Passion Patrol Box Set 1 E-Book

Emma Calin

• Herausgeber: Emma Calin
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Read the romance. Feel the passion. Taste the love.

A bargain box set containing the first 3 steamy, action-packed, police suspense romance novels in Emma Calin's best-selling, Multi award-winning Passion Patrol Series, PLUS a companion recipe book with live story links.

Each story introduces a different female cop facing new challenges, investigations and dangers. Whilst the characters of these female police officers are very different, they all share the same determination to stamp out crime and deliver justice in their own specialist field. They also share a healthy passion for the men they love. But what happens when duty and private lives combine? Can their relationships survive? Our heroines face international action and adventure as they solve mysteries, lock up the criminals and follow the path of true love to its ultimate goal.

Combat
Anna Leyton, a British Interpol detective, is sent deep undercover to infiltrate a Mafia gambling ring. But, she falls in love with the target she's supposed to be monitoring – super fit champion boxer and international playboy, Freddie la Salle. Can love survive deception on this scale? What happens when her identity is revealed to the mob? A roller coaster ride of passion across continents - but just who is deceiving who?

Dynasty
Shannon Aguerri is a maverick London street cop, sent to cool her heels in a quiet backwater. The son of the local squire arouses suspicions of illegal drug activity, but his father, the hunky widowed Earl Spencer arouses feelings altogether more passionate. Should a street cop even dream of being a countess? A jealous longstanding rival, already in the mix, is determined to do whatever it takes to thwart Shannon - but would she really stoop to blackmail or even murder? A slice of sleepy British rural life served up in a spicy adventure to break class barriers.

Crowns
Sophia Castellana is a brave and loyal cop pulled into an international crisis after she rescues a young, high profile celebrity from a violent kidnap. He demands her as his personal bodyguard, and much more! She becomes entrenched in a political drama on a world stage. Can the wisdom of a humble street cop influence the future of a country? Can a cougar romance ever survive? A daring story of politics and passion, with a big dollop of French satire sauce.

Seduction of Taste
A tasty companion recipe book for the Dynasty romance novel. Over thirty recipes to tantalize your taste buds. If the lovers share a dish, you can try it too. With color illustrations, dual unit ingredients and clear instructions you’ll be savoring the passion at home in no time! Live links in the story jump you to the relevant recipe and you can skip back to the event from the instructions if you want to relive the moment from the book.

Each title in the boxset combines a stand-alone police investigation mystery story with a racy romance and a guaranteed HEA ending. Police characters from earlier books make cameo appearances throughout the series but prior knowledge is not necessary.

Grab this bargain boxset if you like strong female lead characters and fast-paced action adventure. Feel the thrill of their journeys through danger to deliver justice and find true love.

Line up for duty and feel the heat with the Passion Patrol tonight.

Leseprobe

PASSION PATROL SERIES

BOXSET 1

Hot Cops. Hot Crime. Hot Romance.

Combat

Dynasty

Crowns

&

Seduction of Taste

By

Emma Calin

PASSION PATROL SERIES BOXSET 1

First published 2019

By Gallo-Romano Media

copyright © 2019 Emma Calin

––––––––

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the Author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

––––––––

All characters in this compilation are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

http://smarturl.it/LeadFromBox1

PASSION PATROL SERIES BOXSET 1

CONTENTS

Combat

Dynasty

Seduction of Taste

Crowns

A Message from Emma

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About Emma Calin

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PASSION PATROL SERIES

COMBAT

BY

EMMA CALIN

COMBAT

First published 2019

By Gallo-Romano Media

copyright © 2019 Emma Calin

––––––––

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the Author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

––––––––

All characters in this compilation are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Contents

Prologue

Combat - Story

Epilogue

Prologue

Promotion had put her back in uniform. It felt good to be behind the wheel of a marked police vehicle, slowly cruising the London streets. All afternoon she’d been jargon juggling. Finally she’d escaped and taken advantage of a spare emergency response car to drive to the adjoining area for a conference on community initiatives.

She clicked on the radio. This was how her earlier career had been, among the run-down fast food shops, the loitering drivers smoking weed outside the mini cab offices, the boom of music from cars and buildings, the glitzy bill-boards in the heart of dilapidation. Suddenly an urgent voice called out from Met’ Police control at Scotland Yard.

“Lima Three... Lima Three to MP... we have a fail to stop... high speed North towards the city.”

