Page 3 of Fatal Intent
Ace scowled. “Why?”
“I’m expecting a friend to join me anytime.”
Junior sneered. “We won’t be finished by the time he arrives.”
“Won’t surprise her. She was on the job, too.”
“Got identification on you, sport?”
“Right back pocket.”
“Do you have anything on you that will stick me?”
Grant snorted. “If I did, that would be a stupid place to put it.”
Junior glared.
Really? Some people didn’t have a sense of humor. Grant rolled his eyes. “I have nothing on me except my wallet.”
“Get the wallet,” Ace said, his gaze locked on Grant.
A moment later, Junior gave Grant’s wallet to his superior.
The older cop pulled out Grant’s license and handed it to his partner. “Run it. Let’s see what we can find on Mr. Bowen.”
There wouldn’t be much. The officers were doomed to disappointment. Fortress Security took the safety of employees seriously.
From his left, Grant heard what he’d been listening for the past few minutes. Light footsteps running closer by the second. He straightened away from the cruiser and turned slightly to watch for his friend’s approach and keep the officers in his peripheral vision.
Junior stiffened and pulled his weapon.
“Hey,” Bowen snapped. “That’s my friend.”
“How do you know?”
“I recognize her running pattern.” He’d learned everything possible about Rayne Weatherly.
Seconds later, Rayne jogged around the curve, slowing to a walk as she moved closer to the cruisers and the officers. “Grant?”
“Right here, babe.” He shifted to stand a half-step in front of the officers.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why are you in handcuffs?”
Ace stepped to Grant’s side and, with his hand on his weapon, said, “Do you have some identification, honey?”
Grant scowled. “Hey, show some respect.”
The older cop ignored him. His gaze remained fixed on Rayne.
Rayne showed her empty hands. “My identification is in my right back pocket.”
No way was Grant allowing Junior to slip his hand into Rayne’s pocket. The kid might be a good cop, but Grant didn’t trust him around Rayne. “You’re not touching her,” he said, voice soft.
Junior scowled as Ace held up his hand. “Hold up, Crabtree. Get your identification, ma’am. Slowly, please.”
