Passion Patrol 2 - a Sexy Police Romance Suspense Novel With a Touch of Humor: Hot Cops. Hot Crime. Hot Romance. (30 page)

“We need his phone, his wallet and his bank card,” she said to the boy.

“Does it matter?” said Spencer.

Christ he was an amateur.

“Fuck yeah, he was never here. Ben, has anyone touched you or given you drugs?” she said.

“No, but he tried,” he replied, pointing at the guy.

“Phone and wallet!” she shouted.

The boy was glancing uneasily at the man. There was only one result that Shannon could accept. Nothing must trace back to Ben, her, or Spencer.

“Watch this,” she said.

She drove her fist into the man’s face. There was a spray of blood from the nose. There was a scream of pain.

“You’re next.”

The boy scrambled to the mattress and pushed the girl off. He lifted it and pulled out the wallet and Ben’s mobile. He handed them to her and found a debit card in his back pocket.

“Who the fuck are you people?” groaned the man.

“Concerned citizens,” said Spencer.

The door onto the balcony was still open. She could hear sirens. It was time to go and stay calm.

“Ben—is there anything else here. Check your card and phone,” she said, as the sirens grew louder and stopped somewhere beneath them.

“I’ve got everything,” he said.

“Sounds like the filth downstairs. My advice is to keep quiet,” said Shannon.

They walked out and closed the door. No one followed. Halfway down the concrete stairwell they met two police officers on the way up.

“You heard a fight?” said an officer.

“Not on my floor. There’s some scumbags up on floor six making some sort of row. They’re always at it,” said Shannon.

“Thanks love,” he said as they carried on climbing.

They walked steadily. Shannon wanted to run and sing. Her adrenalin was still pumping. What a mission. What a result!

“When we get to the Pentonville Road we split. Get a cab to Waterloo, then train it to Croydon and pick up a mini cab from Circuit Cars.

“Why not just get the cab home?” said Spencer.

He really was an innocent.

“It links you directly to here. Never go straight home from a crime scene. Split things up cos trails are harder to follow and coppers are lazy.”

“What crimes?”

“Abduction, grievous bodily harm, burglary....”

“I see your point.”

Spencer had his arm around Ben. He was trembling.

“You two are awesome,” he said.

“I’m gonna be a cop when I grow up,” said Shannon with a laugh, “but I’m not sure if I could face all that paperwork.”

A black cab was approaching with his amber “For Hire” lamp on.

“I love you guys. Just get him home. As soon as you’re there call police and tell him he’s just turned up at the house. I’ve got a car to collect.”

Spencer and Ben hugged her. The cab pulled in and waited. He flipped on his meter.

“I don’t want to leave you here.”

“Do it! This is my world Spencer, my streets, my life. This shit is my oxygen.”

“Shannon, I can’t talk here. I love you.”

Ben was getting in the cab.

“Get in. I love you too.”

“You’ll be alone here.”

“What do you think we do? Being out here alone is what I know. Now just go....”

The cab pulled away. No one had followed. Now she could be a cop again. She strolled back to Railway Street where she had left the car. It still had wheels and was in one piece. Now that really was a result! She started the engine and clicked on the police radio. It was late and the airwaves were full of drama. She twitched to join in somewhere with something. She knew she was hyped but the buzz was joyous. A call sign caught her ear. She knew she was on N District of the Metropolitan Police. One of their patrol cars was updating a job.

“November India Four—three arrested for possession at this squat. Looks like we’ve got stolen bank cards and Christ knows what else in here. Need an ambulance for a girl. One of ’em’s tattooed on the face like that geezer sus for that stabbing. There’s a knife on the balcony outside.”

Yes! The Islington crew had found the flat on the sixth floor and scooped them. It saved her any further involvement. Those poor old worker bees would be filling in forms for a week.

She enjoyed the journey home. She felt exultant that they’d found Ben. In her own life, her lovely hero bear was back, even bigger and stronger in her estimation. The skids were well under Jasmine. Promotion and a job at The Yard lay ahead. She drove south through Soho to Piccadilly. The streets were alive with people. This was her magic nighttime town. As she cruised down Haymarket a solitary uniform cop was struggling with a drunk. She pulled over, flashed her warrant card and helped restrain the guy until the van turned up. She was a loner but here she was a loner with friends. Outside the police she’d just been lonely. She lived in a twilight zone somewhere between handbags and scumbags. Being any woman in itself was an unavoidable act of defiance. She loved men but not their world of the all-male club that had decided all the values and unequal shares of the world long before her birth. Right now there was one thing a man was for. To love his jealous woman. She knew a man who had a generous one right on his case.

Her iPhone signaled a message.

“MISPER Knightsmith, returned home. Report canceled by parent. Local officer to confirm and close file. Zulu Delta.”

They’d made it back. She punched the air as she drove steadily home, trying to unwind the tension and excitement in her body. It was half past midnight when she arrived at the police house. She hadn’t got to the front door when a familiar Land Rover pulled up. She looked at him smiling as he walked towards her. She hugged his waist as his arms folded around her. She could hardly breathe.

