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

She stepped inside. An old-fashioned racing car was on a garage-style ramp and a tall broad guy was welding the underside. He wore a full face protective mask and blue overalls. She knew not to look at the intense light from the sparks. At a quick glance he was working on aluminum. So, he knew what he was doing. She was happy to study the engineer. He was about six foot three. He was broad and powerful. His boiler suit was open showing a tanned dark-haired chest and some belly hair arrowing down through the waistband of his boxers. His body was strong and sexy. When he paused she spoke.

“Good evening, Sir. Looks like you’re welding aluminum.”

He stepped out from under the ramp and flipped up the mask to reveal a handsome aristocratic face smudged with oil. Crow’s feet around his eyes stood out where dirt hadn’t penetrated. She guessed he was about forty.

“Good Lord! Are you some kind of police officer?” he barked in deep loud voice.

“I like to think so. I’m gonna keep trying anyway,” said Shannon with a smile.

“Where on earth are you from?”

“The village, Fleetworth-Green. It’s just beyond the trees over there,” she said, well aware she was being mischievous.

“I know where the bloody village is,” he said with an exasperated tone.

“Are you going to say that I’m not PC Flowers?”

“Yes, you certainly are not PC Flowers.”

“We’re agreed then,” said Shannon.

“Look. What the hell is this?”

She could tell he was hovering between anger and laughter. She had to tease. She just had to.

“It’s a police raid. Hands behind your back while I put the cuffs on,” she said, smiling all the while.

“What, what? Who the hell are you?”

“Sir, I was joking.”

“Where is PC Flowers? He’s the only man I deal with.”

“Where have all the flowers gone, eh?” Shannon remarked.

“What? What?”

“I’m WPC Shannon Aguerri, your new local bobby on the beat.”

“No one told me,” he blustered.

Slowly he pulled off his welding gloves to reveal big strong-looking hands and forearms. He wiped his face with a rag. Shannon held his angry stare, noting his deep brown eyes and long straight nose like that of a Norman knight. She could tell that he was softening as he took in her coffee skin and blue eyes. She smiled and knew he couldn’t resist a small smile in return.

“And you are the local police officer?”

“Yes. Fresh out of the box from Brixton. Someone important thought you guys needed me.”

“Brixton?” he said, almost aghast.

“Yeah, Brixton Academy, Brixton Market, Brixton riots and don’t forget Brixton Prison.”

“This is astonishing. No one told me,” he said.

“I’ll mention it to the Commissioner,” she said.

“I could tell the bloody Home Secretary.”

“And I’ll tell Boris Johnson and he’ll go on TV and tell everyone,” said Shannon, enjoying the sport.

Without warning he let out a bellow of laughter.

“Yes. Bloody Boris would, wouldn’t he?”

For a second he stared at her and appeared to have a light-bulb moment.

“I get it. Good Lord. You’re a ‘stripogram cop.’ This is Jazzy’s idea of a birthday surprise. You bloody near had me fooled,” he said chuckling with hearty mirth.

“Father, she’s the village cop,” said Ben who had walked in behind her.

Shannon smiled broadly.

“I’ll take it as a compliment, Sir,” she said. “Anyway, is it your birthday? No party?”

“No,” he said with a kind of plainness that conveyed a sorrow.

“Are you this young man’s father?”

“Yes.”

“He was in the woods on a Vespa scooter. He claims it belongs to you.”

“Yes. Yes it does,” he said, turning his attention to Ben. “Is this so? It’s not a dirt track machine. Have you damaged it?”

Ben shook his head and studied the floor. Shannon was aware of the clatter of horses’ hooves.

“Sir, I just wanted to check he hadn’t stolen it.”

“Stolen?” said a sharp posh female voice from behind her.

“Ah, Jazzy,” said the earl with a smile. Shannon glanced at Ben, noting that his face had clouded. She caught the boy’s eye and gave a small wink.

The woman came and stood beside the hunky guy in overalls.

“I hope you have not dared to question a minor without all the proper protocols, Officer,” she said.

Shannon looked her up and down. She was slim and elegant even if she did have over-large teeth. She was dressed in riding jodhpurs and a beautifully cut black jacket. Wisps of blonde hair trailed from her riding helmet.

“Who are you?” asked Shannon with deliberate formality.

“I am Jasmine de Montfort. I’m a barrister-at-law at the Marlborough-Fortescue Chambers. You will know of us I think. Although at your rank you won’t be dealing with top level cases,” she said with an icy smile.

