Page 50 of Risky Obsession

He eyeballed me, clearly not impressed with my impatience.

“Everything I looked at was in another language.” The overburdened walls seemed to wobble, closing in on me.

“Yes, that’s going to be our biggest problem. We’ll need to ask for help.”

“That could be an option, but I haven’t seen anyone else in here but us.” I clutched the table, hoping my legs didn’t tremble like my brain seemed to be.

“The storekeeper is probably making coffee out the back.”

“Or they’re dead in the basement, and nobody has seen them in years,” I joked.

“Okay . . .” He frowned at me. “That’s another option.”

“I’ll wait outside.” I searched for the exit, and my damn legs couldn’t take me fast enough.

I burst out of the doorway. The wind whipped through my hair as I dodged the crammed book tables and stumbled onto the cobblestone street. I sucked in the cool air, which carried scents of cinnamon and old stones, and something else; tobacco, maybe.

Kane charged out the doorway with concern riddling his features. His gaze swooped left then right, and when he found me, relief crossed his expression.

He strode to me and gripped my arm in a way that was somehow both tender and firm. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Sorry. That place was just a tad too . . . cramped for me.”

“Oh. I thought you must’ve seen a dead body.”

I chuckled. That would be something I could handle. “I’m fine. No luck in there?” I nodded at the doorway he’demerged from.

“Nothing is ever that simple. Let’s try that one.” His brows thumped together. “As long as you’re okay?”

“I’m good. Lead the way.”

I followed Kane as he strolled toward a shop with a faded sign hanging above the door by a rusty chain. The windows were covered in grime, obscuring the treasures within. Maybe that was what had appealed to him, the mystery.

The store was crammed with dusty items. Some were contained in glass cabinets, but most rested on shelves that I doubted had ever seen a feather duster.

“Sometimes the best finds are hidden in places like these.” His eyes sparkled with excitement.

I swallowed hard, forcing my mind off the dust and darkness and onto my fake identity as a treasure hunter. I picked up a picture frame and studied the faded photo inside of a family. The people were staged with a woman seated at the front with her baby in her arms and seven other children around her, and the man standing behind them, leaving no doubt as to who was in charge. Nobody was smiling.

Who buys this stuff?

I put the picture down and wiped the dust on my hands onto my jeans.

Kane exited that shop, and I followed him into the next one. We stepped inside, and the musty odor was so intense that I fought back a cough. The shop was dimly lit and the few rays of sunlight that angled in through the door struggled to illuminate the shelves packed full of oddities.

How the hell were we going to find clues to gold bars that were stolen eighty years ago?

Maybe those bars had already been melted down?

Had Aria even considered that?

Kane and I moved from store to store. Some searches took longer than others, but we didn’t find anything to enhance our clues.

Not all the shops were dusty and looked like nobody had stepped into them for decades. Some offered wares that glistened from a loving polish, or estate jewelry in keyed cabinets with assortments of colorful stones that sparkled.

Some of the shops had lively music and one even had a three-piece band. Another offered a shot of Jägermeister,a traditional German liquor that the store owner proudly announced was made from 56 ingredients.Kane and I shot the potent, yet delicious liquid with our eyes locked together. As I’d studied his smiling eyes, I had to remind myself that Aria had warned me about him . . . because I was struggling to find a reason to be cautious.

We also sampled street food along the way, trying savory and sweet treats with names that were tongue twisters.