She caught the familiar sound of a chase. A vehicle was fleeing a patrol car about two miles behind her and coming her way. She pulled over and listened. She need not be involved in this. This was not her job. So she’d been top student at the Hendon driving school of the Metropolitan Police. She was an Inspector now and this was not about ego or drama. She knew that. She knew that!

She checked out the siren and blue light controls. The big V8 engine rumbled playfully. She blipped the throttle and felt the tight knot of its unexpressed power. It had started to rain. And this was not her job!

“Eighty, that’s eight zero miles per hour. Driver looks about 15 years old... running red light into Brixton now... wait... wait... straight through... still at eighty.”

Her heart rate increased. These would be crowded streets in the late afternoon. Now only a mile behind her the chase was closing in. She absorbed the details. The target car was a stolen boy racer Ford. At least four joy riding kids from a delinquent home were desperately trying to escape. Again a more urgent voice...

“We have a tire blowout. We can’t continue. Lima Three over...”

She checked the mirror. The target vehicle was approaching still at high speed - reckless speed. It screamed past, taking a traffic island on the wrong side of the road. She caught the eye of a shaven headed boy in the back seat as she hit the lights and sirens and slammed down the throttle.

“Lima Delta One... in pursuit,” she announced.

Soon she was right on the tail. She had more power and more skill. They barreled into the Camberwell New Road junction at seventy miles per hour. The target car side-swiped a red London bus but straightened up. She concentrated hard. The rain was turning the tarmac into a skid pan. She saw more police blue lights ahead near the Oval tube station. The target feinted right then tried to corner left. The tail started to slide out on the wet road. She watched in slow motion as the vehicle slammed into a street lamp. A spray of glass and the scream of tortured metal suddenly gave way to an utter, utter, silence. An awful stillness enveloped the wreck and nothing moved. Nobody moved. The radio carried the voice of Scotland Yard control...

“Discontinue pursuit. Repeat: discontinue. Speed too high for safety. Lima Delta One - acknowledge... discontinue pursuit...

COMBAT

Chapter 1

Anna Leyton pushed purposefully through the revolving doors. The swish of wheels on the wet London streets, the clack and shuffle of anonymous feet on Victoria Street hardly caught her attention. She looked across at St James’s Tube Station, past the constantly turning triangular sign that proclaimed “New Scotland Yard.”

Ten years ago the very sight of the tall office block behind her would have filled her with pride. This evening it seemed no more than any other building in London. Even the city itself had lost the charisma that had filled her heart and soul with excitement as a young police recruit at the age of twenty one. Now the great animal which was the city shrugged off its joys and sorrows and ploughed on through time without a care for any flea on its back.

The afternoon had been tough. As a mere Inspector she had been a junior in a room filled with older and more senior men. The days had long gone when they would have asked why she wasn’t at home with the babies. All the same, she was a woman in a macho world. Her career was back on track although too damaged to think of the very top. Her personal life - well - she was a cop OK. She had already lived out a decade of her youth at a broken bottle edge of society - where the sharpest cuts had been to herself.

The evening was cold and pitiless. She pulled up the collar of her raincoat, tightening the belt around her slim waist. Rain began to dampen her long dark hair. As an Interpol officer, she had the freedom to wear her hair as she wanted. She cursed not having brought her umbrella. At the same time her mind jangled with the responsibilities of her new assignment. When she had graduated with a degree in modern languages and had turned her back on her family’s famous luxury motor-yacht business, her mother had declared that she was about to waste her life. Like her mother was a wasted life expert.

At the entrance to the tube station there was a growing crowd. The lattice shutters were being closed while an harassed official explained that there was a wild-cat strike. She turned away. Ahead of her lay a nightmare journey by bus to her empty flat in Kilburn. Suddenly the cold politics of the meeting, the gray loneliness of the street, the crowds of uncaring strangers, filled her with a longing for warmth and intimacy. The break from her lover, police Commander Beaumont Locke had seemed clean but had left a jagged gap of loneliness - like an exit wound. A gap where another rainy evening briefly played over and over again in her mind.

She stood on the edge of the pavement. Perhaps she could get a taxi - but with a tube strike there was small chance of that! Several black cabs beetled along, already filled. She kept her hand raised and as if by magic she saw the amber “For Hire” light of a London taxi pulling in at her side. She felt a movement from behind and heard an accented male voice:

“Zee ‘eelton ‘otel, Park Lane.”

