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.

Just out of curiosity, are you on some kind of medication? Or maybe you suffer from a disorder such as bipolar? I’ve read of these things.

Why would you think that?

She knew he was looking down at her, but she refused to look up. I can’t imagine.

An older woman with glasses hanging around her neck like a necklace hurried over to them the moment they entered the stores. Her high heels were on the very edge of being too high, but she walked without the least bit of a problem, as if she’d been born in them. She looked elegant with her very sophisticated suit. Her skirt was just below the knee and houndstooth with a matching short jacket. She wore a black silk shell beneath the jacket. Her nametag said Mrs. March on it, and somehow, even the nametag looked elegant on her.

“Dr. Dawkins, I didn’t realize you were in town. Welcome to my store.” She beamed at him, not bothering to pretend she didn’t know who he was.

“I recently purchased a home here,” Trap said easily. “Out near the Fontenots’ place. Nonny told me you were the one to come to for help. My fiancée needs clothes, jeans, shirts, sweaters, dresses and underwear.”

Mrs. March widened her smile as her gaze swept Cayenne. Trap loosened his hold on her so she could step away from him, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, determined to get through this nightmare as well. She had no idea what to do and Trap wasn’t giving her guidance, but the woman seemed to know what she was doing.

“You’re very small. I’ve got some things in your size, but a limited variety. I can special order anything you need.” Mrs. March spoke directly to Cayenne.

Cayenne took a breath and forced a smile. “Thank you, I appreciate that.” Her voice came out low, but it came out. She didn’t glance up at Trap. She refused to rely on him for any kind of cues. He wasn’t giving them, and Gino and Draden were facing the street, Gino by the door, Draden closer to them. Closer to Trap, she noted, almost as if he were Trap’s bodyguard. She knew Mrs. March noted that, and it only served to make Trap more important to her.

The saleswoman bustled around, pulling out soft blue jeans and little camisoles. Sweaters were thinner and softer even than the other jeans. The sweaters were pullover, one that fell off the shoulder and another that clung to her curves. Mrs. March added tank tops and underwear, beautiful little sexy bras and lacy thongs and boy shorts that Trap indicated without consulting Cayenne.

She noted that Mrs. March remained professional at all times. She didn’t try to be overly friendly. She didn’t fawn on Trap. She didn’t even pull out her cell phone and try to get a picture of him. Most of her conversation was directed at Cayenne. Trap did stay close to her, and twice when she couldn’t think of an answer to Mrs. March’s question, he stepped in smoothly and answered for her, making it seem as though he was just part of the conversation.

The amount of clothing Trap purchased was alarming. She didn’t know if she could wear all those clothes, let alone where she would wear them. Still, she remained silent, not even protesting telepathically to him. She wanted to go home, to her lair. She needed to be alone and think about this side of Trap. This person who wasn’t at all what she thought him to be.

It wasn’t that he was cruel, like her guards. He hadn’t abandoned her – although it felt a little as if he had. It was his aloofness. He was so withdrawn and emotionally gone. That was it. He was without any emotion whatsoever. He could turn it off so easily, while she struggled with unfamiliar feelings in an unfamiliar setting.

Don’t, Cayenne. Let it go until we’re home.