Gamed (A Standalone Romance Novel) (Bad Boy Romance) by Claire Adams Page B

box of popcorn. The refrigerator had a
stack of lunchmeat packages, a loaf of bread, and two drawers of fresh
vegetables. "What, no cheese puffs and rocket fuel soda?" he asked.
    I shrugged. "I'm
more of a stir fry guy. Better protein stops snacking."
    He eyeballed my
trim waistline and scowled. "Sure, buddy. There's an awful lot of take-out
containers in the trash."
    "My
roommate," I said.
    As if that was a cue,
the officers divided up and headed by pairs into the two bedrooms. I waited for
twenty minutes until they reappeared.
    The bald one was
on his cell phone calling in a K-9 unit. " Gotta be thorough. Don't want to waste tax-payer money," he said.
    The officers then
ignored me and talked about football until the K-9 unit arrived. A German Shepherd with intelligent brown eyes and an eager pace
pulled its partner into my apartment. After the third zig-zagging trip around,
it looked up at its partner with a lopsided expression of boredom.
    He turned the dog
towards the bedrooms and it dragged him down the short hallway. It was in and
out of my roommate's room in five minutes. Four minutes into my room, there was
a low woof. The officer reappeared with the prancing dog; a sport coat in his
hand.
    I recognized the
sport coat as the one my roommate had lent me. It had been in contention for
wearing to the memorial service until I decided to wear my suit. If something
was found in the pockets of his coat, he'd catch hell at work and most likely
get fired.
    "Nothing in
it, but Gertrude likes it for something. Marijuana most likely," the
officer said.
    "My roommate
wore it to a club a few days ago," I said.
    Even the dog gave
me a disbelieving look. I sat back down on my stool – it was going to be a long
evening.
    #
    " Convenient that your roommate lent you this coat we
found in your room," the bald officer said.
    I was glad when my
phone rang. I looked down and saw Quinn's name. My stomach jumped more from her
than from the suspicious looks the police gave me.
    "One of your
clients?" the second officer asked.
    "The fading
scent of pot on a sports coat that was worn to a dance club doesn't really
prove intent to sell, does it?" I asked. "And since I'm not the
average under-informed, sub-intelligent criminal I'm sure you're used to making
you feel smart, this whole search is over." I opened the door to let them
out.
    The K-9 officer
was pulled through the open door by his eager partner. Two of the others
shrugged and went to follow him, but the bald policeman blocked the door.
    "Funny thing
about stereotypes," he said. "They always come from some sort of
truth. Like the fact that most criminals get all cocky like you are now before
the weight of the law chokes it out of them."
    I found a beer on
the bottom shelf of the refrigerator and cracked it open before sitting back
down on my kitchen stool. The police officers looked thirsty. "Go ahead
and keep searching. You've got your warrant, and I'm not stopping you."
    He scrubbed his
bald head. There was no reason for them to remain at my place, but he could not
let me have the last word. "Tell us about this alleged roommate of
yours."
    "Alleged? His
name is on the mailbox and all that mail over there. I would have thought you
would know all about him from your search of his bedroom."
    "Are you
going to cooperate or what, Mr. Redd?" He crossed his arms over a beefy
chest.
    "Fine, yes. My
roommate's name is Jasper Collins. He does freelance web design, mainly for
commercial businesses and corporations. He's always telling me he's after the
'big fish.' I think he even sent a proposal to your precinct after he got fed
up trying to pay a parking ticket through your website."
    "Freelance? So
you two just sit around all day staring at your screens?" the officer
asked.
    "No, Jasper
is more of the go-getter type. He gets most of his clients through face-to-face
meetings. Encourages the techno-afraid to let him help," I said.
    "And who was
his last client?"
    "A bakery
over on Tenth," I said.