Page 4 of Undercover
“You sure?” I tried for a charming smile, wishing I’d taken a minute to practice one in the mirror over the sink that morning. I got a smile in return, but it looked more perfunctory than sincere. “I’d like to thank him myself. You know. It’s a nice gesture. Did he say why?”
“Just wanted me to tell you that a rich, eccentric customer thought it was too bad you always looked at books without being able to buy any, is all.”
Okay, this was a gay-friendly bookstore. More than gay-friendly. I tried another smile, this time going for suggestive. “Is he cute? Because, you know. Maybe I’dreallylike to thank him.”
The clerk shrugged. “Not really my type. I mean, I guess? But I’m not telling you who he is,” he said, his jaw setting mulishly.
Well, whatever. I could always come back with a warrant, if anything came up on the prints.
“Thanks,” I said, and snatched up the bag as soon as he’d slid the books back inside. “I appreciate your help.”
The clerk’s dark eyebrows rose in surprise. Fuck, fuck, fuck. So much for charming. That had come out sharp, professional, and very faintly sarcastic, just like every time I’d said it to some uncooperative witness in the past.
I took the bag and headed out. The locals could run the prints for me, and I needed to collect more files from the BPD anyway.
2
Alec
Even when an FBI agent asked for a fingerprint analysis, it wasn’t like on TV where five minutes later you had the perp’s shoe size, blood type, last three known addresses, and favorite type of beer.
“Yeah, we’ll get it when we can, we’re backlogged,” and then a click as the line went dead…that was what I’d gotten when I’d called that morning looking for an update. After dropping off the books, I’d spent the rest of the evening sitting in the beater sedan I’d borrowed from the BPD, parked across from an alley behind the yoga studio most likely to be the front. I’d come up with zilch. Two deliveries, but one was energy drinks and the other came from a fast-food pizza place. So much for healthy living, but I couldn’t arrest them for hypocrisy.
I spent the later evening going through more files, likewise zilch.
So I went back to the bookstore as soon as I’d made my morning complement of phone calls. A different clerk, a tough-looking young woman, stood behind the counter, ringing out a guy with a toddler jumping up and down and trying to pull his jacket off. They were all noisy and occupied enough that I slipped in without drawing more of her attention than an absent glance, and I parked myself in front of true crime again.
I spent an hour flipping idly through the books, occasionally propping myself against the shelf in a casual stance that let me take a look around the store.
No one paid me any particular attention.
Eventually I left and got some lunch, pausing only to glare at every yoga studio I passed.
My SSA called wanting an update as I wandered and considered my next move, and I ducked into a quiet alley to take her call. Jenna hung up after I’d filled her in, chuckling under her breath and muttering, “Fucking yoga mats, have fun.” I liked Jenna, and more than that, I respected her. Right then I wanted to toss her off a pier into Lake Champlain.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and ducked out of the alley. Little milling knots of happy shoppers strolled along the brick-paved walkway of the open marketplace, eating ice cream or drinking coffee or chatting and carrying shopping bags full of artisanal whatevers. Tables and chairs scattered along the edges of the central walkway held more happy people.
None of them bothered to give me a second glance, except for a couple of giggling teenage girls.
Yeah, good luck with that, even if they’d been legal.
A guy crossed the walkway, his swinging-hipped gait catching my eye. Well, that and the purple-and-blue hair. Fuck, he had a nice ass. Small but round, like it’d fit perfectly in my hands.
I managed to tear my gaze away from his ass and focus back on the hair.
I’d seen that hair. He’d been in Vino and Veritas a couple of times, at least—he’d looked at me. He’d just been casually checking me out, or so I’d thought at the time.
Quickly, but not so quickly the girls could think I was approaching them, I crossed the marketplace and followed that flash of purple hair through the crowd. He disappeared for a moment, and then I caught sight of him walking into Vino and Veritas.
After waiting a discreet thirty seconds, I went in too. This time a line of customers waiting to be rung up completely absorbed the clerk’s attention.
I caught a flash of purple as I went back to my usual section, but it vanished again by the time I got around the crush of customers. No worries. If he’d been the one watching me, he’d put himself in my line of sight again.
Pulling out a book at random, I leaned up against the shelf, my peripheral vision busy watching for purple hair.
And there he was. Behind one of the curved freestanding shelves that filled the middle of the shop, I caught a flicker of purple. And then he leaned around the sign on top of the shelf, peeking at me with one eye. I casually turned a page. He leaned a little more.
Another page. And now he was openly staring, thinking himself unobserved in his turn.
