Passion Patrol 2 - a Sexy Police Romance Suspense Novel With a Touch of Humor: Hot Cops. Hot Crime. Hot Romance. (14 page)

“How good is he?”

“He’s only fifteen. He has a County spot and is tipped for England perhaps.”

Shannon let out a sigh. She’d just seen the light. This was the reason Jasmine had come with her rent-a-team. It was simply to defeat the boy. He couldn’t play for the County if he went back to boarding school. If he was outclassed and humiliated here then maybe he wasn’t so good and maybe she could convince Spencer. She looked around for her. Curiously she was on the far side of the field where Prince Xavier was fielding. Even from this distance she could see she was pouting and posing. The prince didn’t seem to mind and had his hips pushed forward at her. He was no more than twenty-five and she had to be forty. Maybe there was some chemistry there. If there was, it would be toxic.

The first ball fizzed away through the air for six runs. Jasmine gave a shriek of delight and punched the air. The two batsmen met in the middle of the wicket and did high-fives. From the pavilion came a chant of “sweet elite, sweet elite.” The second ball was smashed away to the boundary for four runs. She could see a look of dismay on Spencer’s face. The chanting and high-fives multiplied. Ben bowled again. The batsman seemed to let it hit his pads. Immediately Inspector Lilly raised his finger to dismiss the player for having leg before wicket. There was a second of astonished silence. At once the whole Bloxington team let out a cheer. An orgy of high-fives and back patting broke out as the batsman stalked angrily back to the pavilion. A chorus of boos and stamping feet greeted the decision.

Vandervell nearly choked on his beer as he chortled with mirth.

“Top man! It was bloody yards off but who cares.”

Another batsman walked out. Things settled down and the score clicked up.

“Comrade, since we have this chance I feel I need to do a small act of socialist duty,” said Vandervell.

“Is it about the revolution in Fleetworth-Green?”

“Yes, in a way it is. At the barricades the worker’s committee will sentence the exploiters to death. I believe we have such enemies of the people among us.”

Shannon smiled. He was obviously going to give her some information.

“There is a certain Sylvie Arrowsmith in the area. They live in that awful gated community. Her husband is Ron. I believe he once removed a rival’s eyeball with a spoon. Do I have your attention comrade?”

“You do,” she replied. She would take everything he said as hot news. The last thing she wanted was to let anyone know her existing interest.

“Young Sylvie used to go by the name Scarlet Cherry. She was a porn star. As a young technician in the film business I had many a close up of her
talent
. She had an extraordinary capacity. She married Ron as her grip began to loosen shall we say. She remained in the business and is still very active. She is able to offer young ladies for a range of work.”

“Young ladies?”

“Yes, very often oriental ladies ... young women without documentation or family.”

Shannon looked at him as he raised his eyebrows. She knew his meaning and she was already more or less there. The extra information about Sylvie was very welcome.

“You have struck a blow for a world free of slavery, Comrade,” she said.

Vandervell swelled up a little. He was pleased with her response. She added a little flourish to warm his heart. “And you’re thinking that perhaps such a girl could end up in a ditch....”

“You understand me well. I knew that the police wouldn’t arrive at that conclusion. I am an artist, a man of foresight and vision. In the case of Ron, a little bird has whispered that he has become a farmer.”

“Farmer,” she asked, already leaping toward his meaning.

“Yes, an indoor farmer. Herbal products. Quite a big scale I believe.”

“I’m very grateful to you, Vandervell.”

“I’m pleased to help. I’ve nothing specific but maybe it helps with the big picture.”

Shannon settled back into her deckchair. As she watched the game, very probably Professor Strauss was matching up dog hairs. If the numbers came up she was looking at a big win. She checked the scoreboard. Jasmine’s team had made sixty-three runs and had lost only one player. Her father was chatting with Spencer. He sauntered back to bowl. He was fifty-three years old. Surely he couldn’t still charge in as a fast bowler. He hurtled a ball at the batsman who flinched and edged it away. Mel dived for a brilliant catch. Never had she been so proud. All the spectators jumped up applauding. She glanced across at Jasmine. She had been more or less caressing her own breasts and pointing them at Xavier. She appeared unmoved and continued to flaunt herself at a seemingly impressed prince.

