Free Deceiving Derek by Cindy Procter-King

 
     
DECEIVING DEREK

    “Someone’s stealing my underwear! I need to
find out who!”
    Arching an eyebrow at the indignant female
voice, Detective Derek McAllister raised his gaze from his computer
screen. Hello . A slim 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