Passion Patrol 2 - a Sexy Police Romance Suspense Novel With a Touch of Humor: Hot Cops. Hot Crime. Hot Romance. (11 page)

“Nuclear war would be trivial pursuit in comparison.”

Spencer re-appeared.

“Forecast for Sunday is great for the game. Jasmine is bringing down her lot on a luxury team bus.”

She noticed he’d stopped ever referring to her as Jazz or Jazzy. She liked the increased distance.

Shannon smiled weakly. “It’ll be so nice to see her again.”

Spencer raised a questioning eyebrow.

“We fillies like to frisk you know.”

Ben cleared away the fish and chip wrappings and was ready for bed. Spencer stood and hugged him.

“Well done, old chap,” he said.

Shannon made sure he had gone before speaking.

“He’s a wonderful lad. Did he tell you he’d already rescued me from a wild horse stampede or worse?”

Spencer laughed. “Saskia idolized Ben you know. It’s a terrible thing but at least she never lived to know about this drug business.”

“He didn’t do it. I promised before not to tell you but he gave me the info about the drugs at Ashley’s house. He’s cool about me telling you now. He’s not part of that sort of thing at all. One of his mates knows something and I’m gonna know too.”

He slumped down at the table with his head in his hands.

“I don’t want to keep on about it but this affair keeps bubbling up in my mind. No one has any idea how much this hurts me, Shannon.”

“Oh, Spencer.”

She got up and stood behind him, pulling her fingers back through his hair. “Justice will prevail.”

“It’s not just justice. It’s about the dumbass law.”

“This’ll be Shannon’s Law.”

“You’re a courageous and beautiful woman,” he said.

She smiled at his military style of expression. She had her own style.

“And you’re a sexy hero bear who deserves some honey,” she said letting her breasts press against his head.

“You have a way with words.”

“Can you feel my words? She ran her hands down his cheeks and eased him back against her soft flesh. She gave out a purr. “I’m feeling like a minx.”

She joined him in the shower. It was a magnificent floor-to-ceiling glass compartment the size of a bed-sit in Brixton. The tiles were a deep cream and black Italian marble. The shower head was huge and created a monsoon of warm rain. She rubbed gel into his dark chest hair and flat, hard stomach. A small track of hair ran down from his navel to his groin. As he pulled her to him and kissed her lips she slithered her hand down to capture his erect thick cock. The feeling of it in her hand pinged a pulse in her love button. It twitched as she slowly moved his skin across the head. She could feel his juicy wetness as her own warmth flowed down through her belly to her opening. This man was her fearless hero bear, and hers to tempt and thrill. He’d been there for her without thought for his own safety. He was strong and decisive. She wanted the seed of him. The lack of him in her yearned to be filled. She wanted to come with him inside her and squeeze the male of him into her. She had to plunge herself helplessly onto him to fill the mad itch and cry of her longing. She needed to feel his raw power taking her, holding her open as he pulsed into her hot sucking belly. She pushed her breasts against him, pulling down the skin over his cock to bare the head. She angled it toward her entrance. He had to fill her. He was far taller and sensed her urgent need. He gripped her buttocks and lifted her as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She eased herself down onto him. His strength held her effortlessly. The sense of spreading and widening was exquisite. As he eased past the slight resistance of her, she let go, feeling her button pulsing out hot waves of spasms through her whole body. She found his lips desperately. She gripped his neck and bit the flesh as he reached the center of her. She grunted out her animal desire for him. His cock was holding her fixed in place as he plunged in and out. She was lost in a void of pulsing ecstasy. She sensed his more deliberate motion. The thought thrilled her more. She wanted to let go everything. She didn’t care. Her hot woman juice soaked his hard throbbing cock. She needed to scream, wanted to cry out for his cum to fill her. She heard her own voice mixing with his deep groan. His climb was close to the peak. He was nudging some deep ache of his bliss inside her, a feeling she hadn’t known. It began to tighten a delicious spring and now could only release. Some deep internal flowing orgasm rocked her body. A fusion of her sex with her soul pulsated and flowed from her. She was soaked by the rain of the shower and her own wet heat. She looked up into his face. She saw his eyes start to blur and his expression convulse as he pumped his fluid into her. He called out as she drove down onto him, trembling the same joy as he came and came deep, deep, inside her.

