Hotshot by Catherine Mann Read Free Book Online

long as she’s working here with persistent break-ins. Whoever did this moved fast and professionally, because I didn’t hear a thing go down, and believe me, I was listening.”
    Jaworski bucked up territorially. “Maybe we should sign you on to the force.”
    Vince smiled, even though negative vibes rolled off him in waves. “Never one of my top ten career choices as a teen.”
    Suddenly Vince’s attitude became crystal clear. He’d had issues with authority back when she’d known him. He might look different, but perhaps he hadn’t changed that much on the inside.
    He’d been arrested, resisted arrest, taken a billy club to the knee once so hard it sent him to the ground. Back then, there weren’t video cameras following cops around. There’d been fault on both sides. She should know. She’d been there.
    Jaworski tapped in another note on his PDA before looking up. “I’m going to need everyone to come down to the station for fingerprinting to rule you out as suspects.”
    The rasp of a long zipper cut the air as they sealed away the first body. She swallowed back bile just before the second rasp. “Do we ride with you for these prints, or are we free to take our own vehicles?”
    Tapping his baton, the police officer seemed to be weighing the option of cramming Vince into the back of the cop cruiser just for the hell of it.
    Vince eyed the crowd mixed with people in bathrobes and teens decked out with attitude. “If it’s just the same to you, we’d rather not leave the Beemer and the bike unattended in this neighborhood.”
    “Well, pal—”
    “Excuse me, but for the record, that’s Major.”
    She blinked back her surprise. She hadn’t known he’d progressed so far up the ranks.
    “Major, then.” Jaworski hitched his hands on his belt, just beside his service revolver. “Quit busting my chops. We’re doing the best we can with the manpower on hand. I would think you military types could understand what it’s like to be understaffed for fighting a war. And make no mistake about it, we’ve got a war on our hands here.”
    Vince nodded curtly. The cop had been wise to speak Vince’s language.
    Her father shouldered in, slipping right back into his role of easing the way for the teens he’d mentored. “I’m sorry, Officer. We’re all a little rattled here. Of course we’re glad to comply with whatever you need from us to find out who’s responsible for the death of these two young men.”
    “Good.” The officer tucked his PDA inside his jacket. “You may drive your own vehicles, but we’ll be behind you.”
    Jaworski eyed Vince a final time before loping away toward his patrol car.
    Her father turned to Vince. “You’ve got Shay, right? I need to make some calls.”
    She should have been used to his brusque ways after all these years, and on most days, she managed to let it roll right off her, how he had more time for others than his own family. She stared at his retreating back, mad as hell.
    “Hey, Dad, I’m a thirty-three-year-old woman, and there are police all around. I’m fine on my own.” And she was just fine and dandy, thanks for asking, old man.
    He pivoted on his loafers. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt,” he said with no emotion, no hug. “It’s probably best you don’t call your mother. I’ll tell her what she needs to know so she won’t be surprised if she reads something in the morning paper. Thanks, Vince, for looking after her.”
    Her father pulled out his cell phone, his mind obviously already miles away as he turned back toward his Beemer.
    Shay tugged her keys out of her paisley backpack. “Wow, the warm fuzzies are so thick I’m all atwitter,” she muttered, tugging off Vince’s jacket and passing it back to him. “Thanks for the loaner. I really do appreciate it.”
    “ De nada .” Nothing.
    Not exactly nothing. Her dad had a jacket, too, and he hadn’t noticed her teeth chattering as fast as the click of the crime scene photographer’s