Her Cop Protector. Sharon Hartley

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      “You got an office in the back I can use?” he asked.

      Dean noted Glover’s second hesitation. Apparently the man had secrets to protect. “I won’t look at a thing,” Dean said, holding up his arms.

      “Yeah, go ahead,” Glover said and resumed chasing his birds, sidestepping around a growing accumulation of bird droppings.

      The blonde smiled again, obviously finding the owner’s frustrated lunges for his elusive birds hilarious. Glad to escape the noise, Dean ushered the woman toward the back. He liked the way she moved—her legs seemed to glide over the floor and she held herself with perfect graceful posture.

      Inside the tiny dump of an office, he motioned for her to sit in a chair facing a messy desk. He also sat and removed his interview notebook.

      “Why aren’t you in uniform?” she asked.

      “Because I’m a detective.”

      Her eyes widened. “They sent a detective?”

      Dean nodded. “Bird riots demand the full attention of the Miami Beach Police Department.”

      “Ha-ha.”

      “What’s your name, ma’am?”

      “June Latham.”

      “Address?”

      After he got the basics, he said, “So, why don’t you tell me what happened here this morning, Ms. Latham?”

      “This pet shop markets illegally captured wild birds.”

      Dean glanced up from his notes. “How do you know?”

      “Their leg bands are counterfeit.” She shifted her weight to one hip and crossed a slim, shapely leg. “I came here to gather proof for Fish and Wildlife.”

      Dean rubbed his chin, thinking. “So you liberated these illegal birds so they could fly free again.”

      “Of course not. Releasing them without a safe harbor plan could harm them.” She bit her bottom lip and looked down. “Actually, I should go help that clod before he harms one. He has no idea how to handle birds.”

      “And you do?”

      “Yes.” She leaned forward. “Can you arrest him?”

      “Like he said, for what?”

      “For selling illegal—”

      “I think you know I can’t do that.”

      She sat back and crossed her arms. “An arrest would teach him a lesson.”

      “Not my job.” Although, considering his forced time with rookie Sanchez, maybe lessons were his job. “So, who released the birds? That’s the crime I’m investigating.”

      “I don’t know who he was. Some customer in the shop. I never saw him before.”

      “Give me a description.”

      She shrugged. “I barely looked at him. Maybe fifty or sixty, bald. Taller than me, maybe six feet. Really thin.”

      “Not bad for barely looking at him,” Dean said. “So, what happened?”

      “When that jerk grabbed my arm— Hey, that’s a crime.” She sat up straighter. “Assault.”

      “Do you want to file charges?”

      She leaned back, glancing toward the outer room. “Let me think about that.”

      “Go on. The owner grabbed you...”

      June Latham rubbed her arm with long, graceful fingers. Dean followed her movements, noting with disgust a red mark where someone had taken a stranglehold on her body. No question the area would bruise. He also noted well-toned biceps and triceps and wondered where she worked out.

      “He wanted my phone. He wouldn’t let go of me. We argued. Suddenly a macaw flew over my head. When I turned, I saw this customer opening all the cages and urging the birds to escape.”

      “So you maintain you had nothing to do with releasing the birds.”

      She raised her chin. “I never lie.”

      “Good to know,” he said, closing his notepad, believing she told the truth today. But everybody lied on occasion. “You’re free to go.” Review of the video surveillance would reveal if there had even been a crime.

      She didn’t move. “You’re not going to do anything about the smuggled birds, are you?”

      “I wish I could.” See, now, there was a lie. Although he’d love to score points with this tall, blonde goddess, he was a homicide cop, not a bird savior.

      “Do you know that wildlife smuggling is the third largest illegal trade in the world economy? Only drugs and weapons are bigger.”

      Actually, no, he didn’t know that little factoid. But of course she didn’t lie. “So take your proof to Fish and Wildlife.”

      “You know the birds will be gone by the time they act.”

      “I can’t help that.”

      “You could impound the birds as evidence.”

      Dean assessed the woman before him. So here he had a true bleeding-heart activist. A rare breed these days, thank God, because they were nothing but a giant pain in the ass. “When I talk to Mr. Glover, will he admit the birds are illegal?”

      “No.”

      “Then it’s your word against his.”

      “But remember I have proof,” she said, holding up her phone. “And I repeat, you could take the birds into protective custody pending investigation.”

      A bunch of shrieking, pooping birds in the Miami Beach Police Station? Yeah, that’d get him out of his lieutenant’s shit can.

      Dean handed her his card. You never knew. Maybe she’d call. “Let me talk to the owner. I’ll document your allegations in my report, but that’s the best I can do.”

      “That’s the best you can do?” Disdain laced her words. “Really?”

      Dean stood. Not likely she’d be calling. “You’re free to go, Ms. Latham.”

      “But the birds aren’t.” With a final frosty glare, she moved toward the door.

      * * *

      JUNE DESCENDED FROM the rear exit of a county bus at her stop on Brickell Avenue. The monstrous vehicle belched poison out its exhaust pipe, changed gears with a low rumble and lurched north toward downtown Miami.

      She removed her cotton sweater, thankful for the hot August sun to thaw СКАЧАТЬ