Her Cop Protector. Sharon HartleyЧитать онлайн книгу.
own work with birds, who was she to say a thing about Felicia’s obsession with felines? “You’re a good person.”
Felicia sighed. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just nuts.”
June heard the front door chime, indicating an arriving patient. “Let me go see who that is. Just wait here. The doctor is finishing up with another patient and will be in to check the kits shortly.”
“Thanks, June.”
“Shall I have Elaine make an appointment to have Mama spayed?”
Felicia nodded. “This will be her first and last litter.”
June gave Oreo’s fur another stroke and hurried to greet the new arrival, which according to the schedule should be Jessie, a goofy yellow Lab due for his annual checkup and the last appointment of the day.
But she heard a male voice say hello, and Jessie was always brought in by Sarah Weksler, a recent divorcee.
“May I help you?” Elaine asked in her most professional voice, usually reserved for men, preferably widowers she hoped would invite her to dinner.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m Detective Dean Hammer and this is my partner, Ruben Sanchez. We need to speak with June Latham, please.”
Elaine asked, “What’s this about?” as June rounded the corner.
Hammer saw her and nodded slightly. “Police business,” he said to Elaine, his gaze on June.
“What’s going on?” June asked before Hammer could say anything else. Elaine was sixty years old, had worked for Dr. Trujillo since she opened her practice and never heard a rumor she didn’t feel the need to spread. So now Dr. Trujillo would know two policemen had come to see her. Of course Dr. Trujillo would want to know why. She was on good terms with her boss, but the less said about her commando activities, the better.
“Ms. Latham,” Hammer said. His dark eyes swept her body as she reached Elaine’s side. “I’m hoping you remember we met yesterday at the bird riot on North Beach.”
“Bird riot?” Elaine asked. “What bird riot?”
“There was no riot,” June said, with what she hoped was a squelching glare at the detective. “Is this about the smuggled birds?” she asked when a burst of hope that Hammer had come because he’d arrested Glover slammed into her thoughts.
“Not exactly,” Hammer said.
“Do you need my photographic proof of the counterfeit bands?”
“No, ma’am. I wonder if there’s somewhere we could have a private conversation?”
“Private,” Elaine murmured under her breath, making her voice loud enough to ensure that everyone heard. “Oh, my.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dean said, turning the full force of his gaze on the receptionist. “I hope that’s okay with you.”
Elaine colored and looked away with a giggle.
Oh, please. June resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Elaine’s reaction to Dean Hammer. Yeah, the guy was great eye candy, but way too sure of himself. She noted his partner followed the conversation with avid interest. As yesterday, the detective wore street clothes, a casual shirt, khaki pants and a tie, while the partner wore a Miami Beach Police Department uniform. Each of them had a holstered gun on his hip.
“I’m working,” she said.
“But we only have one more patient,” Elaine offered in a sweet tone. “I can show Ms. Weksler and Jessie into an examining room when they arrive.”
Hammer gave Elaine a sharp salute. “Thank you, ma’am. The Miami Beach Police Department appreciates your cooperation.”
“Anytime,” Elaine said, girlishly fluffing her gray cloud of hair.
June hesitated, actually curious as hell to learn what this unexpected visit concerned if not the birds. But the way Hammer looked at her made her feel as if she were naked underneath her pink scrubs. “What if Dr. Trujillo needs me?”
“I’ll come get you,” Elaine offered.
June mentally shrugged away her irritation with the receptionist, who couldn’t help who she was. Likely nobody found it easy to say no to the detective’s overpowering presence. He had some innate ability to control everything around him.
“Let’s go into examining room two,” June said.
“You should use the doctor’s office,” Elaine suggested. “It’ll be much more comfortable.”
“But if—”
“June, you know she won’t mind,” Elaine said, interrupting June’s objection.
“Of course. This way,” June said, motioning with a sweep of her arm toward Dr. Trujillo’s suite. Well, why not? This is a private conversation.
Once she was seated behind the doctor’s mahogany desk, she realized she rather liked having some much-needed space between her and Detective Hammer. At least she hadn’t been imagining his looks. He was just as vital and imposing as yesterday. Sitting behind the huge block of wood covered with stacks of paper made her feel more in control. She’d have to stand in an examining room.
She folded her hands in her lap and leaned back in the swivel chair while Hammer closed the door and took a seat beside his partner.
“This must be important for you to track me down out of your jurisdiction,” she said.
“We’re investigating a murder,” Hammer said.
“A murder?” June swallowed hard and leaned forward. A murder?
“Yes. Of a human being,” Hammer clarified. He raised his gaze from the blank sheet of paper on his open notepad to meet hers. “Not a parrot.”
“NOT FUNNY,” JUNE SAID, meeting his direct stare. Why the lame stab at humor? Did he want to disarm her, put her at ease? Maybe distract her from the fact that two cops wanted to talk to her about someone’s death?
“Why do you think I have any information about a murder?” she asked.
“Because the victim was killed in this man’s hotel room.” Hammer placed an eight-by-ten black-and-white photo of two men on the desk before her. “The one on the right.”
June picked up the photograph and examined it. Two men were conversing, but what— “Oh, my God.”
“You recognize someone?”
“One of them is the man who released the birds in the pet shop.”
Hammer made a note. “You still say you never saw him before yesterday?”
“No. I swear. I don’t know him.”
“Please study the image carefully.”
Stunned by Hammer’s revelation, June scrutinized the photograph. The subjects didn’t seem to know they were being watched, so maybe the shot was taken by a telephoto lens. Either that or a security camera. Before yesterday, she’d never seen either man before in her life. Or had she? She studied the image again.
“Where was this taken?” she asked.
“The lobby of a hotel.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know who he is.”
“His name is John Smith.”
“That’s a common name.”
“And probably not real. What about the other man, the one on the left.”
“He looks like—I don’t know.” She glanced