First to Fail (Unraveled #3) - Marie Johnston Page 0,13

collector comic book stash was a Preston Academy sweatshirt. Soft jeans molded her legs like Valaria’s suit. On her feet were ballet slippers, and the best part? Her hair was down. No wig. No bun wound so tight that if the band snapped it could take out someone’s eye. A cascade of light brown waves fell across the hood of her sweatshirt. My fingers twitched to run through it.

I had it bad.

She adjusted the tote over her shoulder and turned to scan the rest of the store. Had she been in here before? Yes, she’d bought the prism on her bookshelf. The lone object decorating her office, and I was probably the only person in the school who knew what it was. Well, me and Jaycee, but my daughter would never admit her knowledge in Preston.

I scanned the store, trying to see it from a customer’s view. A common tactic Mara and I used to stage the floor, but we were also customers. I wanted to know what Natalia thought of Arcadia. It was more than a comic book store. To remain viable and profitable, Mara and I had expanded to any and every product that would sell. But the building itself was an inviting work of architecture.

The front was floor-to-ceiling windows, and skylights continued the open feel to the ceiling. Arched wooden beams mixed with metal supports to lend a trendy industrial feel to the space.

Natalia’s brow formed an adorable crease when she spotted the clothing section. It was replaced by bright excitement. She beelined to the racks.

I hadn’t moved. All other shoppers had filtered out, knowing it was close to closing time.

Good thing. I might growl at someone approaching the register to interrupt my spying.

Natalia flitted through the clothing racks like an evil scientist who’d found a hidden lair full of abandoned inventions. I wanted to call Mara and thank her for expanding our inventory to include pop culture clothing. Not only was it hugely profitable, but it might make Natalia a repeat customer.

She was chewing her lip over a pair of folded leggings in her hands. I couldn’t tell what comic book universe they were from; I just wanted to see them on her.

Setting them back, Natalia turned and wandered to our accessories section. She passed realistic plastic broadswords and battleaxes, slowed when passing the variety of capes offered in all shapes and sizes, then stopped and smiled in front of a full-sized replica of Dr. Strange’s cape.

Yeah, that was my favorite, too.

I tracked her as she moved past the costume selection to the face paint.

Face paint? Really?

She picked through an assortment and chose two. Again, I couldn’t see the colors.

She lifted her gaze to scan the store.

I grinned when her eyes roved past me, then jerked back. A blush stained her cheeks.

“Can I help you find anything?” I called and started her way.

“I-I—” She looked around, noticed we were the only two now in the store, and hastily put her face paint back. “I came to ask if you can post… You know what, never mind.” She flashed me an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

My strides ate the distance between us before she could run. “It’s all right. What’d you come for?”

“You work Saturdays?” she blurted.

She’d only come because she thought I wouldn’t be here? My earlier thrill at seeing her threatened to die a slow, painful death. Unless…she’d hoped I’d be here. Even if it were only subconsciously, I’d take it.

“Jaycee stays with her grandparents one weekend a month. Then I work that weekend.” He shrugged. “They’re fun.”

“Oh.” Her gaze strayed to the door, but she didn’t move.

I kept my tone from being too pushy or eager. “What brought you here?”

She dug in her tote and withdrew some papers. “Since you’re already keeping one secret for me, we can add this to the pile. Can you hang this by the entry?”

I accepted the flyer. It was a poster for…the roller derby? “From assassin to Minneapolis Mean Streaks?”

Her flush deepened. Seeing me here had obviously thrown her, but that hadn’t stopped her from sharing another part of her life with me. Was there a loophole in her fraternization policy?

Because this woman was intriguing.

So far, I’d met three sides of her, and Ms. Shaw was the oddball in the bunch. “Why the secret identity? Ms. Shaw by day, cool-as-hell chick by night?” I probably didn’t phrase it the best way, but I’d never been one to hide from myself. I let my geek flag fly.

Her shoulders drooped. “I’m a