Shoplyfter - Aubree Ice -

“You see, Detective, I never stole anything. I wanted you to profile me. I wanted you to bring me back here. I wanted to see how far a man like you would go to ‘find’ a crime that never happened. And you just stripped me in a back room based on a floorwalker’s hunch.”

Aubree’s eyes went wide with perfect, Oscar-worthy innocence. “A scarf? I… I don’t have a scarf. I didn’t take anything.”

He sat back down, defeated. “You can get dressed. I’m sorry for the… misunderstanding.” Shoplyfter - Aubree Ice

“What is this?” he whispered.

“Your bag first,” he said, his voice straining to remain professional. “You see, Detective, I never stole anything

Aubree’s lips curled into the first genuine smile she had shown all day. “You’re thorough. I like that.”

“Sandra,” Morgan said, his voice suddenly formal. “Wait outside.” I wanted to see how far a man

“Excuse me, miss?”

Detective Morgan Cross didn’t look up when the door opened. He was sitting behind a metal desk, reviewing a bank of grainy security monitors. He was a large man with a salt-and-pepper beard and eyes that had forgotten how to blink with surprise.

Aubree turned, her expression one of practiced bewilderment. “Me?”

“The scarf? It was never in my bag. It’s still in the case. You can check the cameras—but oh, wait. You can’t. Because you turned them off in here during the ‘search.’ Standard protocol, right? Privacy.”