Passion Patrol 2 - a Sexy Police Romance Suspense Novel With a Touch of Humor: Hot Cops. Hot Crime. Hot Romance. (19 page)

“My daughter, she’s a teacher. She came for dinner. I did corned beef hash. It was one of our favorites when we lived in New York. Frank, my husband, was the American correspondent. I didn’t want my daughter to know my situation.”

“Know what?”

“That those men took all my money. Well, I gave it to them ... they said I had to. I was so afraid and stupid.”

“What men? I want to know all about this. How about a cup of tea?”

There was a quick flash of fear in Mrs Hornet’s face.

“I’m out of milk I’m afraid. I haven’t been able to pop out today.”

“Isobel, do you have any money at all?”

Shannon watched her eyes searching for some raft of dignity.

“No.”

The poor woman broke down completely. Shannon had a fair idea of what this woman’s story was going to be. A surge of anger boiled in her.

“You get the kettle on and I’ll pop out for some milk.”

She drove to the village, picked up some milk, tea, bread, butter and a couple of cans of soup. It would buy a little time. She was back with her in fifteen minutes. She sat down with her tea to take a full statement. Mrs Hornet began.

“There were four of them. They said they could see broken tiles on my roof. They said they were doing a job nearby and could fix the problem straight away. One of them said water would pour in during the winter and the ceilings would collapse. One of the others was already on the roof, throwing down tiles.”

Shannon controlled her anger. This wasn’t a Brixton-style crime but she’d read the bulletins from other areas for years. She recorded detailed descriptions of the men.

“They were finished in about half an hour and said I owed them three thousand pounds. I said I didn’t have it. There was a fat boss man who said they’d have to rip off all the new stuff they’d done and that the whole roof could collapse. They’d smashed up all the old tiles and had them in their truck.”

“So, they wanted money?” said Shannon.

“Yes, I didn’t have three thousand but I could get about two thousand from the bank and about six hundred from my post office savings. The boss said he’d drive me to the bank to get the money but he’d have to leave his men at the house in case they had to strip the roof if I didn’t pay. He said it was my fault for getting them to do the work when I didn’t have the cash.”

“So you went....”

“I was so afraid. They were brutes you know. He said I was lucky they weren’t already doing things. He drove me to the bank and the post office and waited while I got all the money. He said if I told anyone he’d have to phone his men and they’d have to wreck the roof and search the house for things that could pay for their work.”

“So you paid him?”

“When I got back the men were all in the house. They’d taken a bottle of brandy from the sideboard and they were sitting here drinking. The boss said he was four hundred short and one of the others said he’d got some rings and that would be enough.”

“What rings were those?”

Mrs Hornet broke down again.”

“It was everything. Everything of my life! Frank was a generous man who loved me. He gave me eternity rings and just stuff. He always said it was almost, but not quite, beautiful enough for me. That was always his expression. I can hear him saying it now you know. They took everything!”

“And then they went?”

“Yes, the boss said that because I’d been fair with them they’d take an old gate post away as well just to help me. He said sometimes they had to go to the police if people didn’t pay and that he was glad he didn’t have to do that.”

Shannon seethed with hatred for these crooks. The reality was she could probably do little or nothing. A frail old woman alone was easy meat.

“May I ask what income you have?”

“The state pension. Frank worked for that newspaper tycoon. He stole all the cash from the pension fund, spent it all and then drowned. His pension was very small and since he died I only get half.”

“Maybe you need some good advice. Spencer – you know the Earl of Bloxington, has many top advisors. He’s something of a friend and a good man. I’ll get someone to call but don’t talk to anyone who doesn’t know my name. I’ll leave you my mobile number. Any doubts call me at once, day or night. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll do all I can, Isobel. Don’t touch that brandy bottle. I’ll arrange to get it fingerprinted.”

The old lady stood to see her out. Shannon hugged her as she left. She knew where those tiles and that gate post had ended up. Just maybe there was a clue there? There were sure to be prints on that bottle. She stopped at the village shop. She explained that Mrs Hornet had been confused and had sent the money. She paid for the corned beef and walked up and down the cars parked outside on the no parking zone and gave a big smile and a wave into the shop. Everyone understood her. She turned the jeep toward the pony paddock where Mrs Hornet’s debris had been dumped.

She nosed the police vehicle into the lane leading to the field. The gate was wide open. Her instinctive villain sensors were buzzing—no, screaming—on overload. Some people could detect water with a twig. She could detect villains with her guts. The entrance was too big to block with the jeep and there was only a thin hedge and fence. There they were. Four men with a Transit tipper throwing off a load of old tarmac. She was in trouble. She was outnumbered and vulnerable. She put out a call for assistance.

“Foxtrot Golf One to Zulu Delta. Urgent, four suspects wanted burglary and deception Shepherd’s Lane. Repeat—assistance. Suspects males I.C. One. Currently in field fly-tipping. Do you have me on tracker?”

“Roger Foxtrot Golf One. Assistance on way. Do not approach alone Zulu Delta over.”

Too late, they’d spotted her. They scrambled aboard the truck and headed for the gate. They would be able to smash straight through the fence. There was no way these bastards were going to escape. Her guess was there was no back-up car for at least ten minutes. Her oily rag life as a kid had taught her a few things about how to stop a vehicle. As they approached she revved up the jeep, engaged the four wheel drive and headed straight for the front corner of the truck. She had to ram the wing back onto the tire and wreck the steering arm. With a bit of luck she’d hit the radiator as well.

There was a squeal of metal. The truck stopped. The driver tried to reverse away but the wheel was jammed. She locked the doors and put out a quick call.

“Suspects have rammed police vehicle. Urgent assistance. Urgent assistance.”