“I dunno. I’ve locked up all kinds of toffs but so far, no barristers. One never knows though, does one?” replied Shannon.

“Toffs! Toffs! What is your name and number, Officer? I think you need to be aware of the limits of your authority.”

Shannon held her stare for a moment.

“The numbers are on my shoulder. Is that your ‘Chelsea Tractor’ four-by-four out there?”

“How dare you?”

“It’s easy, Madam. Is it yours?”

“Yes. What of it?”

“The number plate is illegal. The letters are mis-spaced. You know it and I know it.”

Shannon glanced at Ben’s face. His expression barely hid some kind of joy.

“Illegal?”

“Yes. It reads JA51 LAW. I guess you are trying to make it read ‘Jazi’? It’s all a bit vulgar to my mind,” said Shannon.

Ben let out a howl.

“You are impertinent!” said Jasmine de Montfort.

“And you are risking a sixty-quid ticket if you drive that out of here, Madam,” replied Shannon.

Although Jasmine de Montfort, barrister-at-law at the Marlborough-Fortescue Chambers didn’t actually stamp her foot, her boiling rage looked near to explosion. Shannon smiled and carefully drew out her notebook and made a show of recording some official matter. In fact she sketched her version of a volcano. Poor Ben squealed again.

The earl glanced awkwardly between all of the faces.

“Spencer, what the hell is going on?” asked Jasmine.

“Jazz, perhaps you should leave me to speak with the officer,” he said.

His tone was firm and Shannon saw at once that Jasmine was not going to contradict him in front of her, although she continued to look down her nose at Shannon as if she wanted to spit.

“I’ll be in the house,” she said, strutting off across the yard.

“Ooh, my little pony’s not too happy,” said Shannon.

It was all too much for Ben who appeared to go into a fit of laughter that could physically harm him.

“My little pony. My little pony,” he repeated.

“Ben, get across to the house. We’ll speak later,” said Spencer.

Shannon shot a last smile at the lad. She didn’t know the set-up here but it wasn’t happy and there was room for improvement. She sensed she was on a case. She let out a sigh.

“I guess I didn’t handle that too well,” she said. “I shouldn’t have been rude.”

He smiled and seemed relaxed.

“Oh, frisky fillies can rear up a bit I suppose,” he said.

This time it was Shannon’s turn to be gobsmacked. Just where the hell was this guy from?

“I’m not any kind of frisky filly,” she stated.

“No—I’m sorry—but you introduced my little pony didn’t you.”

“Yes, that’s a fair comment,” said Shannon.

He beamed at her with the most genuine warmth she had ever seen in a human face.

“Do you truly believe in fairness?”

“Well, that’s a question, Sir. Yes I do, but I guess I accept a lot of compromise.”

He nodded and smiled again.

“So what was Ben up to?”

“Just hanging out with some mates and riding the scooter. You know, he’s a good lad, but maybe in the wrong company he could go astray.”

She watched his expression change.

“I don’t feel I need the police to tell me his character,” he said.

“I’m not telling you the police view. I’m telling you as me, as a woman, as a frisky filly.”

He smiled at her again and she smiled back.

“I guess that’s touché,” he said.

She watched him take up his tools to re-start his work. She saw him notice her eyes on his body and appear almost shy.

“You should keep those overalls buttoned up, Sir. Bare skin is very sensitive to a hot spark,” she said.

“You know about welding?”

“My dad’s a mechanic. He started in Antigua. I used to go down the arches with him when I was a kid and my mum was out at work in the hospital. He sat me in the corner but I was always helping out if I could,” she said, warming to the memory.

“That’s amazing. You know, a cop and, you know, just someone like you knowing about cars,” he said.

She sensed the fragile innocent boyishness in him that had called to her heart when talking to Ben.

“What’s your project here?” she asked.

“Ah well, she’s a D-type Jaguar that raced at Le Mans in the fifties. I’m hoping to take her back there.”

“Can I come?” she said.

“You?”

“My dad rates me as a top dog oily rag.”

“Really. You’re very—”

“I know. Forward, I suppose. Don’t ask, don’t get, Mister, innit?” she replied.

“Innit?” he questioned.

“Innit – chav-speak for ‘is it not,’ ‘n’est-ce-pas,’etcetera,” she said.

He stared at her and she let her eyes soften, expand, and accept him. She breathed in deeply, knowing that the swell of her chest drew his gaze and him into her.