She turned to see a tall rock of a man, moving past her into the taxi. This guy was going to have to back off. She grabbed the door. Even as she did so she saw his deep brown eyes, the dark eyebrows, one of which only partly disguised a long scar. She could never explain - even to herself  - why in that instant she wanted to touch it and know how it had been caused. Her heart raced with indignation and a sense of excitement she had never expected to feel again... not since... well, just not since everything.

“This cab stopped for me!” she snapped.

“Possiblement,” growled the stranger, but smiling with slow gentle eyes, a Gallic down-turn of the mouth and a shrug of his wide shoulders.

“We can be - ‘ow you say - in the same sheep?”

“I think you mean boat - unless you do mean sheep.” she replied, unable to stop herself returning his smile. The accent was pure Clouseau. This guy just had to be some kind of fake. So much fake that any cop would hitch up for a ride just to keep in practice.

The cabbie had already started his meter.

“Anyone gettin’ in - there’s plenty of takers?”

Anna watched the stranger’s face, the thick short cut hair, the tough broad bridge of his nose. His strong hand remained on the door. Gently he brought his other hand around to her back and eased her forward into the cab. She was breathless, as if she had become merely a note in a melody that had always been playing in her head. This could not be her life. OK girl - get real, this is just some arrogant man. Just one more. He regarded her with a look that reached deep into her and stroked a sweet spot in the base of her stomach. She didn’t want this... but he was still doing it.

He indicated with his powerful hand that she should sit opposite him. Against all instincts she found herself complying. The cab moved off, nosing out into the London traffic. The wipers tapped rhythmically, the lights from the department stores spilled out melting into the gray flowing river of road and pavement.

“So - yes - we are in the same sheep,” he smiled gently, “but I must say ‘boat’ yes?”

“If you’re into sheep it’s OK with me,” she returned, wondering why she was smiling and feeling a sensation of warmth. Sure - this was some kind of grease but for a few moments it was nice to slide along.

He smiled again, showing even white teeth behind the full wide lips that pouted forward as he spoke in such a way that just possibly he really was French.

Sitting opposite him, she could take in the full presence of this stranger. It was as if he transmitted a force - an aura of danger and a sardonic humorous innocence. She attempted to re-assert her normal senses - her ability to appraise a man, threat or situation in the blink of an eye - a skill she had honed on the streets of South London - in a world of gangs, drugs and murder. And yet - here she was, tripping over the bags that some stupid girl had left in the entrance to her brain.

“Luckily Park Lane is on the way to Kilburn,” she said with deliberate plainness.

He looked back at her, holding her eyes, then making a slow upward sweep of her whole body, like a lick of cool flame that swept through the center line of her thighs, her belly, her breasts. He shrugged.

“It would not matter Madame - I would be your knight in sighing armor.”

Anna shook her head in disbelief at his clumsy deliberate mistake and glanced quickly at his smiling brown eyes. This guy was larger than two lives. This was pure pantomime.

“You laugh at a poor little French boy?”

“Not laugh - you just kinda trowel it on don’t you?”

“OK - you got me,” he drawled in relaxed Californian, “you’re a cop right. Outside Scotland Yard - you must think I’m pretty dumb.”

She scrambled for grip. This was a moment - a turning point. Why could she not, at least for a few delicious minutes, be Anna Leyton, service number - zero, rank - woman of this Earth, no police record, no medals, no blood?

“A cop - for God’s sake - do I look like a cop?” she spat at him - hoping he would accept the question as a denial. Any detective knew that a suspect answering a question with a question is beginning to struggle. He nodded seriously.

“Please forgive - I mustn’t tease! So, anyhow, what do you do?”

“I sell boats,” she stated plainly. Tie a truth to a lie - you can even believe it yourself.

“Ah yes - the London rain is very famous, did you sell a boat today?”

“Yeah - I sold two arks to a Jewish guy with four elephants.”

He threw back his head with a deep genuine laugh. She was on top now. She’d follow through the advantage.

“Have you heard of Leyton Marine Sports Yachts?”

“Of course - I saw your new models at the Cannes Boat Show last year - The Nereus 74.” Bingo! She knew this model inside out.

“That’s top of the range. Evidently you didn’t buy?”

“I just did - if you can close the deal.”

She smiled at his smoothness. He was deceiving her, she was sure of that. She was paying him back in kind. But just for a few minutes she had been free. She was out and away in a world without flashback - running in childhood meadows, not running from - just running free.

