Aubree let her shoulders slump slightly, the posture of a nervous teenager. Inside, she was grinning. Hook, line, and sinker. She followed Sandra past the registers, through a gray door marked “PRIVATE,” and down a cinderblock hallway that smelled of bleach and old carpet.
She turned, her back to Sandra, and bent down to tie her shoe. In that three-second window, her hand dipped into her oversized tote bag. She palmed a small, powerful magnet. With a sleight-of-hand worthy of a stage magician, she reached behind a display of leather gloves and detached a single, deactivated security tag from a hidden pocket sewn into her bag’s lining. Shoplyfter - Aubree Ice
Morgan sighed, the sound of a man who had heard that exact sentence fifteen thousand times. “Miss Ice, we have you on camera near the case. We have you bending down, reaching into your bag. The timing is… unfortunate.” Aubree let her shoulders slump slightly, the posture
“Turn around,” he said.