Take the Heat

“We’re closing up soon, so let me know if you need help finding something,” she said, ignoring his question.

“Who’s ‘we’?” he asked, stepping closer to her.

He was tall, way taller than she was, and the width of his shoulders implied that he had some muscles under that hoodie of his.

Courtney’s gut instinct was that something wasn’t right. Even as her friendly, helpful retail-sales persona tried to combat that feeling, it was too strong to ignore.

She didn’t answer his question, and stepped back behind the counter again, closing and locking the little gate that separated the counter from the store. Not that it would stop him from jumping over the damn thing, considering it was only waist-high, but it was a start.

I’m overreacting! No, no I’m not. He’s up to something.

Her purse was under the register, and she smiled as she grabbed it and unzipped it, reaching inside. With her fake smile still on her face, she looked at the guy, closing her hand around the cool metal of her gun.

“You know what, man?” she said, keeping her hand on the gun, hidden below the counter. “We’re closed. So you should come back another time.”

If she wasn’t so unnerved, she’d find him really appealing. He looked like he was in his early twenties, maybe, with a handsome face and good teeth, which meant he probably wasn’t a meth head or anything. So why was he being so…scary?

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m being too paranoid.

“I haven’t gotten what I came here for,” he said. He didn’t smile back at her, which in itself was unnerving.

“What do you need?” She swallowed hard, and hoped he didn’t notice he was scaring the shit out of her.

He nodded up to the security camera, which displayed its image on a tiny TV above the register, facing out so customers could see they were being recorded.

“Turn that off,” he ordered. He was close now, too close, his body pressed up against the counter, his cool blue eyes staring into hers.

Fuck. Hell no, hell no.

“I can’t do that. Get out.”

“It wasn’t a fuckin’ request,” he said.

She took a shaky breath. “What. Do. You. Want.”

If she pulled her gun on him, she’d better be prepared to shoot. Not exactly how she’d envisioned her evening playing out.

The guy reached across the counter and grabbed her wrist—the one attached to the hand holding her hidden gun. His grip was iron on the small bones in her wrist, and she cried out but didn’t move.

“Get the fuck off me,” she whispered. She’d meant to shout it, but fear took her breath away.

“Goddamn it,” he said, and without letting her go, he reached up—close enough so she could catch a whiff of his masculine scent—and turned the camera off. The TV monitor went to static.

Oh God, she’d only bought the stupid gun because she thought having it would be like Murphy’s Law protection against ever needing the damn thing. She didn’t want to shoot the kid.

Not a kid. A dangerous man. He was probably less than a decade younger than her, since she had recently turned thirty-three.

But if she pulled the gun out now, she’d have to pull the trigger immediately or he’d just grab it out of her hand. He was bigger and stronger.

“Let me go,” she said, forcing herself to sound calm, even as her adrenaline spiked. “And I’ll give you all the money in the register, okay? Then you leave.”

The guy released her wrist but didn’t step back.

“Gimme some space, man,” she said.

To her surprise, he stepped back a bit. Interesting.

“My name’s Courtney.” She wanted to make him see her as a real person, because she’d heard that was good to do.