”

“Officer Carla Powell. You can call me Carla.” We shook hands and she moved so she could see the kid through the glass.

“Has he said anything?”

“Just that he’s sorry and that he hasn’t done anything like this before. Usual story.”

“Do you believe him?” I studied the boy, whose fearful eyes belied an otherwise coolly indifferent expression.

Carla followed my gaze. “We get dozens of shoplifting reports a day and a fair few repeat offenders. This guy?” She shook her head. “Never been spoken to before as far as I can tell, and he’s not in the system if the name he gave is correct. A seasoned thief would’ve legged it out of here, knowing there was little your assistant could do to stop him. The other customers had already left, right?” She directed the question at Kip.

“Yeah, they made a hasty exit when it all went down.”

Carla nodded. “I’ve called his uncle who he apparently lives with.” She shot me a loaded look that said there was a story there she wasn’t going to tell. “He was definitely shocked. He backs the kid’s story that this is a first, and I’m inclined to believe him. The uncle’s on his way over.”

“Did the kid say why he did it?”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure he really knows himself.”

The boy looked up and we locked eyes through the glass. There was fake disinterest in his expression that did little to hide a palpable anxiety. “What’s his name?”

She hesitated a moment. “Jack.”

As if he’d heard his name spoken, a shot of red tinged Jack’s cheeks, and I thought of the small circle of chairs out back of my shop.Damn.I hoped his story was true and that I wouldn’t regret what I was about to do.

“Are there any options other than charging him?” I kept my eyes on Jack.

Kip frowned. “The kid was caught red-handed, and he owned up to it.”

“I know. I know.”

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