- Aubree Ice: Shoplyfter

She did. Slowly. She pulled her sweater over her head in one fluid motion, leaving her in a simple black bralette. She was lean, with the taut muscles of a rock climber.

Morgan unfolded it. It was a hand-drawn map of Valmont’s security camera blind spots, labeled with times and guard shift changes.

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

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. Shoplyfter - Aubree Ice

She saw the floorwalker, Sandra, a woman with sensible shoes and a permanent furrow in her brow, pretending to fold scarves twenty feet away. Aubree smiled. Amateur.

“Excuse me, miss?”

Morgan stared at the map, then at the door as it clicked shut behind her. She did

Morgan stood up. He walked around the desk and leaned against it, crossing his arms. He was close enough that she could smell his coffee breath.

Aubree didn’t steal the scarf. She was smarter than that.

She drifted to the fragrance section, then to the accessories—a deliberate route known as the “five-finger discount waltz.” She paused at a locked glass case containing silk scarves. The price tag on one, a hand-painted floral orchid design, read $1,200. She was lean, with the taut muscles of a rock climber

“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.”

She stood up and slung her tote over her shoulder.

“Your bag first,” he said, his voice straining to remain professional.