Shoplyfter - Aubree Ice ⭐ Updated

“Here’s how this works,” he said, his voice low. “You give me the merchandise. I write a trespass notice. You leave, and you never come back. No police. No record. Or… I call the cops. They search you. They search your bag. They find the $1,200 scarf, and you spend the night in a holding cell while your student loan debt accrues interest. Your choice.”

“The bra,” he said, his voice flat. “Take it off. Or I call a female officer to do it for me. Your choice.” Shoplyfter - Aubree Ice

“Your bag first,” he said, his voice straining to remain professional. “Here’s how this works,” he said, his voice low

Detective Morgan Cross didn’t look up when the door opened. He was sitting behind a metal desk, reviewing a bank of grainy security monitors. He was a large man with a salt-and-pepper beard and eyes that had forgotten how to blink with surprise. You leave, and you never come back

Aubree turned, her expression one of practiced bewilderment. “Me?”

He moved to her jean pockets. Empty. He knelt down and checked her boots. Nothing. He stood up, frustrated. His eyes landed on her bralette. The fabric was thin, but there was a slight, unnatural bulge near the left cup.

“Turn around,” he said.