SWINTON’S was like a candy store, even if you couldn’t eat the sweet. Viewscreens, palm pads, minis, earbuds. Racks of net jackets with sleeve interfaces and programmable back displays. Top of the line self-build components. High end, cutting edge DNI gear. The light of the ever-present revolving blue “S” logo suspended overhead reflected from display cases and turned the white vinyl floor into an electric blue sea. Even the air tasted bright, like air conditioning and lemon floor cleaner.
There was nothing here Gid needed, although somehow it always felt like she did. And if there had been something she wanted, all she had to do was ask Dad to buy it for her.
Stealing was more fun. The fact that she wore a sizzling blue employee tee and earned creds while she lifted? Bonus.
“The mini-buds sync well and will get the job done, but they’re minimalistic.”
Gid tapped the display case and smiled at her customer, a woman with blue eyes and orange-tipped blonde hair. Eye contact and undivided attention were part of earning trust, so Gid gave it all she had.
The stylish lines of the woman’s sleek vinyl overcoat suggested she wouldn’t settle for minimalistic. Gid was sure hoping not.
Gid turned up the volume on her smile and leaned a little closer. “If you’re interested in implants, we have an extensive selection of those, too.”
“Implants, of course. I want an upgrade.”
The chilly snip of the woman’s voice cinched it. The customer’s gaze flitted to the touchscreen showing said selection of implants. She could have shopped for them from home, but Gid knew her type. She’d rather have someone wait on her. Gid turned the screen so it faced the woman and curled her lip into something that resembled a knowing sneer more than a smile.
“I guess we can skip straight to the high end models,” Gid said.
The woman glanced at Gid, and her nose wrinkled as she matched Gid’s expression. “I guess so.”
It bothered Gid for a second, that moment of near-sisterhood between her and the woman. They were nothing alike, and Gid hated that the woman thought they were.
Sheep. But Gid swallowed her disgust and kept smiling.
The woman went straight for the highest-priced set of implants. She showed no interest at all in the specs. All she cared about was that she paid as much as she could, just because she could.
It’s all good. I’ll make sure she pays as high a premium as I can get away with.
Gid kept her smile in place, trying not to look too predatory as she finalized the sale. “All that’s left is payment.”
As the woman took out her ID pad, Gid reached for the ID reader with one hand and into her pocket with the other. The peeper was a flat disc the size of a fingertip and simple to hold unseen between two fingers. Gid slanted the reader away from the nearest security cam and slid the peeper under its bottom edge.
As she snapped the customer’s ID into the store’s reader, Gid didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. The surest way to turn doubt into suspicion was to act guilty.
Gid stepped to the side to let the woman run her thumb over the reader’s scan screen.
“You’re all set.” As Gid returned the reader to its original position, she retrieved the peeper. By the time Gid passed back the ID card, she was all winning smile once more. “Installation is one level up, back of the store. Your new implants will be waiting.”
The customer snapped her ID pad out of Gid’s hand. Her heels, all black vinyl rippling with Swinton’s blue glow, clicked as she crossed the gleaming floor. Gid grinned at the sensation of the peeper’s chill circle hidden between her third and fourth fingers.
When Gid turned around, a short woman with long curls of dark, un-colored hair stared at her. The woman’s mouth was set in a firm line. She wore a Swinton’s employee tee like Gid’s, but the name display on her shoulder was rimmed with gold, unlike Gid’s plain black lettering. That meant she was a supervisor.
But Gid knew that already. Sharise had been a thorn in Gid’s side since day one. Sharise didn’t color her hair. No piercings or tats or anything fun. No surprise she was way too uptight about her job.
Gid’s heart rate perked up from a little on edge to a lot on edge in a fraction of a second.
Still all good. This is part of what makes this fun.
“I made a sale!” Gid flashed her best grin at Sharise and raised her unoccupied hand in a thumb’s up. The hand with the peeper edged toward her pocket. The peeper would slide neatly into the pocket’s double lining, safely hidden from prying eyes—Gid just had to get it there.
Sharise’s frown didn’t budge. “You moved the ID reader. Again.”
Gid gasped and faked a wince. “Oh. Right. I keep forgetting.”
What Swinton’s should do was anchor the readers in place. That would up the challenge factor of Gid’s escapades.
Gid maintained eye contact with Sharise and edged the peeper a little closer to the pocket. Nearly there.
“The readers are set in camera views for a reason. Let me see your hands.”
Before Gid could close the remaining gap between her hand and the pocket, Sharise’s gaze dropped away from the up-turned thumb that was supposed to be distracting her and toward the hand holding the peeper. Gid had dealt with Sharise before. She should’ve known the smile and faux dumb and cheerful act weren’t going to impress.
Gid’s pulse kicked up a notch. She could hear it singing in her ears. Her mouth went dry—drier. Gid envisioned and discarded a half dozen possible reactions in search of one that would actually work.
Getting caught isn’t going to happen. Getting caught never happens. It’s not possible.
“Hey, Sharise.” The deep, quiet voice emanated from a figure that only became visible in Gid’s peripheral vision as he spoke.
Sharise’s eyes moved as she shifted her gaze toward the approaching man. It took less than a heartbeat for Gid to slip the peeper into the hidden pocket. By the time Sharise’s gaze shifted back again, Gid’s palms were both turned up in front of her, innocently empty.
Sharise scowled at Gid and then at the man who stopped alongside. He wore Swinton’s blue, too, but in a much larger size than either Gid or Sharise. Possibly larger than the two of them put together. His shoulders alone overshadowed them. Gid tipped back her head to look up at him.
His face was as sculpted as his body. Thick dreadlocks pulled into a mostly-neat bundle behind his head, and he wore glasses with tortoiseshell frames.
He was not smiling. Gid had the eerie sense that a smile would just look wrong on his face, but that didn’t stop him from being all-over impressive. The name display on his tee was simple black like Gid’s. It read, “Bruce.”
“Did you want something?” Sharise put her hands on her hips. Irritation radiated like an aura around her.
“Just saying good morning.” Bruce’s deep, dark gaze landed on Gid. “Good morning.”
He knew. He didn’t say anything, and his face held no expression whatsoever, but Gid knew that he knew—the orange-haired customer and the ID pad and the peeper and the secret double pocket, all of it. He knew.
And he had deliberately interrupted Sharise exactly when he did for a reason. Because he knew. Gid might have grinned, except she was utterly baffled.
Sharise heaved a disgruntled sigh and pointed a finger at Gid. “Stop moving the ID readers. I’m serious.”
Gid recovered from her startling revelation enough to flash a super-contrite smile at Sharise. “I’ll do my best. Promise.”
Sharise grunted and huffed off to do her supervisory thing somewhere else.
Before Gid could formulate what she should say to her new friend Bruce, he walked away. No goodbye, no smile, no anything—he just walked off without a word. His dreads and shoulders remained visible over the display cases, back and arm muscles bunched beneath the dazzling blue Swinton’s shirt.
“Who was that masked man?” Gid whispered. Then she fought down the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth and narrowed her eyes, because seriously, what was this guy’s deal? No one ever did anything nice for no reason.
He had to want something.