Detective Hammer reached for the photograph. Her gaze zeroed in on the holstered gun strapped to his right hip.
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Latham.”
“I wish I could be more help,” she said, coming to her feet, thankful the interrogation was over.
Hammer handed her another business card, his warm finger lightly brushing hers in the transfer.
“Please think about your encounter with John Smith and give me a call if you think of anything else.”
“But I don’t—”
“Anything at all, ma’am. Our forensics team is analyzing the surveillance this photo came from. Would you agree to come into the station and watch the full video to see if that triggers any memory?”
June bit her lip and looked away from Hammer’s piercing stare, thinking there must be more to his request than a simple viewing of a video. He had another reason to get her into the station. What is the difference between a person of interest and a suspect?
“Sometimes the smallest thing can be the break we need to put a guilty party behind bars,” he prompted.
June sighed. “Okay, sure. When?”
“I’ll be in touch when the evidence is ready for viewing. Thank you, Ms. Latham.”
Hammer’s partner nodded at her as they left Dr. Trujillo’s office. June followed them out, more unsettled than she liked by her disturbing conversation with the detective.
What the hell was going on?
Dr. Trujillo and Elaine waited for her behind the reception desk. When the police officers had exited, Elaine pounced.
“Tell us everything.”
June gave them a quick rundown of what had happened in the pet shop. “The police hoped I remembered something about the man who released the birds that could help them with their murder investigation.”
“Oh, my goodness. You’re a suspect?” Elaine grinned, looking as if the idea pleased her enormously.
“No. Or at least they say I’m not.”
“What were you doing on Miami Beach?” Dr. Trujillo asked, her jaw set in disapproval. “Looking for smuggled birds?”
“Jared got a tip,” June said simply. The less said the better.
“Dios Mio, Junie. You know how I feel about you doing that. You could get hurt,” the doctor said.
“Is the tall one married?” Elaine asked.
“I have no idea,” June replied quickly. His relationship status had never occurred to her. Detective Hammer’s body language, hell, his whole persona, the way he openly checked her out, made her believe he was available. Available and looking. Looking very closely at her.
But married men flirted and cheated all the time. Of course she knew that. And she certainly wasn’t interested in the domineering Detective Hammer.
“Just my type,” Elaine said, fluffing her hair. “Serious hunk.”
“I concur,” the doctor said. “But don’t you think he’s a bit young for you, Elaine?”
Elaine shrugged. “Just saying.”
“Well, let’s close up, ladies,” Dr. Trujillo suggested. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
“Heck, I wish handsome detectives would visit us every day,” Elaine said as she pulled her purse from under a counter. “Lots more fun than a bunch of sick cats.”
As June locked drawers and cabinets, she did as Hammer asked and thought about her brief encounter with John Smith, trying to remember anything distinctive about him to aid the police. Something about the still photo niggled at the back of her brain, some flash of familiarity. What was it?
She decided that feeling was most likely from seeing him in the pet shop two days ago. She didn’t know him.
On her short walk home to the Enclave, she tried again. Trouble was, when she dredged up an image of John Smith, her thoughts immediately drifted to Detective Dean Hammer and his oh-so-penetrating gaze. Blue eyes and black hair. What a combination. She shook her head. The less she thought about Hammer, the better. She needed to put the whole incident out of her mind.
She paused as she entered the lobby, wondering if she should pay a visit to Uncle Mike’s beloved Shelby Cobra. She’d drive it to the bird walk next Saturday, but that was a week away and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d started that damn car. She sighed. Better do that now.
Steeling herself for a trip down to the dungeon, she waved at Magda behind the concierge desk and entered the stairwell. Unfortunately, because the Cobra was seldom driven, its assigned parking spot was on the lowest level. June trudged down three flights, her uneasiness growing with each step.
When she pushed open the heavy door to Tier C, she felt as if she’d entered a tomb. Dim overhead fluorescents gave every parked vehicle a looming, menacing aspect. The stale air reeked of petroleum products. Her quick steps echoed off thick concrete walls, an eerie sound. A suffocating sense of claustrophobia pressed her toward the oil-stained floor.
This was how parrots felt when locked up in a cage. Birds were wired to fly free, just as humans were made to see the sky and breathe fresh air.
She spotted the Cobra, its bright red paint covered as always by a green tarp, and hurried toward it, pulling her keys from her purse. She removed the tarp from the driver’s side and inserted the key. Uncle Mike refused to alter his precious Cobra in any way, so no battery-powered clicker opened this antique beauty.
At a loud boom behind her, June whirled, fisting her hands until nails dug into her palms. Who— What was that?
But no one was there. She was alone. June unclenched her fingers. Probably something falling in the garbage chute. Damn, but the subterranean levels always made her jumpy.
She slid into the Cobra’s driver’s seat and ignited its powerful engine, which roared to life on the first try. Feeling her tension ease, she checked the fuel level. Over half-full. Good. No need to drive this—what did Mike call his baby? Oh, right. A muscle car. And not just any muscle car. For some reason this was a very special one, designed by some big-wheel car legend.
To her it was just another gas guzzler.
And when it came to muscles, the well-toned biceps on Dean Hammer’s arms were much more to her liking, even if the man had done nothing but make her life miserable.
* * *
AT HEADQUARTERS THE next morning, Dean rewatched the video of the pet-shop riot in one of the viewing rooms. Sanchez sat beside him, also focused on the monitor.
Once again June Latham’s recitation of the events matched what was revealed on the screen. Totally engrossed in snapping photos of the caged birds, she never fully looked at John Smith when he approached her.
“Do