“You’re something special, Shannon. You’re a lioness. I love you so much,” he said.

“Can bears mate with lions?” she asked, looking up into his kind loving eyes.

“It’s a jungle out there. Anything can happen.”

She tilted her face to receive his kiss, losing herself in the joy of his lips and strength.

“I must never lose you again,” he began. “No, I never will lose you again.”

“I was so wrong to storm off. I was so tense at having to tell you what I knew. A spring snapped....”

They were still standing in the front porch of the police house.

“Will you marry me?” he asked

She stared at him. Every thought she could ever think streaked across her mind like a shooting star.

“Yes.”

Now he stared back in silence.

“Was that the right answer?” she replied with a grin.

“You really are a minx,” he said as he lifted from the ground in a bear hug embrace.

“At least if we get arrested for our night’s work we can’t be made to give evidence against each other,” she said.

He laughed. “Is that likely?”

“No chance. Those scuzzers haven’t got a clue what hit them. Those coppers on the stairs locked ’em all up.”

Here she was talking about police stuff. The 11th Earl of Bloxington had just asked her to marry him. She would have a wonderful man to love her. She would mix with royals, heads of state, and maybe even Simon Cowell. She, Shannon Aguerri would be a countess.

“Spencer, you’re sure, aren’t you? You’ve just got your son back....”

“Shut up,” he said almost angrily. “This was the conversation we were meant to have on Tuesday night before everything went wrong.”

“I want you so much too. I just have to be sure before I let myself believe it all.”

“Come back to the Manor now and let’s begin our lives.”

She dashed indoors and grabbed a few clothes and the diamond necklace. Twenty minutes later they were in the drawing room, each with a large brandy. The door opened. It was Ben. Spontaneously he came and hugged her.

“You believed in me, didn’t you? Right from the start you were on my side. When … when Jasmine told me you’d gone....”

She glanced at Spencer.

“I’ve told him everything,” he said.

“Oh Ben, injustice is such a terrible thing to live with. I never suspected Jasmine. I thought it was one of your friends or maybe even the police officer.”

She saw Spencer looking away, trying to control his emotions. “It’s not quite finished yet. Your PNC entry will be removed in the next few days. Then you can pass all the checks.”

“Can you do that, Shannon?”

“Yes. I know a man who has the authority and he owes me. You can come to the office and I’ll show you the file once it’s clear.”

“And I can apply to the regiment?”

“Of course—or whatever else you want to do.”

The lad hugged her again. Spencer joined them in a three-way hug.

“Ben, promise me you’ll never run off like that again,” he said.

“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t bear the thought of ... you know—Jasmine.”

“I know.”

Ben smiled. Before he left he kissed Shannon’s cheek, as if she was some kind of mother.

She smiled and wiped away a tear. Being truly wanted was tough. Spencer sat beside her. She felt tiny in the magnificent splendor of the room.

“In Venice, I gave you a necklace to do the job of a ring. I hate a job half done. Close your eyes,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He took her left hand. She felt a ring slide into her ring finger. Her heart was beating so fast she could hardly breathe. These moments happened to other people and never to kids from the North Peckham Estate. She hardly dared to look. The most wonderful man wanted her and was giving her a ring to announce his love to the world. She peeped out. Never had she seen such a thing.

“I’m afraid it’s like your bed. It had the same owner.”

She nodded, gaping at a ring with a huge tear-shaped diamond next to an identically shaped sapphire. The gold had a slight rose tint.

“It was the engagement ring of the Empress Joséphine. The French call it a ‘toi et moi’ style,” he said as he kissed her lips. Tonight will be the first time in two hundred years it will have been worn in that bed.”

She couldn’t speak. She could not speak.

“It must be priceless. I can’t wear it,” she said at last.

“Maybe not for street fighting. I’ve had a copy made for that kind of thing.”

“Spencer—my man—my hero-bear. I can’t believe you want me like this.”

“Let’s sleep. It’s middle of the night,” he replied.

They both showered quickly. The grime and stench of the past hours slipped away. Now she was free to love her exclusive man. She was naked except for the ring. The presence of his strong fearless body turned her on. The day’s action had almost been a sexual excitement. How tough he had been. Her perfect English gentleman had ruthless steel underneath. They lay together in bed. The curtains were open letting in moonlight. The view was of the lake and the tall trees beyond. This was to be her home.

As they kissed she reached for his cock. It was hard and longing for her—for her juice. His hand ran down her belly pressing over her clitoris with an insistent pressure that drove her to uncontrollable desire. They touched tongues, the warm wet softness mimicking her sex as his hand found her inner folds and softly circled her nub. A spiral of building pleasure began. She was groaning as his mouth came to her nipple. A zing of current flowed downwards, joining the heat and buzz of her sex. With one hand she held his cock, feeling his wetness. Her other hand pressed on her free breast giving that last push to bring her to orgasm. She was letting go, feeling him pulsing against her as he shared the thrill of her release.