The thugs were out of the cab. A spade smashed through the windscreen of the jeep. A hand came through. She snatched the rigid cuffs from her belt and drove the bracelet down onto a thick wrist. She twisted the other end with all her strength and forced it onto the steering wheel. Whatever happened, she had one prisoner.

The captive was yelling in pain.

“Let him go copper or you’re fookin’ dead,” said one of them.

One of the others was trying to climb in through the windscreen

She heard another vehicle screaming across the field. She checked the mirror. It was a scruffy pick-up. This was it, she was dead. It pulled up alongside. The double barrels of a shotgun appeared from the door as the driver jumped out. She braced herself for death. Was it possible she recognized him? She froze. It was Wayne Swift, the guy who’d wanted to fight outside the pub.

“Touch her and you get it,” he said.

The three thugs looked at him and at each other. The guy handcuffed to the steering wheel was working himself up into a frenzy. The vehicle was tough but there was a limit.

“You wouldn’t fookin’ dare,” said one of them.

“Try me,” said Wayne Swift with an icily calm tone.

Shannon caught the sound of a police siren. She heard the call sign of Zulu Seven on the police radio. He was just a minute away now. Right across the other side of the field she heard a dog. It was a police unit.

Shannon stepped out of the jeep.

“The dog will tear you to bits boys. Think about it,” she said.

Wayne backed away into his truck, keeping the gun focused on the targets. He sat back inside, never blinking.

There were running footsteps in the lane. Another dog and handler were charging from behind her. One of the thugs put his hands up. One decided to run. He got about fifty yards before a large German Shepherd sank its teeth into his arm. The remaining guy stood motionless as an officer handcuffed him. She looked back at Wayne. He was leaning on his truck smiling.

“You can’t have a bloody permit for that gun.”

“Ain’t got no gun,” he said.

“We’ll have to talk,” she said.

“If you saw any gun I’m in jail. You know that. You looked like you needed a bit of help. I had to decide didn’t I,” he said, holding her eyes. “I was right out of order the other night. I thought I could make up for it.”

It was rare that she struggled to make a decision. He was on a suspended sentence. He was a drinker with a history of violence. Very probably he had saved her from serious injury or death.

“Wayne, please don’t let me down. Keep that thing out of sight. Get out of here before some smart cop recognizes you and looks in your truck. We’ll talk tomorrow about your gun OK. Don’t even dream of fucking well arguing with me.”

“I won’t let you down. I promise.”

The place was alive with police. There was still the matter of a fat crook on the bonnet of her jeep handcuffed to the steering wheel.

“Looks like I’ve lost my bloody keys in all that excitement. Just keep calm and carry on, eh,” she said.

She watched Wayne giving his details to a cop. She smiled at the officer to confirm he was a good guy. The pick-up slid away. She arrested her captive, told him his rights, unlocked the cuffs and joined him in the back of a police prison van. This lot would take a fair bit of ink and paper.

She sat writing her arrest report in the canteen. There was a peal of laughter from a group of detectives as they walked in. She smiled at their conversation.

“One of the daft pricks said there was a bunch of armed police there. One of ’em even had a bloody shotgun. These twats are watching too much TV.”

They came and sat at her table.

“Jesus, you’re a bloody star, you are. That lot are wanted up and down the country. Did you hear that? They think a team of undercover cops was following them. They wouldn’t know the truth if it bit them,” said a stocky guy in his mid-thirties. “DCI Will Dawson, National Crime Agency.”

He extended his hand for Shannon to shake. The detective gang jeered and groaned.

“She won’t shag you, Guv’nor. You’re too ugly and cheesy.”

“That’s you load of deadbeats back plodding the streets,” he replied with a laugh.

“Well done though, Shannon. How the fuck you collared that lot, I just dunno.”

“She’s a fuckin’ fembot from Austin Powers, Guv! She’s got a shooter in her bra,” came a voice from the mob. “Ask her if you can have a look.”

“I’m sorry love. I have these inappropriate morons all day. I bet your boyfriend’s a cop.”

“Nah, he’s an earl.”

“The Eleventh Earl of Bloxington actually,” said Spencer striding across the canteen. “Shannon—what the hell’s happened now?”

“I didn’t want to worry you. There’s all that UNESCO stuff to get ready.”

“Simon called me from the pub. Wayne Swift’s in there telling everyone of your joint heroics. He says he’s been made a deputy and he’s going straight.”

“The boy done good. He saved me.”

“That lot are premier league violent bastards, Sir,” said the DCI.

Spencer nodded and shook his hand.

“Shannon, there was ten grand’s worth of jewelry in their truck. Some of it came from that Mrs Hornet,” said the Chief Inspector. “Their dabs are all over that brandy bottle. Bloody good job, gal.”

The detectives moved off. They had plenty still to do.

“How did you get in, Spencer?”

“I phoned Brian Lilly.”

“Right, when I stand up, no soppy kisses or passion OK. This is my place of work.”

“Understood,” he said in his most military voice.

She sprang up and hugged him. His arms folded around her.

“My big bear,” she said, snuggling against him as his arms folded around her.”

“My love,” he said.

There was a tenderness in his tone that touched her. He’d used the L-word.”

“My love too,” she said.

She handed in her paperwork and made her way toward the exit. As she passed the inspector’s office she heard a voice. The door was ajar. The garage sergeant was expressing himself to the duty commander.

“I said this would happen, Sir! I said so. The vehicle is a complete ruin. They say she rammed them! She’s not an advanced driver like us, Sir! She is a basic amateur. The steering wheel is almost completely ripped off. How could she have done that? I think there should be a full inquiry, Sir! I said this would happen!’

Shannon stifled a laugh.

“Shall I explain?”