The cab pushed and swished on towards Buckingham Palace. She saw him studying the famous landmark, as if he were checking out the architecture. In profile his face looked even more male - handsome yet warm. The scar above his right eye constantly attracting her gaze. He was a brute of some kind but he could lie even with his eyes. Once again she found herself responding to him and wanting to touch that scar. In this new world of a few out of reality moments with a gorgeous stranger she could let go, becoming aware of the pulse of life in her breasts and a sense of warmth and longing deep in her stomach. She bit her lip as she consciously allowed these feelings to sweep over her. She took in his striped linen jacket, dark trousers and hand stitched leather shoes. His crisp white shirt accentuated the tanned olive tone of his skin. His shoulders were broad with hard muscular upper arms while his beautifully cut clothes proclaimed the body of an athlete or sportsman.

“So, you know what I do. Do you work in London?” she asked wondering if he would tell her the truth - since she had not!

“Oh not at all - I am here to sign some papers that’s all.”

“Papers?” she questioned too quickly, aware she could be exposing her cover.

“Just a contract - you know, boring business stuff.”

He looked at her with a caress in his brown eyes. The cab was at Hyde Park Corner, just a short way from the Hilton. Her heart hammered. Soon he would step out into the night and never see her again. It had to be that way. You could dream but your story was your story. Better just accept and live it out any way you could.

“You have to sell boats tonight?”

“No... but...”

“So sell me one over a drink at my hotel!” he urged leaning forward, “Surely you want to close on a deal like this?”

She tried to pull herself together. This was fantasy trash with an impossible guy - but what was she afraid of?  She could handle this smooth operator, maybe even rough him up a bit.

“But I - I don’t have any brochures with me...”

“Then you can tell me... I’d rather look at you in any case!”

Anna gulped as the cab pulled up. This was pure snake oil and she had a juicy apple in her pocket. He looked at her with questioning eyes that ran between her and the opened door. She followed, feeling as if she had gone into free fall from a plane rather than stepping out of a taxi into the busy swirl of Park Lane. As he paid the cab driver, she composed herself. Okay, she was the daughter of Mike Leyton - owner of Leyton Marine - the makers of prestige motor yachts. Clients were always rich and often famous. The flagship Nereus 74 was renowned as fast, luxurious, beautifully sleek and exclusive. When she had last seen her father, the waiting list was at least 2 years. It was this glamorous world of racing car drivers, pop stars, sports icons, celebrity and privilege, on which she had turned her back - choosing instead the hard streets of Brixton and her own quest for respect and success.

The doorman stood aside and nodded respectfully. She caught a look of recognition in his eye as he watched them. Evidently he knew this guy. They walked to the bar. He was several inches taller than her and broad as a barn door. As she kept up with him she sensed his animal power but also his gracefulness. This was no business man - or if he was - he was completely wasted. Around him was an air of subtle expensive cologne - but beneath that a hint of male - a slight chemical whisper that had carried on the winds and tides across time and evolution. This was a lone bull with no ring in his nose.

She ordered vodka - not something she would normally drink - but so what? None of this was real! She had stepped out of her life and soon she would have to retreat like the tide. He sipped a small beer. The glass looked ridiculous in his large hand. He smiled and gave her a look that she caught and followed like a slow waltz. As he held her eyes she swallowed - realizing that warm and deep within, she couldn’t stop her physical and emotional response. She sat cross-legged, shifting slightly in her seat, pressing her legs together more firmly knowing that her awareness and focus was sharpening and despite herself she was experiencing a delicious teasing pleasure - God she was simply letting herself go! She had boarded the roller coaster and it was clicking up the slope towards some kind of ride.

“I’m Frederic - Freddie La Salle,” he told her, offering his hand to shake. She took it and felt her hand disappear into his warm palm.

“I’m Anna Leyton.”

He continued to hold her hand. She felt the strength and gentleness of his grip and did nothing to resist - could do nothing - wanted to do nothing.

“Could it be that you come from the family of Leyton Marine?”

“Well yes - you could say I’m the boss’s daughter.”

“So if I want a Nereus 74 I can go straight to the front of the line!” he joked - or maybe not joked. As he spoke she realized that his French accent had slipped again from Paris chic to a relaxed Californian. She’d already figured that one. She played along.

“I thought you were French!”

“My mother is American - I live in France and work often in the USA.”

“So all that ‘lost little French boy’ was a scam.”

