Passion In James County X: Badge of Dishonor
Chapter thirteen
"I don't think there's any reason for me to charge you with any motor vehicle violations, ma'am," Rod Billingham told the woman sitting in the passenger seat of his cruiser.
Her name was Rhonda Whitman and she lived in one of the better sections of Jamestown, judging from the address on her driver's license. Rod was investigating a minor car crash she had been involved in. She'd lost control of her car and run into a guardrail post. The damage was minor, and the car was still drivable.
Rod looked at her as he spoke and she smiled at him.
"Thank you so much, officer!" she said breathlessly. "My husband's going to be angry enough about the damage I did to the car. He'd be really upset if I got a ticket, too."
Rod thought Mrs. Whitman was one of the prettiest women he'd seen in a while. She had a very attractive face, brown eyes, and had short, dark hair with auburn highlights. She was incredibly slim, and was dressed in a black sleeveless smock turtleneck sweater and khaki shorts. The shorts exposed a pair of slim, smooth tan legs.
Rod handed the woman her driver's license, registration, and insurance card. When she took the items from him, she let her slim fingers caress his hand and a ripple went up his spine.
"Ah...if there are any problems, I might have to call you," he said. "This phone number you gave me, it's your home phone number, isn't it?"
"Yes, of course," the woman said, smiling at him. "And I'm usually home."
"You know," Rod said, "There really isn't much damage to your car. If you call Lou at Jamestown Auto Body and tell him Rod Billingham told you to call, I bet they'll fix it for you and treat you right."
"Thank you, officer," the woman said. "Maybe I'll do that today. My husband is away at a convention all this week. Maybe I'll be able to get the car fixed before he gets home."
"Yeah, maybe, you will, Mrs. Whitman," Rod said. He got the woman's message, loud and clear.
"May I go now, officer?" she said.
"Yes," Rod told her. "And drive safely."
Mrs. Whitman smiled at him warmly. "I will, officer," she said.
Rod watched Mrs. Whitman gracefully climb out of his cruiser, then walk to her car and get in. She smiled at him, waved, then started the engine and drove off.
Rod took a deep breath and let it out. "Wow!" he said. Then he called dispatch on his radio, told them he'd finished with the crash investigation and was returning to patrol.
Later that day, Rod was in the office not long before the end of his shift, finishing up the paperwork on the crash. "I wonder..." he thought, as he put the finishing touches on the diagram of the crash. "I wonder what Mrs. Whitman would do if I called her."
He got Rhonda Whitman's phone number from the crash report and dialled it. The phone rang, and was picked up after three rings.
"Hello?" the soft, smooth voice that had stirred Rod earlier in the day said.
"Is this Mrs. Rhonda Whitman?" Rod said.
"Yes, it is," the woman replied.
"This is Trooper Billingham," Rod said.
"Oh, you're the officer who investigated my crash this morning," the woman said. "Is there something wrong, Trooper Billingham?"
"No, ma'am," Rod said. "I was just finishing my report on your crash, and I realize I need some additional information to get it done."
"Oh," Mrs. Whitman said. "What is it? I'll be happy to get it for you."
"I really need to talk with you about this in person, Mrs. Whitman," Rod said. "Would you mind if I stopped by your house later this afternoon?"
"Why no, I...I guess that would be all right," the woman said.
"I'll be over in an hour, if that's OK," Rod said, feeling his heart rate increase.
"All right, officer," the woman said. "I'll be waiting for you."
"I bet!" Rod thought. He finished his paperwork, called his wife to tell her he'd be late again, then he got in his cruiser and headed for Mrs. Whitman's house.
Exactly an hour after he made the phone call to her, Rod was ringing Rhonda Whitman's doorbell. The sight that greeted him when the door opened took his breath away.
Mrs. Whitman's lean body was enclosed in a light pink fleece robe that looked softer than anything Rod had ever seen. She smiled at Rod, her brown eyes gleaming.
"Hello, again, officer," she said. Her voice, Rod thought, was sexier than any he had ever heard. "Come in, officer. What is it you need to know about the crash that I haven't told you?"
Instead of replying to the woman's question, Rod walked by her, into her house, then he turned and watched her close and lock the door. When she started toward him, he stepped toward her.
"Are you going to answer my question, officer?" she asked, moving close to Rod, so close he could feel the heat radiating from her and could smell the scent of her expensive perfume.
"I don't have any questions about the crash, Mrs. Whitman," Rod said. He unbuckled his gun belt and laid it on a table just inside the door.
"Oh?" Rhonda replied. "Then why...?"
"I had questions about you," Rod said. "And I think you've answered them."
"I have?" Rhonda purred.