Two balls later, Patrick clean bowled another batsman. Over the next twenty minutes Colonel Robertson and Inspector Lilly gave decisions on catches, leg before wickets and run outs that brought Jasmine’s team to a score one hundred and seven for nine. Patrick bowled a slower ball that spun off the bat to a catch by one of the village lads. Colonel Robertson waved away protests that the ball had bounced before being caught. Vandervell’s happiness was overflowing.

“He’s a stuffy old Tory but the man’s been a star,” he declared.

The score was one hundred and fourteen. The other team booed and stamped their feet. Nobody cared.

It was time for tea in the marquee. Dainty crust-less sandwiches with a variety of traditional fillings such as ham and mustard, finely cut cucumber, smoked salmon, and egg and cress, were spread on the tables. Slices of old-fashioned favorite cakes were neatly arranged on china stands. Shannon hugged Mel, her father, Spencer, and Ben. She hoped Jasmine could see them. In the distance she saw Inspector Lilly who surprised her with a knowing wink. He had gone up in her estimation but this was not the time to approach him.

“It’s not over yet,” said Spencer. “We have to face their bowlers but we do have our secret weapons.”

Shannon stiffened as she heard a shrill voice.

“I’m so disappointed you’ve had to use such shameful tactics. Those umpires are clearly corrupt. Young Ben is always billed to me as a cosmic superstar and so for the first time in his life I provided a decent contest. And what did I get?”

“You got one hundred and fourteen,” said Spencer.

“Not very impressive with a line-up of internationals,” added Patrick.

“You cheated. It’s as simple as that.”

“The umpire’s decision is final. A senior police officer and a colonel from a cavalry regiment cannot be corrupt surely. Your remarks could offend. It’s only a little knockabout,” said Spencer, smiling broadly.

For the second time since she had known her, Jasmine did not rise to a full-blown row with him. She looked at Shannon and resumed her cold smile.

“Nice to see you tucking in to the food, Constable. When you have a fuller figure it’s important to keep it fed.”

“Quite right, I like a good chew. It stops my teeth from getting too big and horsey,” said Shannon exposing her perfect white teeth and gnashing them up and down loudly at her.

Vandervell chuckled as Jasmine’s expression darkened.

“Your team don’t seem to be taking much refreshment,” he said.

“They’re already on the field. They only use isotonic fluids.”

“Good for them,” said Vandervell swigging on a hip flask to accompany his tea, “my body’s a temple of doom, you know.”

Ben had drifted over. Patrick, Vandervell, Spencer, and Selena congratulated him on his performance.

“And you’ll need to be good, young man,” said Jasmine.

Ben ignored her.

“Your dad’s a hell of a bowler,” he said.

“And sexy,” added Selena.

“Heaven’s above. It’s all one big mutual admiration society. I’ll see you all after the game.”

She strutted off as far as Prince Xavier who was leaning on an upright tent pole watching her with a reasonably lustful expression. She invaded his space and placed her hand on his chest. His pelvis advanced. She toyed coyly with her hair.

“Just bloody get your stuff out and do it,” called Selena with a slightly drunken slur.

Vandervell took her firmly by the arm and led her to the deck chairs. A couple of pigeons bobbed and scrabbled in an endless failed courtship. The breeze rustled the tall poplars and oaks. It was a scene of English rural calm. Inside Shannon boiled. They just had to win.

