earlier movement, and walked around to the back of a vehicle.
It was the woman. And she wasn’t looking at just any car. She was looking at the black four-door BMW he and Timmons had used on the job, then abandoned in a downtown lot.
He could feel his senses heighten as he automatically began to switch out of observation mode.
His assignment had just changed.
16
Detectives Hubbard and Young left Jake sitting alone for over five minutes. The urge to look back at the hallway door was nearly overwhelming, but Jake maintained his control, and sat stoically in the chair, the cutting image of the obedient cop.
As the second hand on the wall clock approached the end of the sixth minute, he remembered the calls he’d received. He pulled out his phone. Both had been from Berit. She’d also left a message. He selected it, and hit the playback button.
“You’re not going to believe this,” Berit’s voice said. “I found the BMW. At least I think I did. It got—”
“Officer Oliver?” Sergeant Stroop, his immediate supervisor, was standing in the doorway to the hall.
Jake jerked the phone away from his ear. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Come with me.” She turned and disappeared to the left.
Jake stowed his phone and hustled out to the corridor. Berit’s message would have to wait.
“Hurry it up,” the sergeant called out. She was standing in front of a meeting room door.
He double-timed it down the hall, slowing just before he reached her. “What’s going on, ma’am?”
She nodded her head quickly to the right. “Inside.”
Jake went in, and the sergeant followed right behind him.
When he saw who was there, he felt the blood drain from his face.
Hubbard and Young were present, of course, as was their immediate boss, Sergeant Sykes. It was the man sitting in the middle on the other side of the table whom Jake had not expected to see at all.
“Officer Oliver, please have a seat,” Commander Ashworth, head of the substation, said.
• • •
Berit lowered the trunk and latched it back in place.
She may not have found anything to seal the case, but at least she’d found the car. That was a pretty damn good bit of detective work, she had to admit.
She was just about to step around the vehicle and return to the office when something scraped the ground behind her.
Right behind her.
Spinning around, she found a man standing just a few feet away with a smirk on his face. She stepped back, not scared, but definitely surprised.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
He moved back into her personal space. “I was going to ask you the same question.”
Instead of retreating again, she put a hand out, an inch from his chest. “Excuse me. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
He leaned forward until his shirt brushed the tips of her fingers. She jerked her hand away.
“Look, I’m a police officer. So back off right now.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I know. I’ve always respected cops. That is, as long as they don’t poke into things they shouldn’t.”
He leaned to the side, placing a hand on the trunk of the BMW.
“Don’t do that,” she said.
“Why? Is this yours?” he asked.
“It’s part of an investigation. You could be damaging evidence.”
He snickered, then lifted his hand. “Sorry.”
“What do you want? Do you work here or something?”
“Me?” he asked as he reached up and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Nah.”
That’s when it clicked. The dark-haired man from the RPL footage. Mr. Walters.
She took a step back, suddenly wishing she was armed with more than just her badge.
“Put your hands on the car, and spread your legs!” she shouted.
For a second, he froze, then he smiled and said, “I thought you told me you didn’t want me touching it.”
“Put your hands on the car. Now!”
“No problem, Officer Davies,” he said, placing his palms on the top of the trunk.
He knows my name! How does he know my name?
“Spread your legs,”
It was the woman. And she wasn’t looking at just any car. She was looking at the black four-door BMW he and Timmons had used on the job, then abandoned in a downtown lot.
He could feel his senses heighten as he automatically began to switch out of observation mode.
His assignment had just changed.
16
Detectives Hubbard and Young left Jake sitting alone for over five minutes. The urge to look back at the hallway door was nearly overwhelming, but Jake maintained his control, and sat stoically in the chair, the cutting image of the obedient cop.
As the second hand on the wall clock approached the end of the sixth minute, he remembered the calls he’d received. He pulled out his phone. Both had been from Berit. She’d also left a message. He selected it, and hit the playback button.
“You’re not going to believe this,” Berit’s voice said. “I found the BMW. At least I think I did. It got—”
“Officer Oliver?” Sergeant Stroop, his immediate supervisor, was standing in the doorway to the hall.
Jake jerked the phone away from his ear. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Come with me.” She turned and disappeared to the left.
Jake stowed his phone and hustled out to the corridor. Berit’s message would have to wait.
“Hurry it up,” the sergeant called out. She was standing in front of a meeting room door.
He double-timed it down the hall, slowing just before he reached her. “What’s going on, ma’am?”
She nodded her head quickly to the right. “Inside.”
Jake went in, and the sergeant followed right behind him.
When he saw who was there, he felt the blood drain from his face.
Hubbard and Young were present, of course, as was their immediate boss, Sergeant Sykes. It was the man sitting in the middle on the other side of the table whom Jake had not expected to see at all.
“Officer Oliver, please have a seat,” Commander Ashworth, head of the substation, said.
• • •
Berit lowered the trunk and latched it back in place.
She may not have found anything to seal the case, but at least she’d found the car. That was a pretty damn good bit of detective work, she had to admit.
She was just about to step around the vehicle and return to the office when something scraped the ground behind her.
Right behind her.
Spinning around, she found a man standing just a few feet away with a smirk on his face. She stepped back, not scared, but definitely surprised.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
He moved back into her personal space. “I was going to ask you the same question.”
Instead of retreating again, she put a hand out, an inch from his chest. “Excuse me. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
He leaned forward until his shirt brushed the tips of her fingers. She jerked her hand away.
“Look, I’m a police officer. So back off right now.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I know. I’ve always respected cops. That is, as long as they don’t poke into things they shouldn’t.”
He leaned to the side, placing a hand on the trunk of the BMW.
“Don’t do that,” she said.
“Why? Is this yours?” he asked.
“It’s part of an investigation. You could be damaging evidence.”
He snickered, then lifted his hand. “Sorry.”
“What do you want? Do you work here or something?”
“Me?” he asked as he reached up and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Nah.”
That’s when it clicked. The dark-haired man from the RPL footage. Mr. Walters.
She took a step back, suddenly wishing she was armed with more than just her badge.
“Put your hands on the car, and spread your legs!” she shouted.
For a second, he froze, then he smiled and said, “I thought you told me you didn’t want me touching it.”
“Put your hands on the car. Now!”
“No problem, Officer Davies,” he said, placing his palms on the top of the trunk.
He knows my name! How does he know my name?
“Spread your legs,”
Similar Books