“Well, thank you, Officer,” he said slowly.

“Goodnight and sleep tight,” she replied.

“You won’t turn into PC Flowers, will you?” he said.

“I won’t change if you don’t,” she said, “and you can tell Miss High Horse Legal Knickers that I won’t be stopping her car tonight. In case she’s afraid I’ll lay siege to your castle.”

“Yes. Thanks,” he said, replacing his welding mask and picking up his tools. And yes! He was laughing as he turned away. She knew that he knew she knew. A little buzz in her belly thrilled her as she stepped outside. A little voice whispered that it was time to go back on the pill.

The night air was sweet and filled with sounds of vibrant mysterious life. The scent of newly cut grass and roses filled her senses. She walked slowly back to the empty police house. The lives of these two guys, a father and his motherless son, had touched her. She knew that. She had connected from within herself. In the vital fragrance of the night some juice of her was flowing down an umbilicus that had always been waiting to ambush her soul. Some emotion was pouring helplessly out of her and some kind of love and connection was pouring in. Above her were cold stars and beneath her feet was the stored warmth of a summer’s day that her physical body could still feel. Her mind, her ability to reach both beyond and within herself, was the essence of conscious life. It had taken merely the question in the eyes of a being who needed her. She knew she would never quite be the same again and that the word “lost”’ had no meaning or leverage until someone found you. From then on, nothing other than that has any meaning.

She dressed in her one-piece skin-tight Lycra cycling shorts and top. Her only underwear was her pulse monitor chest strap. Her skin was a deep honey satin loveliness that she selfishly flaunted. It was a gorgeous summer’s morning and she felt a rare exhilaration as if she were a child again. In the city she would have worn her earphones and pedaled hard to David Guetta’s “Nothing But the Beat,” or the raunchy tracks from a favorite album by “Purgatory Hill.” Today she wanted to be aware of the world and its beauty. Seven years at Brixton had worn her down and perhaps she deserved a short time in the sun. She got out her Trek mountain bike, grabbed her iPhone, police warrant card, helmet, and dark glasses. Very few people would recognize her as she sped by on her bike. Before any serious training, there was one place she wanted to check out.

Ben had given a good description of the house. She rode south along the main road towards the end of the village. About a mile into the open countryside she saw a new development. A show house with flags was still at the entrance. A large sign read “Badger’s Knoll. A luxury gated environment of exclusive homes.” Luckily the gates were open. She swept in to find a single crescent of enormous individually gated houses. CCTV cameras covered every angle. Each one was constructed as a pastiche of some original style. There was a Georgian, a Tudor, a Cotswold stone, and an incongruous mishmash of a place with country cottage flint facing, a classical Romanesque entrance and Palladian-style dormer windows. Shannon was no student of style but to her it was some kind of architectural bus crash. A nameplate on the lawn read “Bluegrass.” She smiled. They had to be kidding, right! She was certain this was the house Ben had described. On the drive was a white soft-top Audi. Behind, there was a black Chrysler 300C with darkened windows and chrome wheels. She quickly memorized the registrations and swept back out through the electric gates. Once she was out of sight she put the numbers on her iPhone and wheeled her bike back to the show home to look in the sales window. Prices started from two million and went up to four and a half if you wanted your own unique design. Considering the house, she was looking for a banjo-playing 18th century Greek farmer’s boy with a bling fixation. At least, Sherlock Holmes would have seen it that way. But Shannon already knew. She absolutely bloody well knew that these folk were villains. She felt her old surge of adrenalin. Somehow she was going to nail this lot. Wow! She felt like a cop and, since last night, she was feeling like a woman.

She rode like the wind, joyful at her life. She felt her blood pumping and the strength in her legs. She knew she had a type of arrogance in her nature. She was slim, full breasted, and toned but all that had always been just for her. She had been a picture in her own album. Suddenly she wanted to be what she was for someone else. She checked her pulse-rate monitor. She was running 175 and feeling strong. For the first time ever she eased back to a slower pace and smelled the air.

In the sky above, aircraft turned and stacked waiting to land at London Heathrow. The ceaseless thrum of traffic from the M25 orbital motorway wore at her soul like a constant sea eroding the cliffs of their beauty. Fleetworth-Green seemed almost set aside from time. She could hardly believe she was here. Three days ago she had been in court giving evidence in the case of a guy who had burgled at least a hundred homes just to feed his craving for crack cocaine. He was an emaciated shell of a being on his way to the grave. She knew why she was a cop. It wasn’t for society. It was for that hopeless guy, and not too many people knew that or wanted to know.

