‘It’s possible,’ Nat agreed, although he doubted it. He had her shoe and no one with a lick of sense would choose to go barefoot from the warmth of the store into the street. She was still in the store; he was certain of it. And, with nine sales floors, she had plenty of places to hide.

In her shoes-or, rather, lack of them-where would he go? What would he do?

If it was serious-and her fear suggested that this wasn’t just some rich woman wanting a little time out-changing her appearance had to be the first priority. Not a problem when she had a store full of clothes and accessories to help her, except that would mean exposing herself while she stood in line to pay for them.

Maybe.

Just how desperate was she?

Desperate enough to grab something from a rail, switch clothes in one of the changing rooms? When they were this busy it wouldn’t be that difficult and she could rip out the security tags without a second thought. It wouldn’t matter to her if the clothes were damaged, only that they didn’t set off the alarms when she walked out of the store.

‘I’ll put the shoe in Lost Property, shall I?’

‘No!’ Realising that he’d overreacted, that she was looking at him at little oddly, he said, taking the shoe from her, ‘I’ll do it. I’ve already wasted enough of your time. Thanks for your help.’

‘No problem, Mr Hart. I’ll keep my eyes open.’

He nodded, but doubted she’d see her and, more in hope than expectation of finding some clue, he retraced his steps back down to the first floor, where he stopped to take another look out over the busy ground floor.

As the afternoon had shifted into evening and offices had emptied, it had become even more frantic, but he would have spotted that black dress amid the madness, the pale blonde swish of hair. That was a real giveaway, one that she should cover up as quickly as possible.