Passion Patrol 2 - a Sexy Police Romance Suspense Novel With a Touch of Humor: Hot Cops. Hot Crime. Hot Romance.
Authors: Emma Calin
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Erotica, #Humorous, #Mystery, #Suspense, #Romantic Erotica, #Romance, #Mystery & Suspense
Passion Patrol 2
~A Steamy Police Romance Suspense Novel~
Hot Cops
Hot Crime
Hot Romance
(Formerly published as “Shannon’s Law”)
By
Emma Calin
PASSION PATROL TWO
First published 2015
By Gallo-Romano Media
Copyright © 2015 Emma Calin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author. Your support of authors’ rights is appreciated.
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Dedication
Nicola, Jo, Dave, Kate,
Matt, Will, Izzy,
James, Teddy,
Isabella and Charlie
Table of Contents
Shannon’s Law
By Emma Calin
Above the sound of pealing bells from St Bartholomew’s church, the rasp of a motorcycle engine caught her ears. WPC 388Z, Shannon Aguerri, drew back into the shadows of the tree line that skirted the village green. She reduced the volume of her police radio and walked calmly towards the source of the noise. By now she could hear shouts and laughter. She made her way through a woodland copse, glad she’d worn trousers.
At the edge of a clearing she saw them. Three teenage lads were smoking and drinking from cans of beer or cider. A fourth boy was riding an old motor scooter in circles while swerving around trees and brambles. She watched them in the deepening dusk of the late July evening. It was only her second day as a village constable and at last she had some sort of mission. Although Brixton lay only a dozen miles to the north it was as if she had changed continents for the second time. The first had been when she had left the North Peckham Estate to join the police.
These soft white boys were no more than sixteen. Two days ago she would merely have driven by on the way to a report of robbery or burglary. So far, these lads represented all she’d seen of organized crime and anarchy in Fleetworth-Green. It was time to make a move.
“Yo!” she called out.
The boys looked around, still not spotting her. She walked out into the clearing.
“Yo! I said. Can you all see me now?”
They all froze and stared at her.
“Yeah, it’s the cops. Ain’t any of you gonna run off?”
They all glanced at each other, tossing away cans and cigarettes. She caught a whiff of ganja on the still air. So, there was a drug issue in paradise perhaps. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad here after all?
“Underage drinking, drugs, and I bet one of you nicked that bike,” she said.
“No, no, it’s my bike,” said the lad sitting astride it.
Shannon shrugged.
“Ah well, just the drink and drugs then. Two out of three ain’t bad is it?”
She was sure that at least a couple of them would run. By now they would have figured that she couldn’t chase all of them. Instead of escaping they simply stared at her. She studied their mesmerized features and gave a theatrical shrug.
“No point in running now is there? I’ve seen all your faces. I’ll grab one of you and he’ll grass up the others,” she said.
“You’re not PC Flowers,” stammered a boy.
“I’m not PC anyone. I’m a WPC. You’ll be able to see that when you sober up.”
Another lad sniggered.
“Nothing to laugh at, young man. You lot are in the shit,” she said.
The motorcyclist had turned off the engine. Shannon spotted the key in case she had to grab it. He appeared more confident than the others.
“I’m entitled to a lawyer if I’m arrested and I refuse to answer any questions,” he said in a posh accent.
“A lawyer would be a good idea. Do you always call the same one when you get locked up?” she asked.
Her response seemed to unsettle him.
“What?” he said.
“Well, that’s what all the big tough criminal masterminds do on TV, innit,” she said.
He didn’t reply. There was a sound to her left as one of the group ran. Another quickly followed. A third lad, visibly trembling watched them go and hesitated, trying to assess Shannon’s mind.
“Just run then. I don’t want you to wet yourself standing there,” she said.
With that he bolted, tumbling and scrambling through undergrowth in panic. Shannon turned to the motorcyclist and snatched the key.
“Just you and me then,” she said.
“You’re not chasing them,” he said.
“No, no, I’m not, am I? Since you and your lawyer won’t be answering any questions you must be happy to take the rap all alone. So, there’s no point is there?”
The lad looked dismayed.
“That’s not fair,” he mumbled.
Shannon smiled and shook her head.
“Ah, this life, eh? Not fair. Dear, oh dear. I can tell you’re not the kind of guy who’s gonna grass up his mates, even though I could torture it out of you,” she said.
“Torture?” the boy gasped.
Shannon smiled again.
“You’re gonna have to work on your sense of humor. I’m not asking you for names. I’m not gonna knock on their doors so that’ll give you a big wedge of cred and you’ll owe me,” she said, looking him in the eyes. “So what’s your name?”
“Ben,” he replied.
Shannon let an awkward silence embarrass him.
“Big Ben?”
“Benjamin Chamberlain-Knightsmith.”
“Date of birth?” she asked.
“Twenty-fourth November, 1997,”
“You’re fifteen?”
He nodded.
“So where’s the bike from?”
“My father. He has a workshop. It’s a bit of a project. He’s a brilliant engineer. He says the Mods used to have scooters and grandfather was a Mod,” said the boy, seeming to grow more cheerful.
“I bet your dad doesn’t know you’ve got it,” said Shannon.