She made a grand sweep of her patch, riding off road wherever possible. By the time she arrived back at the police house she was soaked in sweat and breathless. She saw a police patrol car in the small car park. A balding middle-aged police inspector was knocking at her front door.

“You can never find a bloody copper when you want one. If you’ve had a few too many drinks and you’re just trying to drive home the bastards are everywhere,” she said.

The inspector turned and stared at her.

“Do you need the police?” he said.

“We all need the police, Guv’nor. I’m Shannon. I expect you’d like a nice cup of tea.”

“Yes, thanks. I’m Inspector Lilly from Z District HQ at Croydon,” he said.

“Blimey, PC Flowers, Inspector Lilly—what a bunch, eh? Good job I’m not a Rose.”

Inspector Lilly appeared to be bemused, yet maintained his limp smile. She took pity on his wordless confusion.

“Lovely to meet you, Guv,” she said.

She saw him stiffen a little. The term “guv” was a normal and respectful form of address for a senior officer in the Metropolitan Police. Perhaps at this distant edge of the Empire things were more formal. She unlocked the door and led him through to the kitchen. The house was almost bare. She had a bed, a sofa and the curtains that PC Flowers had left behind. It was possible the police had issued curtains. She hadn’t checked to see if the pattern was of truncheons, handcuffs, piles of official forms or Alsatian dogs. The front room had been converted into an office with a desk and two swivel chairs. Shannon handed him a cup of tea and followed him.

“Shannon, it’s great to have the chance to meet you and have a chat,” he began.

She sensed his nervousness despite his superior rank. She watched warily as he fumbled in his briefcase and pulled out a thick file.

“Well, Shannon, firstly welcome to Z District and to Fleetworth-Green. I guess—I expect you’ll find it a bit different,” said the inspector, leafing through the papers. Shannon could see that it was her complete service record.

“Seven years takes a few trees and a bit of ink,” she said, nodding at the file and trying to relax the poor guy. She could tell he was on an errand he didn’t really relish. She noted that her presentation in tight lycra presented him with all kinds of eye contact issues.

“Yes, indeed. Well, this is a very special kind of place,” he said.

“Yeah, I’m amazed to be here. When I saw you I thought you’d come to tell me there’d been a mistake,” she said with a broad smile.

“Really?”

“No, not really really, Guv. I mean there I was scrapping with a guy who had tried to jump the ticket barriers at Brixton tube station when I got a call on the radio. Half an hour later I’m in the L District commander’s office looking at that very file on his desk. He tells me I’m transferring with immediate effect,” she said.

Inspector Lilly cleared his throat and made a big show of reading the file. Shannon affected her most angelic and innocent look.

“Yes,” he began slowly, “but I believe there had been some kind of incident hadn’t there?”

“Oh—yes—there had been a bit of—you know—politics. It was all just a misunderstanding and I had to take it on the chin.”

Inspector Lilly leaned back, gave a chuckle, and looked at her kindly.

“I think you’re a bit modest. You know exactly why they transferred you, don’t you? I haven’t had the time to read all this stuff. So why don’t you just tell me,” he said.

She smiled at him. He was a well middle-aged guy and not looking for dramas. For all that he would have seen most things in his time. She knew she could keep him onside.

“Guv, I was a bit out of order. I mean, looking back I can see that. I got a tip off from an informant that a geezer had a shooter in his flat. The story was that he was just moving the weapon on and would only have it for a couple of hours,” she said.

“So what did you do?”

“I hammered round there, put the door in, and nicked him,” she replied casually.

“No consultation, no risk assessment?” said the inspector.

“I didn’t need a risk assessment, Guv. I knew it could be dangerous. But, I knew the geezer was too soft to use it. He was a nobody, bigging himself up to impress some real villains.”

“You had a trainee community patrol officer with you, I think—some lad with six weeks in the job.”

“Yeah, six weeks in the job and six years in an insurance sales call center. That’s what I call extreme aggro. After that a man is ready for anything,” she said.

The inspector let out a sigh.

“Shannon, you know you can’t just steam in like that. SCO19 and Scotland Yard deal with firearms incidents—not a general purpose car driver with a civilian trainee. Officers at the highest level make this kind of decision. You know that. Did you just want fame or death or some sort of spark to set off community riots?” he said seriously.

