A smooth criminal, this man was not.
I’d lost sight of him after he tried each window in succession on my side of the building, then turned the corner to presumably try the windows on the other sides of the building. After waiting almost ten minutes, he reappeared, coming around the opposite side of the building. He proceeded to try all the windows on that side as well as the front doors, still finding everything locked.
I mean, what did he expect? This break-in didn’t strike me as one that was particularly planned. He’d brought no tools, was using his bare hands, and was being incredibly obvious. I actually scoffed aloud as he walked over and attempted to open one of the locked windows he’d already tried to open first. At least try a different way in—the same way was just lazy. Or, better yet, give up! The longer you were at a scene, the more likely you were to get caught.
Everyone knew this.
Everyone except, I guess, for this guy. I rolled my neck, which had gotten a little tight from staying still and the frustration of watching this amateur thief. I munched a few more peanut butter M&Ms as I watched him walk around the corner again.
It’s possible he wasn’t a thief. Perhaps he was just a drifter looking for a warm place to stay.
Knowing that theory might fit better with this picture, I started to feel a bit guilty about calling the police. For a moment, I kind of hoped that the police were mistakenly on their way to Northen Exposure. But literally with that thought, a police car, flashing lights and sirens blaring, came screeching into the clinic lot.
I rolled my eyes.
Way to be subtle, crimefighters.
Whipping my head back to the building, I kept my eyes peeled for a runner. Instead, I saw the thief slash drifter saunter, yes,saunter, out from behind the building, hands on his hips,towardthe police car. Mouth agape, I watched in fascination. Was he trying to get tazed? Or was he honestly going to act as if he wasn’t doing anything wrong?
“Stop! Put both of your hands behind your head!” The police instructed through their car speaker, which was pointed directly toward the guy.
Head whipping back and forth as if it were a tennis match, I saw the guy walk a few more steps toward the police car with his hands on his hips. This was the closest I’d been to him, and I was able to make out more of his features. Defined, deep blue eyes, high cheekbones, a youthful face with a five o’clock shadow.
I was always a fan of facial hair, preferring well-groomed beards to the clean-cut look.
I didn’t think this guy was a drifter.
He was definitely a criminal.
A dumb criminal, but damn, stealing did his bodygood. As hefinallyput his hands behind his head—but not before he gave his head an incredulous shake like he was disbelieving he had to do it—his abs flexed, their entire length showcased underneath the tight white t-shirt and by the sweatpants that were riding dangerously low on his hips.
The sexy bandit had some audacity; I had to give him that.
I ate another M&M.
This was better than Netflix.
The two officers exited their vehicle, one putting his hand on his belt near his gun—good lord—while the other officer shouted commands and eventually came up behind the thief to put him in handcuffs.
The sharp action of putting on the cuffs caused me to suck my breath in between my teeth. The movement had caused the thief’s body to jerk, the force of it making his torso flex. It had been a littlerough. I didn’t consider myself a watcher, much less apartakerof BDSM, but there wassomethingabout those two tall, muscled men, with the hand cuffing and the patting down. The handcuffed guy, who despite being a criminal, was standing proud, tall, his lean muscle all but on display in a striking, yet?—
Millicent. Mary. Maxwell. Stop ogling the thief!
Exhaling, I realized I’d been biting my lip and holding my breath. I watched as the officer walked the handcuffed thief to the curb and sat him down. They talked to him for a long time, so much so that I actually got a bit sidetracked looking at the cupholders in my car. My goodness, they were dirty. I was trying to find a spare napkin in my center console to clean them out when a knock on my window had me jumping. An officer stood there, gesturing for me to roll down my window.
“Hi there,” he nodded, greeting me once I had my window partially rolled down. “Were you the one to call this in?”
As I shared my side of things, my eyes snagged a glance in my rear-view mirror at the guy in handcuffs. The thief’s glare was focused on my car.
It’s safe to say he’d noticed me.
Finally.
Shaking my head, I fought the urge to give him a little shrug as if to say, “Hey, them’s the breaks! You should have been more prepared!”but I continued on with my recounting of events to the officer. I talked fast, and after an entire recounting of the events, I noticed that the officer had stopped taking notes and was staring at me with the pen poised above his paper, mouth slightly open. Once I was done, he cleared his throat, shifted, and blinked.
“Is that all?” he asked slowly.
Feeling a little embarrassed, I nodded. I think I’d only been talking for a few minutes, but I do tend to talk fast. So, in less than five minutes, I could probably recite my entire life history and possibly the Gettysburg address (which, incidentally, I still remembered from the ninth grade after memorizing it for extra credit).
