Passion Patrol 2 - a Sexy Police Romance Suspense Novel With a Touch of Humor: Hot Cops. Hot Crime. Hot Romance. (20 page)

“Tell me first,” said Spencer. “The guy is loving his outrage. He’s never had so much fun.”

He steered her to the door and she had no will to argue.

There was no sign of the Land Rover. A chauffeured Bentley Limo was the only possible vehicle.

“Jesus!” she exclaimed as Spencer opened the door for her.

“It’s a perk of the business,” he said.

She relaxed into the sumptuous leather. Soothing classical music played from the speakers. Spencer slid open the partition.

“Can you take us back to Fleetworth-Green, Bob?”

“Yes, Sir. Of course.”

“Top man. I’ll need you tomorrow. Can you stay overnight? All your needs will be met.”

The driver nodded. The vehicle whispered away in a silent effortless flow. This life of absolute command of one’s needs and desires was immensely seductive. Tonight she was too drained to feel any guilt at accepting it. Spencer pulled down two walnut tables from the partition. The central console was a fridge stocked with drinks.

“Single malt with ice?” he said.

“A triple,” she replied as the music calmed and balanced her.

“What’s the music?”

“Mahler, Symphony Number Five.”

“It’s sad and passionate like a first kiss you know will also be the last,” she said.

“Hey, woman I love that. All first kisses are the last of themselves. That’s why we have love.”

“Why?”

“Love makes everything a first time,” he said.

“Spencer ... my man. God, where’s your oily rag?”

“I’m not taking it to Venice.”

“Are we really, really going there?”

“Yes. Completely away from here, you and me to be just us.”

She sipped the wonderful smooth whiskey as the limousine flowed south away from London.

“Here’s to you, me, and us,” she said as his hand caressed her cheek and eased her lips to his in yet another and another first kiss.

The night slipped by as he held her in his arms. His big sense of strength and safety had become a need in her. At first she had fought not to relax into the sheer pleasure of the warmth and security he brought to her. Increasingly she felt alone if he were not there. She had been the person she was and taken the chances she had because she hadn’t known this need in herself. This was not the time to start any kind of emotional dieting.

Back at the police house she had a lot to do, not least sort out things to wear. She’d hoped to get to the shops but events had overtaken her. For sure she couldn’t go to Venice without concluding the business of Wayne Swift and his illegal firearm. He’d certainly saved her from at least serious injury. She owed him a bit of rope. All the same, she had a duty as a cop to the community.

She was pleased not to have a vehicle. Her food regime was getting worse and worse. She hadn’t cooked a meal since arriving in Fleetworth-Green. Her trim shape was simply the result of missed meals, cycling, and genetics which was just another name for luck. It would run out! She rode her bike up a path that led to an old caravan in the woods. The pick-up was parked alongside. She knocked on the door. A young woman of about eighteen presented herself. Behind her a grubby toddler looked out between her legs.

“Yeah?” she said.

“Wayne in?”

“Nah.”

“I don’t know who you are. If you don’t play games, I won’t,” said Shannon.

The girl stared back at her. She heard movement inside. Her heart rate rose. This wasn’t a stable situation. Wayne appeared pulling on his trousers. His body was white, mainly tattooed and muscular in a lean, wiry way. The family budget didn’t extend to deodorant. He smiled. Shannon felt her heart steady.

“Christ, it’s early,” he said.

“Wayne, we’ve got to deal with your suspended prison sentence.”

“’Ave we?”

“The gun....”

“I need it. It was my dad’s.”

“If I go official there’ll be a tactical firearm unit here and you’re going to jail or the grave. Geddit?” she said.

“Wayne, she’s giving you a deal. Give her the thing for fuck’s sake. You ain’t got no bullets anyway.”

“Cartridges!” he corrected her. “It was my dad’s.”

“Wayne, here’s the situation. I take that gun and book it into the gun store at the Manor. It can stay there legally. If you stay completely out of trouble for two years and you have a secure place to keep such a weapon I’ll recommend you for a permit.”

The girl looked at Shannon and shrugged.

“He’s only playing the hard man. It’s a fuckin’ no brainer, Wayne.”

He smiled and kissed her cheek.

“She’s half my age and got twice the sense,” he said. “Gun’s in the pick-up.”

Shannon put her bike in the back and got in.

“Come on let’s go,” she said.

Wayne got in beside her. He hesitated.