A silence answered her.
“I’ll take that for a ‘No’ then. Who’s at home? Your mum?”
“She died,” he said simply.
Shannon gave him a quick smile and a nod of understanding. She kicked herself for being cocky with her remark about the fairness of life. He already knew that hard fact.
She pulled her radio from her belt and ran a PNC check on his name. A response came back.
“There’s a trace. Cautioned for possession class B last year.”
Shannon studied the boy. He was obviously quite privileged and respectable. All the same at fifteen he had a small record for possession of drugs and no mother. In her experience, this lad could go either way.
“Your dad’s at home then?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s home?”
“Well, you’re in the garden, you know, the grounds. The house is over there,” he said, pointing through the trees into the distance.
“The grounds?” Shannon questioned. “I didn’t see any fences.”
“Father doesn’t believe in shutting people out,” said Ben.
“Let’s go then. I’ll have to check out the scooter story with your dad. Lucky I didn’t see any drinking or smoking so I’ve solved that crime wave,” she said.
Ben looked up at her with almost an open-mouthed expression of shock.
“You’re a bit different,” he said.
“Not PC Flowers you mean?”
“Not just that, I mean....”
The lad stumbled to a halt.
Shannon smiled at him.
“You mean I’m a kinda half-black woman.”
He smiled back.
“Yeah, there’s that too. But mainly you’re cool.”
“Not many people told me that in Brixton. Come on. Get pushing the bike. How far is it?”
“About a mile,” said Ben groaning.
“Think of it as punishment in the community. It’s the modern fashion. If you still think I’m cool when we get there I’ll know you meant it.”
Without further complaint he took the handlebars and started to push. Soon they were out of the wood at the edge of a large paddock that ran down to a lake. On the other side of the water the ground rose through open lawns to a huge mansion. Shannon stared at it.
“Christ! Is it real?” she asked.
“Yes. It’s Bloxington Manor and this is the Bloxington Estate. My father is the 11th earl,” said Ben.
“And who’s the guy who was a Mod and had the Vespa?”
“That was Grandfather, Sir Rupert Spofforth. He was my mother’s father. He still lives in Chelsea.”
Shannon couldn’t believe what she could see. The place was pure breath-stopping magnificence. She didn’t know too much about such things but she guessed the grounds had been created by the likes of Vanburgh or Capability Brown. They had reached a road and walked together in the deep dusk. Late swallows were giving way to bats almost brushing her face as they swooped around them.
“Our bodies attract bugs and the bugs attract bats,” said Ben, seeming to pick up Shannon’s innocence and discomfort when it came to the countryside. She wanted to use the walk to good effect. A peacock flapped up into a tree with an enormous shriek.
“Jesus, what the hell was that?” she asked.
“Peacock. They’re all over the place,” said Ben.
“Like drugs in the village?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. You’ve been cautioned for possession and one of your mates was smoking skunk.”
Ben didn’t answer.
“This is off the record Ben, and you owe me,” she said, allowing a little edge to creep in to her voice.
“Yeah, there’s stuff everywhere,” he mumbled.
“OK. What little region of everywhere would I go to if I wanted to score?”
Ben sighed and looked down.
“I’ll tell you something—but please don’t….”
“I’ve told you, Ben. This is between you and me, OK? Your friend was smoking skunk and don’t think I don’t know the smell.”
He nodded. She could tell that he was wrestling with a big decision. He stopped the bike and looked at her with tears in his eyes.
“I want to tell you. I want to tell you everything but you won’t believe me. I’ve never taken any drugs. I know I’ve got that record but it wasn’t fair....”
Shannon’s heart went out to the boy. She’d been wrong to push him. In the inner city this kind of thing was routine. In truth the lad was probably terrified.
“The kid with the weed lives out on a new development outside Fleetworth-Green. I only know his first name is Ashley. He’s a bully and Mr Big-twat at school. He steals the skunk from his parents. That’s all I know. The house is in the corner on the right and it’s got a flint stone facing and those windows in the roof,” he said in a big rush.
Shannon reached out and touched his shoulder.
“Thanks for that, Ben. You’re a star and I promise you no one will ever know you told me that. Not even your father, although really I should tell him you’ve helped me.”
“Thanks,” he said.
Shannon reflected on her good luck. If the skunk smoker was stealing the stuff from his parents then maybe they were in the business. Luckily he’d run off. She guessed he wouldn’t be owning up and alerting his mum and dad any time soon.
The imposing facade of Bloxington Manor now filled her vision. In the center was a columned classical entrance with massive stone pillars. To either side brick-built Georgian-windowed wings stretched away in perfect symmetry.
“The stables are at the back,” said Ben, wearily trudging along with the scooter. They followed the drive to an enormous cobbled courtyard which was surrounded by stables. From the half-doors several horses’ heads gazed out with an air of calm nobility. A brand new metallic black Range Rover towing a matching horse-box sat in the middle of the yard. Shannon glanced at it and noted the number plate “JA51 LAW.” A pool of light spilled from a large open door at the far end of the stables. She caught the sound of an angle grinder and saw the blue flickering flash of an arc welder.
“My father will be in there,” said Ben.