Page 30 of Under the Radar
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Mac discreetly locked the deadbolt to the boutique as Mo browsed the shoe section. His paranoia was driving him crazy and the episode at the diner was a real doozy. What the hell?
He’d swear the guy sitting at the outdoor café across the street watched him and Mo while they ate.
The guy had all the markings of an operative with his dark sunglasses and peeks over the rim of a newspaper. When the guy bent down to tie his shoe, he took a long look on the way up. Mac hadn’t had a moment’s peace until the man sauntered down the block.
And ten minutes later, he’d locked eyes with a spectacled woman in the back seat of a cab parked in front of the diner. What was she looking at? Had his Sanctuary unit been compromised? Nah. His unit was off-duty until Labor Day and his burner phone had been quieter than a tomb for a month-and-a-half.
This had to be stress-related. Now that he’d kicked the meds, the unsettled feelings were back. Great. If he ever ran into another soldier experiencing post-traumatic stress, he’d be uber-compassionate and give them a bro hug because this sucked big time. He was here with the woman of his fantasies and struggled to focus on her.
During brunch, he’d received a long text from the private eye he’d hired to do weekly wellness checks on Mo. The report detailed numerous police cars present at her address in Baltimore, and when the PI finally gained entrance to the building, he’d found Mo’s apartment door sealed with crime scene tape. Mac leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.
So, his pretty mermaid wasn’t telling him everything? Unsettling as that was, Mo had a right to her privacy. It wasn’t her fault that he found it hard to trust women. But why withhold information from me? Maybe her apartment was broken into after she left for the cruise?
Mac glanced outside. The cab with the spectacled woman was gone. Good. He pulled out a small notebook and recorded the license plate number, detailing the minutiae he’d memorized about the vehicle. Just in case.
Because he could never be too careful.
And what if he needed the information later?
For fuck’s sake—he wasn’t even armed.
Mac rolled his shoulders. Maybe this wasn’t post-traumatic stress. Maybe something was going on and he sensed it like he did on missions?
“Mac, what do you think of these?”
His focus shifted to the shoes Mo wore. Simple black pumps. “They’re pretty. A little plain, though. Do you like them?”
“A definite possibility. They’re very comfortable for everyday use.” Mo stepped out of them and slipped into a pair of black and white polka-dot stilettos with bows on the toes. She did a quick pirouette in the mirror and took a couple steps toward him. “How about these?”
Mac looked up from his phone and his mouth fell open. She was a vision of feminine power and strength. Oh, yeah. If he could get her to wear those shoes and nothing else just once, his life would be complete. “Those have your name written all over them. It’s like they’re part of your ID,” he grinned. “You’ve got to get them.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “You really think so? I don’t know. Polka dots never go out of style, but how many things do I have that will match them?” She pranced for a minute in front of the mirror.
No. Attire. Required.His brain fizzled, and his balls fired up. “They’ll match any solid color clothes you have. I haven’t seen you wear many prints anyway.”
She stared at him in the mirror. “You’re dangerous to shop with, Mackenzie. Giving me valid reasons to spend money on expensive shoes is very risky behavior.”
Oh.She had no idea how risky his behavior could get. Mac turned and caught a glimpse of the cab with the spectacled woman creeping by without stopping this time.
Enough.He wasn’t imagining things. He stalked toward the cash register.
“The lady will take these shoes.” He bent and picked up the sensible black pumps and placed them on the counter. “She’ll also take those polka-dot heels and…” he walked over and picked up a pretty pair of red peep-toe kitten heels, “and these.”
“I haven’t even tried on the red shoes.” Mo’s voice wavered with alarm.
“What size do you wear?”
Her eyes popped wide with surprise. “Seven-and-a-half.”
“And the red shoes too,” he instructed the saleswoman. “We’re in kind of a hurry. Would you mind helping us move out quickly?”
“Mac, I came in here to get one pair of shoes, maybe. It’s too much to walk out with three pairs. Why are we in such a hurry?”
Because I want to get you the hell out of this place.“I’m not the patient shopper you thought I was. We can browse in here for another half hour or one of us can make a decision. I’m making a decision. I checked the traffic minutes ago, and the highway to Little Havana is at a standstill. Let’s go to the beach for a couple hours and relax in the sun.”
Mo’s brow furrowed. “Okay. That’s a good idea. I apologize if I spent too much time looking for shoes, but you’re the one who insisted I come in here, and it’s like a personal candy shop.” She reached in her purse.