Still he held her. She felt barely conscious. Something had happened that had wiped her out. She had felt a physical sensation she didn’t know could exist. His warmth remained inside her. Her legs had lost their power to grip him at some point in her mist of lust. She was a limp doll held by this rock of a man. He had brought her to a new realm of sensations. She pressed her lips helplessly to his chest and steadied her breathing.

“God—what was that? I think I went somewhere else,” she said.

He eased her to her feet. She could hardly stand. She touched the engorged pout of her sex and brought her hands up to her face to sense the exciting mix of sex musk. She grasped him, soothing blissful aftershocks from his cock that still exuded his seed. He threw back his head and growled.

“Woman ... what the hell did I know of a woman?

“I think I’m finding out too,” she said, noticing the weal of her bite on his shoulder.

They finished the shower. She wanted only to rest. He grabbed a heap of warm towels and led her to the bed. He spread out some large thick bath sheets and motioned her to lie down. Gently and wordlessly he toweled her body, even between her toes and fingers. She drifted into a weightless serene dream. She’d completely lost it with this guy. He had brought her to a place in her life and her mind where she had no will to resist. If this sweet wine was poison then it would be ecstasy to die of it. The sheer physical passion that he drew from her was more than enough. Then there was the wider man, the noble warrior, loving father, sexy, sexy mechanic, and educated gentleman. And here she was, with this guy drying her with such tenderness that she felt cherished and worshiped.

When he had finished he lay beside her, pulled over the counterpane and massaged her back. Finally he draped an arm around her and cuddled her, whispering butterfly kisses onto her shoulder.

“Shannon, please never put yourself in that sort of danger again. Please, and I mean please.”

“You’ll have to check on me every day to keep me safe,” she said.

“It’s a deal,” he replied in the darkness.

She knew she was lost. She had never wanted protection or to look to anyone for anything. Until this man, some inner door had never opened. Now she could see her need. So, she couldn’t satisfy all her own demands in the end. It was a shock. Even worse was her fear. The fear of not having him and not feeling the refuge and power of him was terrifying. And then there was that other thing. That thing of madness and despair. That thing of longing and wonder. That thing of love. Once that tide breached her wall she had no roots to bind her. The water was up to her waist.

She awoke in the moonlight. At once she knew why. She sensed he too was awake. A question burned in her mind.

“What is your relationship with Jasmine?”

He stirred and sat up.

“She’s a friend—a first-class friend of the family. She’d known Saskia since they were at school.”

“Have you had sex with her?”

“Good Lord, what a direct question.”

“And the direct answer is?”

“No. No, absolutely not.”

“Would you like to?”

“No, that was always the trouble.”

“Explain....”

“I knew her first, you know, before Saskia. She was in the polo club at Cambridge. She was a first-class sport and a popular girl. Everyone said we were made for each other and we were kind of pushed together by expectation.”

“But you didn’t want sex with her?”

“Frankly, no. You see, I’m not a horsey, jolly hockey sticks, tally-ho kinda chap. I frustrated her, I think. I had a project restoring an old MGB. She said grease was for monkeys. I tried, you know, to fancy her but I couldn’t. She was a wonderful sparkly girl but….”

“Nothing rose up?”

“No. One day there was a Guards Club match at Smiths Lawn, Windsor. I was destined to be a cavalry officer so I rode for the royal team. Jasmine brought along her friend Saskia who was studying classics at Oxford. The Greek myths offered a wider insight into human possibilities than the law books Jasmine studied.”

“So she was sexy, you rose up, entered her temple of Venus and fell for her.”

“Yes.”

“And Jasmine smiled sweetly and gave you both a wonderful wedding bouquet of nettles hiding a python.”

“No, not quite. There was a tension. Jasmine married her law professor at Cambridge shortly after she received her first-class honors degree. He was far older and died during an act of love with her within a few months. About nine months later she re-married with Ivan Molassovitch, the Russian Oil and football tycoon. It only lasted about four years. It cost him a fortune to divorce her. To be frank it was a bit of a society scandal but Saskia stood by her and that re-formed their friendship.”

“First she shagged the teacher and got awarded top grades. Then she married some gangster-style oilygarch and got herself a fortune for life.”

“A harsh way of putting it, but there were those who suggested so.... Since then, Jasmine has been a thorough brick. Saskia stood by her and in return she vowed to bring us through the sorrow of our loss. She’s been at our side all the way.”