“Of course,” he replied in a mocking French accent, “you cannot blame a man when suddenly from out of a clear blue sky in the pouring rain he meets such a woman who tries to muscle him out of his taxi...”

Anna laughed at the pantomime accent and coy expression that looked so out of place on his strong face and scarred brow that had to have a violent origin.

“What’s your line of work anyway Frederic - comedian - shepherd - conman?”

“Few people are what they seem - life is an acting job. Truth is a line like the Equator. To the South lies the tropic of exaggeration, to the North is the tropic of forgetfulness,” he teased with those smiling dark brown eyes.

Now - what the hell was this stuff? Philosophy - obviously well rehearsed. How could he know anything of her? Clearly he was aware of Leyton Marine and also of the waiting list for a Nereus 74. Did he know her father, or any details of her family?

“So you tested a Nereus 74?”

“Well, I went on board - she was beautiful - there was no time for a sea trial.”

“And are you still in the market?”

“Certainly - I have an important deal next month - but after that - it will be play time.”

“Who showed you round the boat in Cannes?” she asked, desperate to know what he might recall. With this type of serious client, almost certainly her father would have been involved.

“I think I met someone called Mike... yes it was Mike.”

Her thoughts raced through all the possibilities - he had probably spoken to her father and even if he had made small talk about his family, odds were that this confident self-aware stranger wouldn’t have taken it all in. Anyway, he wouldn’t have told a potential client that his daughter was a cop given that a good number of clients had no love of the law.

“If he could have sold me the boat I’d have bought it that day.”

“I’ll call my father.”

“And you will supervise my sea trial personally?”

Hang on Mister Smoothie... she couldn’t go down this route.

“There are good sales people at all our offices - I don’t have a demonstration boat in London.”

“Perhaps I should call Mike - um - your father...?”

Adrenalin was squeezing into her blood.

“I’ll fix it,” she said, slowly downing the last of her vodka and hoping she appeared calm.

Okay - she had lied about her job - she could cover it if her father would go along with the deception. None of this mattered. She was never going to see him again. Her father could call him and explain that she had had to sell a boat to the king of some place. Some place with a king!

“If you sell me a Nereus 74 you will be Daddy’s Best Girl,” he teased, adding a theatrical wink.

“I am already,” she fired back sharply, suddenly realizing that losing the chance to sell a cool £2.5 million cruiser would definitely not please Daddy. This guy was too pushy - as if she could be influenced by money!

“Give me your business card Miss Leyton - I’ll call you to fix all the details.”

Business cards - sure - every sales person always has a pocket full! She thought swiftly on her feet. She could hardly give him a police one.

“I was at a meeting this afternoon and handed them all out so I have none left just now... I was not expecting...”

“A rude stranger who hijacked your taxi!” he interjected.

“Not so rude,” she replied with a look at his masculine face, his tough looking jaw, his bull-like neck and those gentle brown eyes. Although his manner exuded confidence almost to a point of arrogance, those eyes shone out a deep kindness. Everything warned her off this guy. Everything she felt as a woman was sweeping her onwards - as if she had fallen into a raging river of warm seductive water where it was useless to struggle. He finished his beer. She declined his offer of second vodka... but boy did she need one.

“So, I’ll let you go and take your number?” he suggested.

She scribbled her personal cell phone number on a coaster. He took it and stood up, towering above her. His shoulders were twice the width of hers. She found herself staring at his lower stomach and waist. He had no stomach but was ridged and flat. A little lower was the bulge of his bull credentials. She forced herself to look up and then stood. As if it were the most natural thing in the world he moved beside her and placed his hand on her back.

“We must find you a taxi.”

She felt the sheer size and strength of him. Her composure wobbled on a knife-edge. However she dressed it up, she wanted him, not that he was gonna get that information. He had made no hard play for her. The most dangerous thing in a crook is patience - she knew that. It was screaming at her.

The doorman stepped out to hail a cab. Anna looked up and allowed herself to hold his eyes for a little longer than was quite polite and edged towards brazen, She felt a sweet tickle of excitement. A taxi pulled in.

“Well - thanks for the drink - and the entertainment.”

Without speaking he moved to face her and then lowered his chin to kiss one cheek and then the other. The brush of his lips jolted her, sending a current sparking and screaming down through her body, lighting up everything it touched.

“Forgive me...” he began, obviously aware of her response, “these things are normal in France.”

Bloody hell - did he think she didn’t know that? She watched his lips as he spoke, longing that he would bring them back to her cheeks, to her lips, to anywhere! God it had been so long...

