A wave of unease pressed down on my chest as someone set my faux-fur coat and purse on the counter.
Electrocution can’t be a thing.
“Put your coat on,” he ordered.
I paused to grit my teeth because I already had one arm in the sleeve.
He grabbed my sequin crossbody handbag from the counter and eyed the faux peacock feathers like they might carry malaria. I’d made the purse myself, and it was beautiful. I snatched it from his grasp, slipped it on, and headed to the front door.
Stopping abruptly, I turned and waltzed back up to the counter, taking my heels off as I went. “Can you make sure my cellmate—goes by Cherry—gets these?”
The officer watched me with a blank expression.
I returned it.
She peeked over the counter, at my bare feet and white-painted toes, and then straightened, her starched uniform rustling. “It’s been snowing for the last hour.”
I blinked.
“You want to give an opioid-addicted prostitute”—she tilted the shoe to look inside—“Jimmy Choos?”
I brightened. “Yes, please.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sure thing.”
“Great,” I exclaimed. “Thank you!”
Turning around, my gaze met a cold one, which I was sure could frost a lesser woman. He nodded curtly toward the exit.
I sighed. “Okay, Officer, but only because you asked nicely.”
“Agent,” he corrected.
“Agent what?” I pushed the door open. Snow dusted the parking lot, glittering beneath the four-globe lamp posts. The December air grabbed my bare legs with bitter fingers, the cold fighting to pull me into its embrace.
He observed the scene over my head, eyes narrowing as he looked at my bare feet. “Allister.”
“Which car is yours, Agent Allister?”
“Silver Mercedes on the curb.”
I braced myself, and said, “Do you think you could unlock it?”
Before he could respond, I was running to his car, the cold biting into my feet and his dry stare burning a hole into my back.
He didn’t unlock it.
I hopped from one foot to the other, pulling on the passenger door handle while he walked toward me, not the least bit in a hurry.
“Unlock the door,” I said, my breath misting in the air.
“Stop pulling on the handle.”
Whoops.
The door unlocked, and I slid into the seat, rubbing my feet on the carpet for warmth.
His car smelled like leather and him. I was sure he wore custom-made cologne to match the suit, but it was worth the money. It was a nice smell, and even made my mind a little hazy until I blinked the feeling away.