“She thinks you’re gonna be her man one day.”

“She’s never said so.”

Why the fuck were men so dim? Did he think any woman ever actually outlined their plans for them?

“Spencer, you’re a fine, trusting, honorable man. She’s not about to hand you a written agenda. You make me feel like a spiv selling brass as gold. Where I come from blind trust gets you killed and hopeful mugs do buy brass at the price of gold. She wants you. That’s why she’s here in your life. I don’t blame her for wanting you. We’d agree on that.”

He silently took in her words. She’d just told him she wanted him. Where was his response?

“I want you too. I’m not here because I want anything else,” he said.

There were more words she wanted but maybe he wasn’t ready to say them. At the end of the day words were cheap. He’d proved himself by his deeds. Even if she suffocated with love for him she would not draw breath to say it on her own. She’d known nothing but lonely longing for love. She wouldn’t give birth to an unshared one. Once born, it would draw its life from her warm breast and he could walk away. For now she’d said enough, to him and to herself. Words were cheap indeed but if only at this moment, just about three of them could be bought at any price.

“How do you think she’ll take to me on Sunday? Will you be introducing me as the new constable or as your lover?” she asked.

“It could be difficult.”

“I think it might be fucking well gladiatorial, Spencer! I guess she doesn’t know you’re sleeping with me in the Empress Joséphine’s bed.”

“I hadn’t mentioned it actually.”

“Should I slide it subtly into the conversation, do you think?”

“Maybe not on Sunday.”

The last thing she wanted was a showdown here and now. He was a good man. She had no right to him. She’d done what she’d done out of her own desire and instinct.

“Look, I’ll play the village cop. There’ll be others there who’ll expect that. I won’t embarrass myself or you. Just don’t push me aside or flaunt any other woman.”

He turned to her and brushed his hand on her cheek.

“You’re my woman. There’s no one else,” he said.

She checked the details on the pathologist’s business card. This Professor Max Strauss either would or would not change the course of her police career.

“It’s WPC Aguerri,” she said into the phone.

“It’s Shannon, is it not? It’s Saturday.”

“It’s the same day here,” she said, cursing her automatic back chat.

“At least we’ve no arguments so far,” he said with a dry laugh.

“I’ve got some dog hairs.”

“Hmm ... unusual in a woman your age. It’s probably a genetic problem. Have you seen a doctor?”

“I was hoping to see a professor. You know, go straight to the top.”

She could feel him smiling.

“I think I’d enjoy the repartee at least,” he said.

“You remember the case?”

“Of course. I believe I know the dog in question.”

“Can you check them against the hairs on Kakkada Song?”

“What’s wrong with the usual system?”

“The usual system doesn’t let me unlawfully enter property and fight guard dogs.”

“You mean can I breach all the rules and risk my whole life’s work and career achievements?”

“You have a way with words, Professor....”

“Can you get to Baker Street by 11 o’clock?”

“221B?”

“Sherlock’s moved on. It’s just a museum now. Try Costa Coffee just up from the tube station.”

“I’ll be there. And thanks!”

She dressed in red linen trousers, a white T-shirt and a brash red animal-print heart necklace and earrings. She drove the police Mitsubishi to Wimbledon police station and picked up the tube. The rattle of the train and the swirl of the city excited her. Fleetworth-Green was another planet. She changed lines at Edgware Road, bustling along anonymous escalators with an artist’s palette of strangers. Here she could be anyone. The lonely freedom caught her like a cold breeze both refreshing and chilling. Her mind flashed to her night and happiness with Spencer. Before him she had viewed her loneliness as liberty. Now, she missed his presence and protection. She’d lost a layer that only he could replace.

The professor was seated in the window of the Costa cafe with a coffee on the table. She ordered an espresso doppio and joined him. He stood, shook her hand, and motioned her to sit. His hair was pure white. He wore a black polo shirt, beige Chinos, and Timberland shoes. He looked like a regular guy. Perhaps he was an undercover professor.

“Dog hairs can be a problem for a beautiful young woman,” he said.

“A problem shared is a problem halved they say.”

“I bet you don’t think that every time someone gives you a cold,” he said.

She smiled. He was only playing. He hadn’t asked her to come merely to refuse.

