There was a glare in her eyes. She wasn’t going to have any of it. She was smarter than they gave her credit for.
“Please, Miss, just let us help you.” The proprietor of the shop was nervously rubbing his hands together, his distress more than obvious.
“I do not need your help,” she told the man, her southern accent becoming more and more pronounced.
“Miss, just let the good man help you,” he told her, again, nodding at the plain-clothed officer standing with them.
She looked at the man, both of them, with disgust. “Whatever. I don’t need you.”
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