Crisscross

Chapter 1

He loved the hunt; it was so full of possibilities. She could come in today, tomorrow, maybe next week--but there was one thing he was sure of. She would come into the shop eventually.

The bell on the door jingled and, out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the mirror he kept angled toward the entrance. The weather was depressing, foggy and cold, and he hadn't expected much business this close to Christmas. So, when the tone peeled to announce a customer, he appraised the woman ushering in a small child. She wasn't very pretty, rotund and dressed in a too-tight pink sweater not flattering to her Hispanic skin tone. On the other hand, her son was an adorable tyke with his mother's dark hair and eyes. At two years old, he was already all boy, toting two toy trains and hooting like a train whistle while he played.

The approaching Christmas holiday had brought in a sudden rush of customers. If he were truly in this business to make money he would have been more than happy to see the schedule fill up. Unfortunately, he was beginning to get antsy. Had he left everything too much to chance? Perhaps. Surely, the coupon he planned on having mass mailed out later today would bring her in.

After delaying for five minutes, he greeted the woman and her son and led them to the area behind the counter he had set up as a studio. A fake Christmas tree and fireplace was the most popular backdrop this time of year, but a few of the customers preferred the snowy evergreen scene. This woman was no different, although she confided she was pagan and her parents would be disappointed if they didn't get a holiday shot of their grandson.

Once she'd confided that, it had been easy to chat her up, even flirt a little with her. Practicing for the day, the time, when she would walk in the door with her son.

The bell jangled as he took his first photo of the boy. He snapped two similar shots and then swung the camera display around to let the mother pick the picture she preferred. When he glanced over his shoulder, his mouth went dry.

There she was! He bit back a smile as he surveyed the tall, strikingly beautiful African-American woman. A small boy fidgeted beside her.

She captured his attention so completely that he dismissed the short fat woman from his mind. He noticed her undisguised puzzlement, but couldn't control his impatience. His manner became short and brusque and he rushed her through the photo selection process.

It seemed to take an eternity to print up the poses she requested and, inside, he fluttered with frustration. With a squeak, the machine spit out the last eight by ten and the Hispanic woman and her irritating toddler left. Now he could concentrate on her.

Now that she had his full attention, he felt the need to delay, to savor the anticipation. He cleared his workspace, filing bundles of pictures into waiting envelopes while the backdrops whirred up to the top and into position for the next set of portraits.

The woman gazed around, her eyes narrowed. He bit back a smile. It was obvious she felt something off in the atmosphere of the shop. Would she guess it was a trap laid especially for her?

She fancied herself a security expert, but he was sure he'd be able to get through her defenses all too easily.

Finally, he felt he'd anticipated enough. He beckoned her to the counter and then his real work began.

Adopting a clipped British accent, he greeted her and her son. "Are you in for Christmas piccys, today, love?"

His quarry shook her head. "I'd like a simple portrait of the both of us, together." She motioned toward the young boy.

Whirring a plain smoke colored background down, he set up the lifts he'd need under a darker gray blanket.

"Have you been here long?" the woman asked.

"I've been working here for eight months," he answered vaguely.

"I meant how long has the studio been open?"

"I'm not sure, mum. I'm only the shop assistant, but the owner will be in later."

"Do you know what time?"

He gave a short laugh. "Not exactly. She doesn't clear her schedule with me."

The woman gave him a tight-lipped smile in response, not that he expected more. No, her bestselling book, Safe and Sane Rules for Single Women, was clear about discouraging women from sharing too much information or interest in subjects for which they had an emotional investment. Well, he had news for Miss Security Expert, people, especially women, enjoyed talking about themselves; they only needed an audience. If you asked the right questions, you could learn everything you needed to know.

As he seated and posed them on the stools, he started into his standard patter. He'd carefully gleaned the questions from her book. It would be interesting to find out if she followed her own rules. "So, have you lived in San Francisco long?"

"All my life."

"You don't sound like you're from around here. I'd guess somewhere back east."

"Oh, originally I'm from here. We moved away when I was a child and I moved back to California for the sunshine. Too bad it doesn't look like we're going to get too much of that today." The woman replied lightly. Friendly, but still vague. Her phrasing of moved away didn't come close to confirming his guess of the east coast. It was interesting to note that she also only referred to the larger California, not the specific city. Yep, she was good, but he was better.

He glanced down at the questionnaire in front of him. There were no answers in the blanks requesting last name, address, and phone number.

"I have some coupons for the circus over there by the register. Perhaps you'd like to pick up a few to use this weekend when Daddy's home from work." He pointedly addressed this question to the little boy.

The child frowned and looked up at his mother.

"We have other plans. But thank you."

Interesting. The child was the first he'd ever encountered who didn't respond openly to his 'innocent' questions. Was he learning from his mother's example or did she use her own book for bedtime reading.

All too soon, the set of ten photographs had been snapped, and she'd decided on the package.

He printed up the first shot and gave an exaggerated sigh. Pasting a tragic look on his face, he turned to her. "Our photo printing machine is on the fritz. Did you need these photos right away?"

"Well, in time to mail out our Christmas cards." The woman smiled, but this time, it didn't go all the way to her eyes.

Did she suspect? Well, he knew her answer was an obvious lie. There was no way the mail delivery would beat Santa Claus in delivering the holiday greetings to their recipients.

"I'll call the repairman immediately. I can mail them to you as soon as they are done."

"Will the photos be ready today?"

"Probably," he hedged.

"We're heading into the, um, I mean, we'll be busy for a few hours. We'll pick them up on our way back, perhaps I can meet with the owner then."

"All right." He dragged out the affirmation. "Could I get your name so I can tell my boss she has an appointment?"

"Sylvie."

The woman simply reiterated the first name on the form. "Oh, and your cell phone number, in case the pictures aren't ready in time." He added with what he hoped looked like an innocent smile.

"I have your number on the receipt. I'll call. They'll be done by tomorrow, for sure?"

Damn her. She had upped the stakes in this game. "Absolutely," he assured her. Even if the pictures weren't ready, his trap would be.

He almost held his breath as he finished up their transaction. She pulled out her billfold to pay, and just when he thought she was going to lose the game by default, she paid in cash.

"Ta-ta," he called out as they left.

The boy turned and gave him a small wave and a smile.

There was still one thing to check. She was good around strangers, but what about open-air security. After a full minute had elapsed, he followed the pair out of the shop and trailed them to their car. If she or her child spotted him, he had a duplicate receipt and a buy-one-get-one-free coupon to present as a plausible excuse.

It wasn't needed this time; she didn't notice him. Score one for him. However, it wasn't due to her lack of observation but of her inattention. She was focused on her son who was busy looking into store windows. He dragged his feet, begging to go back to look at something. Some words were exchanged between the mother and the little boy resulting in the toddler throwing one heck of a temper tantrum.

He stood, openly watching her, for the several minutes it took for her to manhandle her screaming son into the car and buckle him into his car seat. In the meantime, he memorized the license plate number and then went back to work, savoring the memory of their verbal foreplay. If he was right, the address he'd garner by hacking into her DMV records would only lead to a post office box. To his credit, he'd confirmed her weak spot--her child. And he knew exactly how to exploit that.

Oh, he did so enjoy the hunt.