“Wayne, I know you haven’t got a license or insurance or road tax OK, but I haven’t got a car. Let’s ignore the details, eh?”

He smiled and pulled away.

“You rammed those bastards like a fucking stock car driver. I’ve got no time for that lot. It was brilliant to watch.”

“Glad you liked the show,” she said with a laugh. “You saved me and you were brave. I had no idea you had no ammunition. You can hold your head up for how you handled that. I’ll never forget it. I’ve recommended you for a bravery award. I haven’t mentioned any guns because you ain’t got one. Capisce?”

They drove to the Manor. She took the shotgun and her bike.

“I was proud to help you, Officer. I can’t believe you’d put me up for some medal. You’ve shown me some respect and trust. I won’t let you down. Once you go a bit wrong you just seem to keep going that way. Whatever way you’re going in life everything seems to help you keep on and on going there, one way or the other.”

She reached out and shook his hand.

“Let’s both go the same way from here then. And thanks.”

He spun the pick-up round on the gravel and pulled up by her for a final time.

“That was pure fucking wild stock car. BAM! HAVE SOME OF THAT! I’ll see that in my dreams for the rest of my life,” he said as he hit the gas and barreled down the drive. Just maybe for once, she’d made a small difference. The estate manager locked the gun in the store. She completed some paperwork to allow it to remain there. Then she was free. She bounded onto the bike and worked up a good heat as she belted back through the village in full uniform standing up out of the saddle.

She was breathless and sweating as she arrived at the police house. Mrs Hornet was at the front door.

“I’m so glad I’ve found you. I’ve just come to say thanks for everything. The detective had my jewelry. I never thought you’d get them.”

“I’m so pleased. Look, I’ll get Spencer’s accountant man to come round. I’ve not had the chance to fix it up yet.”

“Oh, someone’s already been dear. He was here first thing. He told me he met you at a cricket match. He had his arm in a sling. He seemed to know all about you and everything. He’s going to work out the best ways to handle my finances.”

Shannon felt a stab of anxiety.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to accept but he gave me a check for all the money I lost and more. I’m just taking it to the bank.”

“May I see it?”

Mrs Hornet handed her an open envelope embossed with the Bloxington coat of arms. Inside was a Coutts Bank check for five thousand pounds. A handwritten note bore the same crest.

Dear Isobel, I was most distressed to hear what happened. Please accept this check to cover for your loss. Please have no concerns about accepting it. If compensation is forthcoming I know you will let me know. In the meantime please regard this as a gift. It is my utmost pleasure to be able to offer you this small assistance at this time. If you present this check at your branch I have arranged for it to be cleared immediately. Spencer.

She had told him of all the circumstances and he knew full well there would be no compensation.

“He’s quite a man,” said Shannon.

“Yes, dear. Do you know, his accountant told me he’s a genius at business. His company is worth billions and is the absolute world leader.”

“Rich people are often the meanest.”

“That’s new money dear. His Grace is old-school. Noblesse oblige. He is a man of honor and chivalry. The accountant told me that’s why the whole world flocks to do business with him. A man of his quality is hard to find these days.”

“You’re right there,” said Shannon.

“Oh, and the accountant asked that I didn’t tell anyone about the gift. His Grace didn’t like that kind of fuss. I know I told you but please, I know you’ll never mention it.”

She nodded, gave Mrs Hornet a hug and watched her walk in her frail step towards the village. The sight was quite humbling. Walking to the police house to thank her was everything she could give.

She packed her case. The forecast showed Venice was hot and humid. She decided to travel in beige light cotton baggy trousers, a tangerine blouse and a lightweight cream leather jacket. She knew she would be with him at his meeting in the morning and then leaving him to his work. They would be together in the evening for a meal in some fabulous restaurant. She made and re-made all her choices and squeezed in a couple of wild card options. At the last minute there was a passport panic. Well, didn’t everyone keep it safe in the lining of the coat she’d last worn at the airport? Of course she’d known where it was! Her excitement grew. Venice! Her iPhone message tone sounded.

“See you 2:45. Thinking of you. About to leave office. Have a look at baby pix. Dad just can’t take enough.”

She opened the picture file. Wow! It was the baby Prince George Alexander Louis on a rug. She couldn’t believe she was seeing them. She was a rough girl from North Peckham. Would she ever have a baby like Kate’s? What did her future hold and what did she want? She was still wondering when the chauffeured Bentley pulled up.