“Come for me, my beautiful angel,” he said.

His deep voice lifted her almost immediately from her plateau of bliss to another peak.

“Do it for me. Let go, my soft woman,” he whispered.

As she came she gripped and milked his cock, imagining his cum jetting out. A fantasy she had never dared to explore flowed through her. She was him, feeling her cock pouring seed as her own juices squeezed in orgasm. She let the idea live as she throbbed out her beat of pleasure. Now she was pure woman, a void. Nothing but a need of him inside her. His finger was at her entrance. He grunted in deep joy at having found her, feeling her heat and wetness pulling him to her. He pressed his hard cock against her. She wanted him above her, to see his broad shoulders as he filled her. He was at her opening. He was hot and thick, holding her open, sliding inside to her core. He was keeping her fixed as she squeezed around him. She knew she was crying out. His lips came to hers as he drove in to his limit. The slight almost pain was exquisite, like coming without the waves. He moved inside her, pushing on that spot that doubled her sensation. Something was ready to release and was beginning to change from a feeling to a helpless need. He was thrusting harder. Her feeling had gone through a barrier and was happening. He had taken her to this place once before. She was beginning to come but another force was bursting in her. Now it released, a sense of pushing out overlaying her spasms of orgasm. Maybe she’d yelled. Maybe she was biting his neck. He was near to his own climax. Again she slipped shamelessly into her fantasy of his or her cock pumping semen uncontrollably.

“Come, let go, come,” she said, willing it on.

The entirety of existence and time was now a male helplessly coming inside her. His ecstasy was flooding into her hot juice. He was groaning deeply as she felt the surging convulsions of his release into her. Already she could smell his cum. It was hot in her belly. He was her sex and mind mate. His musk soothed her in her last pulses. She was so wet, he was so hard. She had lost herself in his feeling. They had been one creature of joy and love.

She realized she had been gripping his iron buttocks. She had lost the sense of who was what. As her mind cleared she saw a mark on his neck. She’d lost the plot.

“You’ve given yourself up to me, my lovely man. I wanted you so much,” she said.

He was still firm inside her. Her muscles gave involuntary almost playful squeezes around him. He sighed out his pleasure.

“Dear Lord, woman. What sweet irresistible joy you are.”

“There’ll always be honey for my bear,” she said. “You take me somewhere abstract where the animals growl music.”

“Where the animals growl music,” he repeated. “Yes, I understand that place since I met you. You say some strange things....”

“For a woman? For a cop?”

“For someone so much of this real happening immediate world.”

“Like you I’ve been alone, Spencer. My fault or my choice I’m not sure which. I’ve had many thoughts but they’ve been clouds that pass and never fall as rain. You’ve given me words because you love me.

“And I always will love you. You’ve brought love to me as an open gift and I’d never known it before. This is where my life begins. Many men will never know the joy of someone like you.”

“I can tell you one thing, my sexy lord—you’re the only man who’s ever gonna find love with me.”

She cuddled into him, stroking the hair on his chest. He was relaxed but still alert like her with the adrenalin of the day.

“You know that case of Mrs Hornet?”

“Yes, it seems like a lifetime ago.”

“You never mentioned you’d given her five thousand pounds to cover her loss.”

“It wasn’t a big deal. She agreed that if she got compensation she would pay me back.”

“I told you there was no chance of her getting anything.”

“Ah, I must have forgotten.”

“You’re a kind and wonderful man, Spencer. That’s without your rock hard man love and your hero bear gorgeous looks,” she said.

“Shannon, one day you’ll really look in the mirror and you’ll think back on today and know the beauty and sheer bloody courage you possess. Any man who wouldn’t die to have you would be mad.”

“You don’t have to die. Just love me and love me more and never ever think of stopping. We’ll talk about your unexpected death if ever you do stop,” she said.

As she drifted into sleep, she explored the ring on her finger. Napoléon had given this ring to Joséphine. That must have been the greatest love affair in the world, until now.

In the morning she took a bath. He soaped her back and yes, her front. And yes, she didn’t hold back. His presence turned her on. His arousal was powerful and she lay on the bed again, pulling in the male passion of him. She wanted that—to leave him that day wearing his ring and the man scent of him in her, marking her as his woman.

“Can I wear the ring today?”

“Of course. It is yours. There will be a copy with me later. The price of that ring is its history. The value is that it makes you my wife-to-be. You are no less a woman and no less loved than the Empress of France.”

They took a breakfast of kedgeree in the orangery which Mrs Travis had organized specially. She rejoiced in the rich Yorkshire tea that Spencer now drank with equal pleasure. As he drove her back to the police house her iPhone rang.

“Shannon, this is Jasmine. You said we need to talk. Let’s do it.”

Her tone was clipped and formal but there was a strain in her voice.

“Come to my office, two o’clock.”

“What do you intend?”

“That depends on you. I’ve no taste for drama so we’ll talk business. Be there.”

Shannon clicked off. Spencer glanced across at her.