Catching Claire by Cindy Procter-King Read Free Book Online

blonde in a slinky red dress stood on
the other side of his desk in Rosewood’s police station. Sparks
radiated from the woman’s blue eyes as she dangled a scarlet
G-string inches from his nose. Her hand jerked. The scrap of silk
flipped off her fingertip, bonking his Mariners coffee mug and
plopping onto his notebook.
    Derek glanced at the front counter. Both Biggs, the
balding desk sergeant, and Harding, a lanky patrol officer who
shadowed Biggs like a starved-for-attention sidekick, looked back
at Derek and chortled. Biggs twirled a finger near one cauliflower
ear, mouthing, “Craaazy.”
    Like Derek needed Biggs to tell him. Thanks a lot, boneheads.
Sending me the kook, huh?
    Both uniforms were working the night shift. Although
Derek had reported a slow afternoon, there was still plenty to do
before the bars closed and mid-July crap hit the fan. For instance,
Harding. Instead of chuckling over the Funnies, the dope could be
checking parks and alleys. And Biggs…rather than playing Sudoku and
flirting with the female clerk, the guy could at least check
email.
    “Well?” The blonde at Derek’s desk stared him down.
“Are you going to shuffle me off like they did—” she flicked a hand
toward Biggs and Harding “—or take me seriously?” Her golden hair
shimmered beneath the bright lights in feathery layers.
    Hell, why not? Elbows on his desk, Derek hunched
forward in his swivel chair. Taking initial theft reports wasn’t
his responsibility. His job was to investigate. However, he sensed
frazzled nerves beneath the woman’s righteous ire. And, considering
the nature of her complaint…
    He wanted to get a good sense of the problem and who
she was so he wouldn’t need to do a second interview later. If
kook-job poured off her in bucketfuls, he’d rather pacify her and
escort her safely home than subject her to potential ridicule by
directing her back to the guys up front. Sending her away to roam
the Seattle suburb in her current state of agitation was out of the
question.
    Derek calmly eyed the G-string. He slipped a pen
beneath a lacy strap and lifted the lingerie as carefully as if he
were handling a piece of forensic evidence.
    “Is this the underwear in question, ma’am?” he
asked.
    Her chin tipped up. “I’m a Miss . Miss DeMarco.” Her blue gaze
darted away a moment. “No, that’s not the underwear I’m talking
about. That underwear isn’t missing. Is it, Detective?”
    That
depends on whether you’re wearing any . Derek stifled the
urge to lean across the desk and check the presence or absence of
panty lines beneath her luscious red dress.
    “All right, then. What underwear of yours is missing?”
A question he certainly hadn’t anticipated asking upon his return
to the station. On a seedy street corner, maybe.
    “My lingerie designs. The prototype samples.” The
blonde snatched back the G-string. “This thong is a prototype, too,
but thankfully the thief didn’t nab it.”
    “Are you sure it was a thief?” Derek still had panty
lines on the brain.
    “Yes, Detective McAllister,” Miss DeMarco said with
strained patience. “You are Detective Derek McAllister, right? That’s the
name she—I mean, the men at the counter gave me.”
    Derek arrowed a glance to the desk. Biggs, looking
back again, rolled his eyes. Harding scratched his stomach and
snickered.
    “They would be right.” Derek tapped the cheap brass
nameplate beside his computer. Miss DeMarco’s nervous gaze tracked
the movement.
    Her shoulders squared. “Well, Detective McAllister,
usually when there’s a burglary, there’s a thief involved. Wouldn’t
you say?”
    “Yep. Usually, I would.” Unless she’d imagined the
whole thing. Anxiety hopped off her slender curves like ants
attacking a sugar bowl. Maybe she was paranoid. What a shame .
    She hoisted a gigantic shopping bag off the floor.
Derek’s lips tugged into a smile as she plunked the bag onto his
desk, dug inside, and pulled out a skimpy lingerie