“You look more and more beautiful,” said Spencer as she settled in beside him and took his hand. The answer to her question was there and screaming at her. She wanted him. Could that ever happen? Dare she even imagine herself as his wife?

It was a short distance to London Gatwick airport. Even as the limo was drawing up in front of the North Terminal, a British Airways employee was there to offload their bags onto a trolley. Another young guy led them to the club class check in.

“These flights don’t do first class. I’ve got the best they do,” said Spencer.

Shannon had never been on anything better than a budget holiday charter flight. The immaculate smiling girl was made up to perfection in official airline orange. She did the formalities in seconds. The trolley guy had re-appeared.

“Your Grace, m’lady—please follow me.”

She felt a hot wave of embarrassment. She wasn’t a titled lady. She squeezed Spencer’s hand to signal her anguish. He raised his finger to his lips and whispered,

“It’s just a procedure. He’d be devastated if he thought he’d got it wrong.”

He led the way to the luxurious executive lounge. She accepted a coffee and a couple of salmon and cucumber blinis. This was not her comfort zone. She watched rich passengers guzzling complimentary champagne and rudely clicking their fingers at waiters for more. Spencer glanced at her, indicating his disgust with a tweak of his brow. The truth was money made things effortless. Poorer people served their needs and desires. Red carpets unrolled in front of each step as queues were pushed aside. Drivers polished cars and waited on the whims of masters. She wanted him as the man he was. But could this ever be her milieu?

Of course they traveled at the front of the cabin on wide leather seats. She relaxed and watched him working seriously on his laptop. This was a business trip after all. The absence of chatter somehow allowed a wordless blanket to wrap around them. As they walked from the plane an Italian official greeted them. They bypassed all customs and immigration checks as he showed the way to a waiting burnished motor launch. A couple of minutes later a bowing porter delivered their luggage and they set out across the still lagoon. The sky was white through to midnight blue and turning to rose. The sun brushed its last kiss before fleeing from the night. The scent was of the sea, summer heat, and humanity. The view ahead was a picture postcard. Slowly the Campanile grew larger as the onion-domed roof of the Cathedral of San Marco formed silhouettes against the hot pink sky.

She realized how little they’d spoken. They’d held hands, smiled, and let the presence of the other speak for itself. It was a quietness that was hard to kick-start into life. It had become a pause that had become a question. There was a depth in their simple presence together which their first new words mustn’t trivialize. Shannon knew that these coming words mustn’t fill their moment with chatter. She saw him look at her seriously several times as they sat in the back of the speeding launch. However they moved on from here would set the agenda of her life. She was sure of that. So far they had run headlong like playing children along a corridor towards a door which would either open, or not. They paused breathless and silent looking at each other. They were about to try the handle.

The launch slowed as they neared land. He stood and drew her up beside him. Now the shapes of the buildings of Venice were overpowering against the twilight. He tilted up her chin and kissed her with a soft urgency that left her breathless.

“Such beauty, and the view’s not bad,” he said.

Her mood lifted a little as they kissed again. Other vessels and gondolas were close by. His words had awoken her but had left a void longing to be filled.

“It doesn’t seem real, this city and being here with you.”

“You’re real enough. I don’t have the talent to dream you up.”

“Spencer....” she began, not knowing how she was going to continue.

“This is Venice, Shannon. I have no obligations or rule book here....”

He was fencing and probing. There was no need to crowd him. She studied his strong, handsome face. He was one man with one woman. The world could make whatever it would of the rest of their story. It would never be more or less than that. They were passing La Piazza San Marco and heading up into the wide mouth of the Grand Canal. Ahead was the fabulous church of Santa Maria Della Salute. They both stared into the dusk. The navigation lights of vessels were bright. A bridge spanned the canal ahead of them. She thought to ask its name but let it slide over their heads into the darkness. His arm was firm around her shoulders. She softened into him, willing him to understand his own strength through this metaphor of body against body. She closed her eyes. His voice came deep from his chest.

“I love you,” he said.

The evening of Venice sighed and surrendered into the arms of night. The weight of all the words unsaid lifted from her heart and she was free.

“I love you,” she answered.

“Do you? Do you really? I’d been so afraid to say—in case you ran from some fool.”

“I’ve loved you since we sat by the lake.”

“Yes, that was it for me too.”