Witness in the Dark (Love Under Fire #1)(25)

She threw some cold water on her face and felt slightly better. She didn’t bother doing anything about her dirty clothes. He’d said she was getting new ones.

As expected, he was tapping his leg impatiently by the time she emerged. She smiled in relief when he got a cart and headed for the clothing section.

“Six long, right?” he said as he went to a pile of jeans.

“Yes.” She looked down at the designer jeans he had bought for her after her escape. “Wait. I only have sixty dollars,” she informed him as he grabbed a pair of jeans, then turned to the sweatpants.

He made a face. “We could be on the road for a while.” He tossed a zippered sweatshirt in the cart, and went over to the Tshirts.

“I’m actually capable of choosing my own things,” she said, slightly irritated he hadn’t even consulted her on what clothing she preferred. Though she probably would’ve picked the same things. That wasn’t the point.

“Okay, then.” He pushed the cart toward a long rack of hats. He gestured at the colorful array. “Pick whatever you want.”

She hesitated, but chose a distressed, straw cowboy hat that would hide her face from prying cameras…and her hair.

He grunted. “Good choice.” They headed for the toiletry aisle. “Grab some shampoo and stuff.”

She chose something cheaper than she normally used. What did it really matter when one was running for one’s life? Then she picked out some conditioner and shower gel, and a box of tampons. Because when had that ever come at a convenient moment?

Garrett had gone down the aisle a little farther and was looking at rows of boxes, each with a pretty woman smiling at them. “Brunette or a redhead?” he asked as he held up two boxes of hair color.

“Neither,” she said firmly.

“We need to change your appearance. They’re going to be looking for you. Let’s not make it easy on them.” He held up the boxes again.

“I’ll wear the hat,” she reasoned.

He looked up at the ceiling as if praying for restraint. “Right. But the hat isn’t enough. So, it’s your choice. You can either be a blonde corpse or a living brunette or redhead.”

She already recognized that stubborn tone. She wasn’t going to win this argument. Besides, she was just being a baby. “Fine,” she muttered. “Whichever. I don’t care.”

“Redhead, it is,” he said with a wink. “You seem more like a redhead than a blonde, anyway. Sassy, and all.”

“I’m not sassy,” she snapped, sounding… Okay, sassy.

He went over and picked out a pair of scissors from the rack.

Alarm shot through her. “No. You are not cutting my hair.”

She took a few steps toward the entrance of the store, as if about to make a run for it. Even though she wouldn’t stand a chance against him if he decided to chase her…or against the congressman’s henchmen if he decided not to bother.

He clamped his jaw, and she knew she wasn’t going to win this argument, either.

They didn’t say much else as they went to the grocery section and he picked out a ton of soup, canned beans, boxed mac and cheese, and cereal.

“Was there anything you wanted?” he asked when she just stood there.

“No.”

“We’re going to be hiding for a while. Speak now, or it’s soup and cereal for a month.”

“It’s fine.” She wasn’t sure she’d last a month, anyway. It seemed like a waste to spend money on food when someone could be waiting to kill her at the Jeep at that very moment.

He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Come on. There must be something.” It was obvious he was trying to cheer her up.

She shook her head. “This is already costing you—”

“Not me. The Marshals have a budget, Sam. Put something you want in this goddamn cart right now.” He lifted his eyebrows in irritation.

“Fine. Coffee, then. And can we get ice cream?” She didn’t know where they were going. Maybe there wasn’t a freezer. Maybe they’d be staying in a tent.

He blinked. “It’s forty-eight degrees out and you want ice cream?”

“I have ice cream every night before bed while I watch TV.” She blew out a breath. What was she, five? “Never mind. It’s stupid.” How many ways could she embarrass herself in front of this man?

“I like ice cream, too. What kind should we get?” He pushed the cart toward the freezer section.

Maybe he was human, after all.

“What do you like?” she asked. She wasn’t picky, as long as it wasn’t cherry vanilla.

“Mint chocolate chip?” he suggested.

She grinned, and would have hugged him if she wasn’t sure he’d pull a gun out of the back of his pants and cap her where she stood. “That’s my favorite.”

“Cool.” He plucked three containers from the freezer and put them in the cart before heading to the front register. Along the way, he stopped and piled in six two-liter bottles of soda.

The total of their purchases was nearly three hundred dollars.

“Garrett, it’s too much,” she said.

“Budget, remember? And we’ll need this stuff.”

She didn’t know how he could use the word need when their cart held three containers of ice cream, but she let it go. If she survived to testify against a corrupt, homicidal congressman, she supposed the country wouldn’t begrudge her a few lousy gallons of ice cream.