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There was a rustling as the curtain behind the counter stirred and Lucy stuck her phone in the pocket of her jeans. Mr Gupta was a good boss, but he didn’t like to see her on her phone when there was a customer in.

For a second, he just stood behind the counter, then he leaned closer to Lucy, close enough that she could smell his aftershave. “Watch out for the shoplifter,” he said, so quietly she could barely hear him. Then he disappeared into the back again, presumably to call the police.

Lucy scowled at the figure by the crisps. Then, to her horror, the figure turned, held up a packet of Skips, banged the appropriate change onto the counter, and turned to leave.

Fuck. What was she supposed to do now?

She’d been too busy studying the bulk of the shirt to look at the shoplifter’s face, she’d be a terrible witness. She wasn’t even sure what the man looked like, other than a vague idea of dark hair.

She glanced back to the curtain, Mr Gupta was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t let him down though.

Which could mean only one thing.

She ducked under the counter, and then ran without thinking to the door.

There, right there, dark jeans and a blue shirt vanishing toward the church.

Lucy gritted her teeth. She wasn’t going to let this happen, not on her watch.

“Sir! Sir.” He didn’t even turn.

She took off, pounding down the pavement, feet finding their rhythm and then putting on an extra burst of speed as the figure began to turn.

It didn’t occur to her until far too late that she had no plan at all.

“Sir!”

The figure loomed closer and Lucy gave every last ounce she had to catch up and then, lacking any further ideas, she launched herself hard at the blue shirted back, colliding with full force into the man so that they both fell to the ground.

“Jesus,” the man said. Except that his voice sounded strange.

“Christ,” said Lucy, who hadn’t been expecting her morning to turn quite so violent.

“Get off me!”

“No way. We’re waiting for the police.”

The man struggled and Lucy let up her weight just a little so that he could turn and breathe properly, she didn’t want any mistakes here.

And then she was staring straight into the face of someone who was very much not a sir at all. Someone who was glaring right back at her with eyes as blue as her own and a very, very cross look on her face.

Chapter Six

The eyes looking back into hers were deep blue, the kind of blue that you saw on old china, and Cal’s heart was already beating so hard that it couldn’t beat any harder. She felt something trickle down the side of her cheek and moved to brush it off, but the woman was restraining her hands.

“Could you get off me?”

“I told you to stop, I shouted,” the woman said, her face a picture of confusion.

“You shouted sir,” said Cal, who had heard her but not registered it. “I didn’t think you were talking to me.”

“Given that you’re not a sir,” finished the woman, her breath coming fast. She was panting, she must have chased her the whole way down the block.

And then rugby tackled her.

“No,” Cal said. “No, I’m not.”

The woman swallowed, her face awfully close to Cal’s. “Uh, I’m sorry?”