It was obvious they meant business. The first ball was a bouncer that fizzed past the head of a portly guy who was Spencer’s personal accountant. The second ball hit him on the forearm and the third knocked out his stumps. He limped back to the pavilion clutching his swelling arm. He hadn’t played a stroke. The next batsman was Spencer. Her heart pounded as she watched him taking his place to face the bowler. He looked strong and fearless, the bat a toy in his hand. The ball flashed at him at some invisible speed. He swung the bat but the ball smashed into his pads. With one voice Jasmine’s team screamed an appeal for leg before wicket. Calmly and deliberately Inspector Lilly dismissed their pleas. Vandervell took a swig from his flask.

“Excellent bit of judgment. First class old boy,” he shouted.

Even with the help of the umpires, things were not going well. Spencer plodded away while a succession of batsman were caught or bowled out. With only three men remaining, the score stood at forty-seven. When Spencer was caught trying to slog a six, Shannon’s dad joined Ben at the wicket and flicked away the first ball for four runs. He had always been a fast bowler but he knew every aspect of the game. Between the two of them they advanced the score to one hundred and ten, just five runs needed for victory and four balls remaining. The evening had started to deepen and the crowd had fallen silent. Patrick flashed his bat at the ball but was caught by a brilliant one-handed catch. The final man was Prince Xavier. He made contact with the ball and ran flat out. Ben tried to make the other end but was clearly run out. Colonel Robertson had no hesitation in declaring that he had crossed the crease line. The other team had more or less given up their protests. Two balls remained. Four runs to score. The bowler pounded in and threw down a head-high full toss.

“’No ball!” called Inspector Lilly.

A run was added to the score. He pounded in again and bowled a bouncer. One ball remained. Ben took his stance. As the bowler let go the ball, Ben advanced down the wicket and swiped it for four unstoppable runs before it had the chance to bounce. The Bloxington team had won, with just a little help from their friends. Shannon yelled with joy. The crowd erupted into applause. Ben and Prince Xavier made their way triumphantly to the pavilion. Shannon went out to greet them. To her amazement, Jasmine was already ahead of her and had taken hold of Xavier by the hand.

“My handsome prince—you were magnificent,” she gushed.

The young man appeared embarrassed.

“I only faced one ball and ran,” he said. “Ben is the hero.”

“Yes. Yes, he would be....” she said.

Shannon’s heart pounded to see Spencer heading for her. She ran and hugged him. His strong arms folded around her. She closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest. She caught his scent of hot summer male. Let everyone see them. This was her man and he was holding her as his for the world to see.

“Looks like a serious case to me,” said her dad arriving at their side.

She broke away and hugged him.

“Dad, you were fantastic. I’m so proud.”

“Spot on, Shannon,” agreed Spencer. “You are a true class act, Patrick. We need some way to sign you for the team.”

“Leave that to me,” she said, taking his hand and Spencer’s as they made for the pavilion.

She left the men to change and shower. She was glad of the chance to freshen her makeup. She headed for the royal suite which she was beginning to regard as her bedroom. Things had gone well and Jasmine hadn’t really been an issue. Prince Xavier had parachuted into the mix and was clearly a new feature on her agenda. She’d already milked her professor and her billionaire oilygarch. Please let her push her spike into a prince and leave her alone with Spencer. She doubted anything could be so simple. For a moment she lay back on the bed. She closed her eyes and imagined Joséphine in this very bed dreaming of Napoléon. The door opened abruptly. She sat up, her heart pumping.

“What the....”

Jasmine waltzed in, a sneer of superiority on her face. It was clear that she had slugged a couple of drinks.

“Sexy bed in the royal suite for an earl’s little slut.”

Shannon was used to shock and aggression and fired up her overdrive.

“You’re drunk and in my space. This had better be good. If you can’t finish it don’t start it,” she said.

Jasmine closed the door.

“Just needed a nice girlie chat.”

“Better find a nice girlie then,” said Shannon, moving to the edge of the bed.

“Obviously not here—so you’ll have to do.”

Jasmine made a move as if to sit on the bed.

“This is my bed. Keep off.”

“Oh dear, police brutality.”

“Good. You read my mind,” said Shannon. “Just say what you want with me.”

“I want ... I want to tell you some truths ... to help you.”