“I don’t need an official result.”

“You won’t get one, you can’t get one, and we can’t talk here. It’s a lovely day for a stroll in the park.”

He’d finished his coffee. She threw back her espresso. They stepped outside and walked together to the boating lake at Regent’s Park.

“You understand that forensic samples are subject to strict procedures. There must be no risk of contamination. The evidence has to have continuity and police statements to prove its origin.”

“I do know that.”

“So, you can’t gain this evidence properly?”

“Not without alerting some serious villains that I’m interested in them. I think they’re involved with the dead girl. They’re also up to their neck in drugs. I have zero evidence and even if I did and we steamed in, we’d lose the chance to scoop them for the big picture.”

The professor nodded seriously.

“I’m going to trust you totally. Do you understand that you must never and I mean never, reveal this evidence to anyone. If you are in the dock at the Old Bailey facing the gallows you will deny any knowledge of this meeting.”

“You have my word,” she said lightly touching his arm.

“The good news is that the DNA from the samples has already been isolated and the profile is on my computer. I can get your hairs analyzed privately so there is no risk to the genuine evidence. All I have to do is log on to the official results and check for a match. No one, absolutely no one must ever know why. Can you imagine what some slick barrister would make out of all this?”

“I understand.”

“Give me your sample. I’ll contact you as soon as possible. A weekend is a good time to work off radar. You called my mobile this morning. I stored your number. Is it safe to use?”

“Yes, it’s my private phone.”

“OK. Any problem or risk of discovery and the phone goes in the river?”

“Agreed. Professor, I can’t thank you enough.... I won’t ask why you’re helping me.”

“Simple. You have no reason to care personally for a stranger who has no friend or help on this earth. You could draw your pay and stay safe without risk. My family came to this country from Austria via China. As the Nazis began their holocaust campaign, the Chinese consul, Ho Feng-Shan and his staff in Vienna issued thousands of visas allowing many people to escape to Shanghai. To care for a stranger is the mark of God if you have one or of Love if you have not. Love is the higher because it sure carries more risks and takes more knocks.”

She stared at him. How humbled she was by this world and by the stories of so many strangers that pass on any street. She put out her hand in a bro’ fist gesture. The professor smiled and touched knuckles.

“Respect,” they said in unison.

She took the Bakerloo line to Oxford Circus and made for the Next clothing store in Oxford Street. She wanted to look good for the cricket match. She chose a pale peach-colored shift dress with lace detailing to the neck line and lace appliqué to the sides. She was sure Jasmine would have something wonderful to wear that she could never afford. At £65 her dress would be about ten minutes’ work for a top barrister. She didn’t care. She looked good in it. And she knew it.

As she headed back for the tube, she noticed all the newsstands selling celebrity magazines. Every picture seemed to be of the pregnant princess. Was her dad really going to play in the place of Prince William tomorrow? Could it be that a girl from the North Peckham Estate would meet these people. Could she ever have dreamed of a noble titled lover? She bought a “Hello” magazine on the way home and flicked through the pages of princess pictures and baby speculation. Such things had never crossed her mind before. Now, she could dream, couldn’t she?

There was plenty to do in the police office. While she’d been swashbuckling on the front line, a truckload of routine had emptied itself into her in tray. Several shotgun permits were up for renewal. She had to assess if the citizen was still sane. In her own state of emotional fever, she was probably not the best person to judge. A couple more wet cats had come home and told tales. A full inventory of crops eaten by Thunderbolt had arrived by e-mail. The village pub wanted to stay open late on the day of the royal birth. Since that was imminent there was no way she could fix it officially. Every time her mind lifted from her files, thoughts of Spencer flooded in. Her iPhone sounded its message tone.

“Thinking of you xxxxx.”

“Thought you didn’t really do silly texts?”

“I used not to.”

She smiled at his old fashioned formal written English. It was like a grammar text book.

“Used you not to? I didn’t used to either xxxxxxxxx.”

She felt his wince. She couldn’t help herself. Tonight she’d be alone and get herself ready for the match. She phoned her dad, Mel, and Inspector Lilly to check that everyone was lined up. She had hoped her mum would come but her dad was doubtful. Until tomorrow came she had no idea where to position herself on the wider field of play. Cricket wouldn’t be the only game going on. No one would be playing for a draw.