It doesn’t make sense.

I’ve tried analyzing her story from many different vantage points, but I just can’t seem to put the pieces together.

“You’re going to have to start from the beginning, Miss…” I glanced down at the notes I’d been making while she spoke. “Ms. Spencer.”

The woman before me huffed a sigh, obviously frustrated. And rightly so, since I’d asked her twice already to repeat her story. And if she would’ve told me something that actually seemed plausible during the first two renditions, I would have probably been long gone by now, taking what little information she’d offered and hating the fact that I would probably never catch the asshole that stole her purse.

But, at the moment, that wasn’t what irked me now.

Instead, I planned to stick around to see what more I could find out. This woman had red flags poking up from every part of her story, and I wasn’t prepared to back down just yet.

Ms. Spencer pushed a long, chestnut-colored lock of hair back over her shoulder, her throat moving visibly as she swallowed. Anxiety rolled off her in waves, though she tried to mask it with a thin veil of annoyance. “I already told you everything I know, Officer.”

“Once more, for the hell of it, please.”

Whether it was the mild curse word that got her attention, or my persistence, she humored me and began again, though with an evident edge to her words.

“I’d only stopped in here for a quick coffee—”

“Do you come here often?”

“Is that a pickup line?” she snapped, blushing immediately. Obviously, she hadn’t thought the words through before saying them. Her gaze lowered, abashed, focusing on the floor.

I pressed my lips together in attempt to keep my expression neutral, but a faint smirk shone through. “Just a routine question, Ms. Spencer.”

Feisty.

She blew out an exasperated breath, but continued. “I stopped in for a coffee, which I don’t usually do.” She eyed me warily, her arms crossed in front of her. “I can count on one hand how many times I’ve come here.”

“But today was different,” I encouraged, my gaze flitting from the notebook in my hand up to her eyes. She looked at me then, but not for long. Her gaze, I noticed, kept roaming around the room, first one side of the café, then the other. Always watching, always taking in her surroundings.

Wary.

“Only because I sat down for a few minutes,” she explained. “I usually get my coffee and go.” She winced, swallowing again. “I mean, I usually make my coffee at home, but on the few occasions I’ve come here, I’ve just left.”

I watched as she mentally chastised herself for over-explaining the situation. I raised an eyebrow. She was nervous, but it had little to do with her purse being taken.

“And where’s home?” I asked, with my pen at the ready.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” she replied quickly. “I told the shop owner already, there was nothing in that purse of any value. I’ve told you that as well.”

“If someone is robbed, ma’am, especially within a local shop, the owners around here tend to want to make an official statement regarding it.” I shifted my weight, leaning back slightly to give her more space. “The victims of those robberies usually want to have their belongings found, if possible, as well,” I added, not bothering to hide the suspicion in my voice.

“There was nothing in that bag worth being tracked down.” She enunciated each word deliberately. A moment later, she tossed her hands up. “You know what? I’ve already told you all of this. The guy swiped my purse, which was sitting on the table, when I wasn’t paying attention. He took off out the door, caused a bit of a stir while he was pushing people out of the way to get out of here and down the sidewalk, and I tripped when I tried to go after him, spilling my damn coffee in the process.” She waved her hands as though displaying the wet, brown stain down the front of her shirt, beginning to darken as it dried at the edges. “So, not only did I lose my purse and have the café owner ignore me when I said it wasn’t worth calling the police over, but I still haven’t had my caffeine fix for the day, which is making this all much more difficult to tolerate.”

It was getting more and more difficult by the minute to hide my amusement. Here I was, thinking poor Ms. Spencer just hated the cops and was being evasive as hell on purpose, when the truth of it was that the pretty little thing just hadn’t had her morning coffee.

“Mr. Edmund!” I called above the bustling crowd of patrons and onlookers, and the café owner immediately poked his head up from behind the cappuccino machine. “You mind getting the lady a coffee?” I pointed at Ms. Spencer, then turned back to her. “What do you take in it?”

She opened her mouth, undoubtedly to protest, but her caffeine addiction must have been stronger than her desire to dislike me. “Dark roast. Two milk, one sugar,” she stated, adding, “Please,” as an afterthought.

“Coming right up.” I smiled, sending a glance toward Mr. Edmund, but he’d already heard her request. “Now, take a seat, relax a little, and give me ten minutes of your time, will you?” I waved a hand toward the open table behind us—the one she’d been sitting at when the asshole had lifted her purse.

“I really don’t see how this—”

“If nothing else, you get a caffeine buzz, and I don’t look like a complete jerk in front of all the people in this place. Humor me?” But I already knew I had her attention, if only for the coffee that was eventually coming with her name on it.

Ms. Spencer sat down at the table, her arms once again folded around her as though to ward off the chill, though it was stuffy and warm in the cramped coffeeshop. “Ten minutes, or until I finish the coffee,” she muttered grudgingly. “Whichever comes first.”

* * *

“A man stole your purse, and you’re telling me it had no identification in it.”

I waited until Ms. Spencer had gulped down three mouthfuls of steaming coffee in rapid succession before I began questioning her again. It was hard to be tactful about it though when I was so damn distracted by the fact that her mouth had to be scalded from that liquid, and yet she wasn’t batting an eyelash.

“It’s at home.” She sighed loudly, seemingly fortified by the caffeine as it entered her bloodstream.

Liar. Her eyes shifted slightly as she’d said it. “You didn’t need your driver’s license to come here?” I leaned forward, my elbows on the table, struggling to keep my eyes from narrowing.

“I walked.”

“So, home isn’t far.”

“Irrelevant, Officer—” Her eyes flitted to my gold name tag, but I beat her to the punch. She obviously had forgotten the name on the card I’d given her when I first arrived.

“Brett,” I said. “Alex Brett.”

The use of my full name halted her, and a veil of caution clouded her eyes again. With an air of finality, she pushed the paper cup away from her, into the middle of the table. “If you don’t mind, Officer, I’ve got things to do. So, if there are no further relevant questions that I haven’t already answered—”

“Why are you lying to me?”

Surprise didn’t register on her face like I thought it would. Instead, her features, a fine-boned jaw and high cheekbones, hardened under my stare. She remained silent, unmoving.

“You asked,” I reminded her, shrugging.

“I didn’t, actually.”

“You insinuated that if I had no further questions you hadn’t answered—”

“Relevant questions, Officer.”

“What’s relevant might be open to interpretation, Ms. Spencer.” Her name rolled off my tongue like steel, and I could see her resolve crumbling brick by brick before my eyes. She was either going to break, or—

“It’s not,” she snapped, standing up and pushing away from the table. “We’re done here.”

“Ms. Spencer—”

But she was no longer listening, stepping around customers in the shop and pulling the door open. It swung inward, the bell above it clanging with surprising clarity amongst the murmurs and laughter that echoed off the walls.

I let her go. Because she’d said all I needed to know.

Ms. Spencer—Hailey, according to the name she’d given me, jotted neatly at the top of my notebook page—had admitted she was lying to me. Not outright, but she hadn’t denied it, either. And that fact might not be relevant to the investigation of her stolen purse, but it was damn well relevant to the haunted look in her pretty blue eyes.