Sharon Hartley - To Trust a Cop

“Damn,” she muttered, as the shadowy figure became clearer. As surely as the Grand Ole Opry was in Nashville, a cop of some sort was on his way to speak to her. She’d been able to spot a cop since the age of ten.

No uniform, no marked car visible. Detective, maybe? Could Doc Johnson have spotted her and called 911?

Merlene fished her investigator’s license from her purse and waited for the tall, muscular man to get closer. Early thirties, she guessed, and annoyed about something by the way he punched out determined steps. Good-looking dude from what she could tell, but why the blazes would any man wear a tie in August?

He stopped two feet from the back of her car. “Merlene Saunders?” he shouted. “Miami-Dade County Police.”

So he’d run her license plate. Of course he had.

She rolled down the window and dangled her investigator’s license outside. “I’m unarmed.”

The cop approached and grabbed the license. “You’re a P.I.?”

Craning her head out the window to see his face, she nodded. “Any chance I could see your ID?”

He flashed a detective’s badge, and she barely had time to register the name Cody Warren.

“What’s the problem, Detective Warren?”

He handed back the license, placed his hands on her door and leaned forward to look inside. “What are you doing here, ma’am?”

“I’m on a case.” She patted the camcorder. “Conducting surveillance.”

“Does your surveillance have anything to do with Dr. Richard Johnson?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Then we have a problem.”

“We do?” Merlene stared at Cody Warren, and he glared back with a crystal-blue glare she could easily interpret in the dying light. He didn’t want her here.

Well, so what? She didn’t want him here, either. Cops made her nervous. Plus, his presence could attract attention from the Johnson house.

“Why don’t you hop in and tell me about this problem,” she suggested.

He peered into her tiny car, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I wouldn’t want to sit on your nachos.”

A rush of heat warmed her face. From the chaos surrounding her, it appeared as if a hurricane had blown through her car.

Well, no one ever said conducting a stakeout was easy.

“No problem,” she mumbled, tossing books and snacks into the backseat. She carefully placed the video camera and her new digital camera on the floorboard behind her, then threw her notebook onto the dash next to her binoculars and a deck of cards.

Her compact car became much too small when the cop folded himself into the passenger seat. Damn if his knees didn’t almost reach his chest.

“Does this thing slide back?” Warren asked, reaching for a lever beneath the seat. Before she could answer, he sent the seat zooming back, crackling cellophane and pulverizing her half-eaten bag of corn chips.

He glanced at her. “What the hell was that?”

“My dinner.”

He retrieved the crushed bag from behind the seat and raised an eyebrow. “Very nutritious.”

Merlene lifted her chin. “So I take it you’re with the diet police, Detective Warren. Some sort of special task force to ferret out fat?”

His expression morphed into a scowl. She shifted her weight, knowing she should have curbed her tongue. But that all-knowing male smirk had been too much.

“So what’s your interest in Richard Johnson?” Detective Warren demanded, now all business.

“I’ve been hired to keep track of his activities.”

“By who?”

“That’s confidential.”

He scrubbed his fingers against his chin, and Merlene heard an unmistakable scratch that meant he hadn’t shaved in a while. Long day?

Wishing cops didn’t always make her uneasy, she studied the detective in the fading light. He had an angular yet handsome face, a strong, confident jaw. His nose featured a slight bump, and she wondered if it’d been broken in a fight on the job. From the way he dominated space in the Toyota, he had to be at least six-two. The cotton shirt across his torso confirmed an iron-flat stomach, not an ounce of fat anywhere on him, probably because he never ate junk food.

Good for him.

“Is something wrong, Mrs. Saunders?”

Merlene jerked her gaze to Warren’s face. He watched her with a frown. Lord, what was the matter with her, checking out his body? She swallowed. “I’m wondering why the police are interested in Dr. Johnson.”

Cody shook his head. “Mrs. Saunders, the Miami-Dade Police would greatly appreciate your discontinuing surveillance of the doctor.”

“Why’s that?”

“Let’s just say your presence here could jeopardize a lot of work. Interference with a police investigation is something we take seriously.”

“By sitting here I’m interfering?”

“Possibly.”

“Are you going to give me any details?”

“No, ma’am.”

Merlene sighed, knowing she had to do as he asked. Her boss’s number-one rule was to stay out of the way of the police. She snapped the cover over the camera lens. “Sure, Detective, whatever you say.”

He nodded. “Good.”

Merlene stared through the windshield at the doctor’s house. “What did you do, you bad boy?” she asked softly, then picked up her notebook and entered the time.

The detective planted one foot on the grass, preparing to exit, then paused. “Did you get anybody on tape tonight?”

Merlene shook her head. “Nobody went in or out after I followed him home.”

“All right. The sooner you leave, the better.”

She smiled at his profile and tapped the pen against her cheek. “I’ll bet you’re worried that if he sees me following him, he’ll know you guys are onto him. Am I right?”

Without answering, the detective pulled himself from the car and walked around to the driver’s window. He held out a business card. “If you get anything you think might be helpful, I’d appreciate a call. My cell’s on the back. It’s always on.”

Merlene accepted the card. “If you won’t tell me what’s going on, how will I know what’s helpful?”

His steely gaze bored into her. “I think you’ll know. Thanks for your cooperation, ma’am.”

“Oh, sure. No problem.” She flipped the card against her thigh as he moved away. Why were the police always telling her what to do? As a child, they’d hassled her family with threats of family services and foster homes but never offered a bit of help.

Merlene tossed the card onto her front seat and started the car. She knew better than to get in the way of the police. Besides, she had other methods to keep track of Doc Johnson.

* * *

SOMETHING WAS WRONG. Dead wrong.

Cody couldn’t shake a gnawing feeling in his gut that he’d missed something important. Where was Dr. Richard Johnson?

Months of work to make this case, to put away a dirty doctor who didn’t care who he prescribed narcotics to or what bogus diagnosis he made—not as long as he got a big check from an insurance company—and now the whole damn thing threatened to fall apart.

Waiting for a traffic light to change, he wondered what hole Dr. Johnson had vanished into. Could his disappearance have anything to do with the Saunders woman’s surveillance? An image of the intriguing female private eye he’d encountered the night before flashed through his head. How could a woman who dug for dirt to pay the bills manage to look all wide-eyed and innocent?

The check he’d run on her came back clean. No outstanding wants or warrants, and he wished his credit report looked as solid. She worked for D. J. Cooke Investigations, the man and the firm both reputable, and no one had ever lodged a complaint against her license. The licensing board promised to double check with Cooke and get back to him.