Spider Game (GhostWalkers, #12)(64)

Alain stumbled back, his face losing color. “You don’t understand. You come into my store and I get a photo, I can advertise big with that. Makes me exclusive.”


“You snuck a picture from the back room?” Trap’s voice was mild. His hands continued to open boxes and pull out heels even as the room seemed to go down in temperature and an icy menace invaded.


He slipped the black heel onto Cayenne’s foot, over the small little nylon socks Alain had tossed down with the boxes. The shoe fit like a glove. There was a small silence. The tension in the room increased. Draden stirred, and Alain’s gaze jumped to him. Trap put the second shoe on Cayenne and held out his hand as he got to his feet.


Alain whipped out his cell phone. “I only got a picture of your back. It wasn’t a good angle,” he confessed hastily and showed it to Trap. “I’m deleting it now.” He continued to hold out his phone so all three men could see he’d removed the picture.


I take it you’re some big deal. Somebody worth photographing. She kept her voice neutral when she felt hurt all over again. He had known she didn’t want to shop for shoes or anything else. He also knew it was difficult for her not knowing what to expect. He still hadn’t made it easy by disclosing information to her. He hadn’t even told her that much – that he was known in the outside world.


She didn’t know why she considered the teams invisible for the most part – like she was. People who lived in the shadows. She needed to rethink giving herself to this man. She didn’t know him. She’d let herself be carried away by the way he’d treated her, the kindness and of course, the way he made her feel physically and emotionally. No one had ever really seen her until he had, but that didn’t mean she knew him. He certainly didn’t know her.


Still, she squared her shoulders as she stood up in the high heels; she was a warrior and no one could take that away from her. Not Whitney. Not Trap. Certainly not any enemy. What the hell? The shoes killed her sense of balance. She stood still, feeling them out. Finding the perfect way to stack her core over them so she could walk without falling. She let go of Trap’s hand, not looking at him. Not wanting to look at him. He’d put her in this position, and for reasons only he knew, he’d abandoned her.


She took a cautious step, trying to look as if she’d been wearing heels all of her life. She had a strong core and a good sense of balance. Once she’d calculated that with the way her foot was tilted, the height of the heel bordered right on the edge of her ability to keep from stumbling, she knew if she walked slow she could pull it off. If the heel had been one inch shorter, it would have been easier. Trap could do the calculations as easy as she could and he would have known that when he chose the heels.


Thankfully she made it across the room, walking to the back shelf rather than toward the windows. When she sat down, again without looking at Trap, he removed the heels, handed Alain both the black and red pairs and proceeded to try the boots on her. Thankfully the heels were lower and much more stable. She liked the way they looked, they were comfortable, but still felt heavy on her feet. She didn’t voice her opinion, nor did Trap ask for it. He handed the boots to Alain.


The running shoes were next. Trap put them on her, this time after demanding socks. The shoes were much more comfortable than the heels, although she had to admit, even with the small heel on the boots, she liked them the best. Money exchanged hands. Trap purchased both pairs of heels, the boots, hiking boots, and two pairs of the running shoes along with multiple pairs of socks.


Relieved that it was over, Cayenne didn’t say a word as Trap put the shoes on her feet and had Alain put her old boots in with the packages. She watched as Gino went through the door first, did a sweep of the street and then nodded. They followed, Trap’s arm around her, clamping her to his side, one hand shielding her face. Draden brought up the rear, packages in one hand.


Instead of turning back toward their SUV, Gino led the way down the street toward more shops.


“What are we doing?” Cayenne asked.


“Shopping.” Trap’s voice was clipped.


She glanced up at his face. No expression. Eyes as cold as ice. He looked tough. Chiseled. Gorgeous. His blue eyes were so striking and his hair unruly, a darker shadow just beginning to appear along his jaw. There was something about the way he moved, something fluid and catlike that appealed to her. She loved the ripple of muscles beneath his tight tee, the way his shoulders were so wide and his hand, the one covering her face, actually was big enough to shield it.


“You said shoes,” she reminded, eyeing the little fancy boutique he was heading for with distaste. She wanted to be back in the swamp where she could breathe, smell information in the air and see what was coming at her. Here, in the city, everything was too close. There were too many cars, too many people, buildings too close together with little alleyways and places an enemy could hide.


She kept her gaze on Trap’s face as she made her protest. He didn’t so much as glance down at her, not even to show her his mask.


“You said shoes. I said shopping. You need clothes. We’re getting them.”


His voice was clipped. Almost irritated. Cayenne didn’t bother to protest further. It wouldn’t get her anywhere, and at least inside the shop, they were off the street and more protected. The man across from them followed, snapping pictures with his camera, clearly elated, and that bothered her more than anything else. She could accept enemies. More than likely, the enemies were hers, not Trap’s. But if he was famous, if there was a reason for the camera and he hadn’t told her, that was wrong.