Harlequin Romantic Suspense April 2021 by Karen Whiddon (interesting books to read for teens TXT) 📕

overhead and twisted her waist. Seemingly satisfied with her stretch, she jogged down the porch and ran down the street.

From the front seat, the Watcher waited until she disappeared around a corner. Hustling across the street, they climbed the short flight of stairs and opened the front door, stepped inside and pulled it closed.

Pulse hammering, the Watcher stood in the small living room.

What if she came home early?

No. The sheriff was predictable, regimented, disciplined. The Watcher set a timer for thirty minutes—five minutes longer than needed. Seconds ticked off the clock. As the Watcher had seen the night before, the case file sat on the kitchen table. Pictures, fanned out like a deck of cards, filled the counter. Photos of debris from the park. Photos of the body. Pictures from the hotel room, bar and lobby.

There was also a file filled with more than a dozen witness statements. Many of them referred to seeing the victim with a blond woman. Did the police suspect? What would Darcy do? Then again, they already knew. It was almost as if they share a brain. Using the phone’s camera app, the Watcher took pictures of everything. Shoving all the papers back in the file, the Watcher smiled. So far, the plan had worked perfectly.

Now, to the computer. Dropping into the chair, the Watcher opened the lid on the laptop and hit the power button. Ten minutes had already passed.

Yet, there was more than enough time to do what needed to be done and be gone before Julia McCloud ever knew that the Watcher had been here at all.

* * *

Peter stared at the monitor, his eyes dry and gritty. Sometime in the middle of the night, he’d wheeled a large dry-erase board into his office. The board was filled with printouts of pictures, along with notes in his cramped handwriting. Taking a sip from his eighth cup of coffee, he stepped back.

He had stumbled upon two stories, not just one.

There was the obvious body discovered in the park. How had the person died? Why hadn’t local officials released a statement? Until he had answers, it wouldn’t do to print speculation.

Then, there was the mystery of Luis Martinez. He was a former Denver cop, sure, but why had he been given unprecedented access to the scene at the gazebo? And furthermore, why had he left the police force to begin with...and what was he doing in Pleasant Pines?

He’d placed a call to the Denver PD. They had no comment on the subject of Luis Martinez. The weekend PR person wouldn’t even confirm Luis’s years of employment—facts that were well-documented.

Yet, when Peter asked, “Can you comment on why he left the force after being involved in a case that brought down a Russian drug lord? Shouldn’t Detective Martinez have been given a medal or something?” he was shocked by the reply.

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with. Leave it alone.”

Then, the call ended.

The internet provided details of the former cop’s life. He wasn’t the child star that had come up on the first search. Born in Denver, Luis had been a standout athlete. Despite the talent displayed in high school, he only played two years at a local community college before joining the force. He had one sister, a nurse, who also lived in Denver. The sister had several very active and very public social-media profiles. Each account was filled with family photos. Vacations. Parties. Picnics.

Luis never appeared in any of the pictures.

It was as if Luis didn’t exist in his own family.

Why?

That was the question that had kept Peter in the office throughout the previous day. Now, he glanced at the clock on his computer—5:37 a.m.

Hell, he’d been at work all night, too. Honestly, he was too old for this crap. But his journalistic instincts told him there was something going on in his town—and it was his job to figure out what.

Still, he was no closer to answering any of the questions...and he didn’t have a story for the paper. Damn it, the past twenty-four hours had been nothing more than a waste of time. Rubbing his eyes, he stood. His knees popped and his shoulder ached. After shuffling across the floor, he filled his empty cup with stale coffee, black as tar.

He sipped and his pulse started to race. It wasn’t just the caffeine. His eye was drawn to the bottom of the white board and a four-word notation: Arnie Hatch—in jail.

Arnie Hatch was many things. He was a onetime billionaire. A onetime owner of the Colorado Mustangs, a professional football team that played in Denver. And, currently, Hatch was an inmate in a Colorado state prison. Peter would bet good money that Arnie Hatch would have a thing or two to say about the cop who put him in jail.

Sitting at his computer, he opened a search engine. Within minutes, he had a location for Arnie Hatch and a number for the switchboard at the prison where he was housed. Sure, it was early—still not 6:00 a.m. But Peter had spoken to inmates before. Their days were filled with a whole lot of nothing. As the phone rang, he figured that Hatch would be delighted to speak to a reporter, even at this ungodly hour.

It took only three phone transfers and five minutes to get Hatch on the phone.

“Yeah?” Hatch said, his voice gravelly with sleep.

“Mr. Hatch, my name is Peter Knowles. I’m the editor of the Pleasant Pines Gazette—out of Wyoming.”

“Yeah, I heard. The guard said when he woke me up. Whaddya want?” Arnie growled.

“I want to ask you some questions about Luis Martinez—he was a detective with the Denver PD.”

“I know who Luis Martinez is, the crooked piece of crap.”

Peter almost laughed at the hypocrisy. Arnie Hatch had been convicted on several counts—including being a coconspirator for second degree murder, drug trafficking and bank fraud. If he served his entire sentence, Hatch would die in jail. Then again, he still controlled a vast fortune, and with that kind of