She looked back at him. He had a point.

“Guv’nor, I know you’re right. There was a bit of ego in the mix,
and
I didn’t want drug-pushing scumbags to have yet another bloody shooter because the plods are having a conference.”

“Plods?” he replied with an edge of irritation.

“You know what the police are like these days, Guv,” she said.

He shook his head but couldn’t resist a smile.

“Shannon, I admire your spirit and courage, even though it’s reckless. Some police officers love you. The police service does not and I’m being quite frank about that. If the wheel comes off your wagon you’ll be crashing all alone. I guess you know that. Let me tell you this. These days we’re afraid of our own shadows. In two years I’ll be out of the job. I’m on your side up to a point but procedures are what we do,” he said.

She nodded.

“So, here I am then, Guv’nor—a nice girl, carefully building my career profile,” she said.

“Exactly Shannon, that’s wonderful. Now, what I’m going to say to you is in total confidence.”

The inspector’s face took on an air of profound sincerity. He spoke slowly. “Fleetworth-Green is a remarkable and unique place. I believe you’ve already been to Bloxington Manor, the residence of the 11th earl.”

“Indeed, Guv. Spence the welder himself,” she replied, picturing his appearance in overalls.

“Spence the welder?”

“Yeah. He’s a handy engineer. He was welding the floor pan on a really sexy old Jag racing car.”

“Do you call him Spence?” said Inspector Lilly, seemingly astonished.

“Not yet. We’ve only just met,” she said.

“All of Fleetworth-Green belongs to his Grace, including this police house. The earl wants this place to be an English village. Take a look around. There is a post office, proper shops, a village green, a cricket pitch and pond. The local pub, The Hunter’s Inn, serves warm English bitter beer and steak and kidney pudding. They do not offer Super Sizzling Hunter’s Burgers, a cone of chips, onion rings with a choice of pre-packed plastic dips. There’s no hypermarket, no DIY extravaganza warehouse or retail computer outlet.”

Shannon tried to assume to same serious air, but something snapped inside her.

“And der am not dee fried chicken for me and Tiger Woods,” she said in patois with a laugh.

Inspector Lilly looked to heaven and shook his head.

“And there are no racist remarks or comedy clubs either,” he said.

Shannon let out a sigh.

“Only joking, Guv.
A
nyway, none of it stopped his boy getting nicked for possession did it?”

“That was a strange business, Shannon. He had a tiny bit of resin. A young bobby in Kingston did a stop and search. I guess he was just unlucky,” said the inspector.

Shannon took in the information without comment. She recalled how the boy had said he was innocent and that she wouldn’t believe him. There was something here and something in the way Inspector Lilly phrased his remarks. A big “something” she would find out.

“And his mother died?” she asked.

“Yes, a skiing accident. It was a tragedy. The earl was devoted to her. They were from the same kind of family stable. It was a perfect alliance of temperament and nobility.”

“Really, does that sort of thing happen?” said Shannon, perhaps wondering if devotion actually meant duty and property.

“Yes, it happens. The Bloxingtons aren’t quite like us,” he said.

“Anyway, now he has Jasmine de Montfort?” said Shannon, trying not to spit the words.

“Ah, yes. She was a wonderful friend to Saskia. She has presented another small issue I have to raise with you. I believe you’ve met?”

“One has made a close encounter of the turd kind,” she replied in a faux posh accent and raising an eyebrow.

Inspector Lilly put his hands to his face.

“Shannon! You’re a bloody loose cannon. You seem to love this irreverence for everything and everyone. Anyway, yes, apparently there is a problem over her number plate.”

“No problem, Guv. It’s illegal and I offered informal advice. I expect she’s changed it now for a proper one.”

“I bloody doubt it. You know that too! Good God, you’re not the sort of cop to care about petty crap like this are you?” he said, almost pleading.

“She has an attitude issue, Guv. I guess she’s made a complaint.”

“Nothing formal. She called the superintendent and he rattled my cage.

“Look, if she puts her snooty head in my mouth I’ll bite the bloody thing off. It’s only a sixty-quid fine. That’s nothing for her,” said Shannon.

Inspector Lilly looked genuinely worried.

“Guv’nor—respect man—I won’t piss on her strawberries just for the sake of it. She’s an arrogant cow and some high pressure grab-it-all lawyer. She’s no friend of the police service,” she said.