“I’ll call tomorrow - it has been lovely to meet you Anna.”

“I’ll look forward to it Freddie,” she replied, hearing her own voice as if it belonged to someone else.

He turned back into the hotel and was gone. She leaned back in the taxi and let out a deep lungful of air. Dear Lord - had she gone nuts? How it had felt though - to be aware of a forgotten joy inside her. For a few moments she had pushed away from that blank plain where dark beasts could roar out of the long grass at any second. For an instant once again she was at the wheel of that car, controlling the drift into the corner. Ahead of her the bandit car spun out as a terrified kid lost control...

Freddie La Salle watched the cab pull away from behind the hotel window. He didn’t want her to see his interest. He checked the number she had given him and moved to the lobby payphone and dialed. As she answered he hung up. It was her - the correct number. He smiled and gave a little nod of satisfaction. Never had he seen such a girl. The beauty of her was a delicious ache. In her presence he had felt a surge of desire and a sense of protectiveness he couldn’t define. Something was there in her that he recognized. Some hint of his own regret. OK - he needed a girl on his arm, a girl was always part of the plan. Now she was gone there was so much more he could have said - maybe shared - maybe explained.

One day there would be a girl who could share the truth of things. Lucky she wasn’t a cop. If there were cops like that he’d have joined the force years ago. When he had seen her in the street he had had to act before she was swirled away into the gray London night.

How a split second in life could change everything. How well he knew the joy and sorrow that could flow from a chance moment. He took out his cell phone and called his driver. The poor guy was probably still waiting for him outside Scotland Yard.

Chapter 2

The phone jolted her from the nightmare. She thought for a moment to ignore it. Few people had her personal number - other than her family and of course her ex-lover Commander Beaumont Locke of Scotland Yard. As the caller clicked off, she pushed the mobile back in her pocket and rested her head on the seat. Probably a random wrong number. If she had time tomorrow she would check it out.

On and on the lives of unknown strangers rolled and swarmed along the Edgeware Road and Kilburn High Road. She was tired but had never felt more alive! By chance she had met this ridiculous chancer and experienced a brief out-of-body experience. Just in an instant her perception of life had changed. She’d always been inclined to rash decisions. How well she knew the price. Now things were real and she had to organize her actual life and career and maybe deal with the consequences of her deliberate dishonesty.

She paid the driver and took the stairs to her flat. Even though it was going to cost her twenty years salary and took half her pay each month, it was only a tiny flat – four small rooms above a tanning salon. She had refused all help from her family. What she had was her own. It wasn’t much.

She slipped out of her coat, poured a good glass of Pinot Grigio and headed for the bedroom. She wanted to think and to strip off the grime and gray of the London day. She would shower and then get an early night.

She let her charcoal business suit and cream silk blouse fall carelessly to the ground. She sat down on the bed wearing nothing but her ivory satin underwear. She released her bra and let her full firm breasts fall free like a sigh. For a moment she lay back and swung her legs onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. She ran her hands comfortingly across her belly.

For all the urgent complication of the jingle-jangle day, she was flesh and a beating heart. For the first time in nearly a year she felt herself alive and warm, aware of the pulse and thrill of the life that was in her body. She thought of the enigmatic Freddie, some kind of con man she knew but still with his laughing eyes and strength. No man had ever touched her soul in the way that he had. Everything about him was like a rhythmic stroke - his cheesy humor, his powerful hands - creating a soft force that pushed everything aside and caressed her feminine core. The wine and the vodka shook hands in her empty stomach. OK - she was drinking too much.

How she hated this loneliness knowing that at any moment her mind could flip back in time. She had no lover although often enough men had told her of her beauty or at least wanted to get in her knickers. No one had ever got this close, not reached the power of her responses that she knew she possessed, yet withheld. This man had no concept of knocking on doors. He had a key and would walk right into her, would know her rhythms, would dance and burrow within her, pulse and share ecstasy with her. This she knew now as if she were the first ever woman to know true oneness with a man. Her loneliness oppressed her and for a few moments she could lose herself. She felt the jolt of her own touch as she focused on her pleasure. This had always been her small secret delight until the crash had wiped out her desire. Now she was flying in circles up and up and up and losing control. It had been so long... just so bloody long.

The pleasure sank away into nothing, like a beautiful wave crashed onto sand, disappearing without a trace. She felt the chill of the air and found herself in tears. Sounds rose from the street and shadows of street lamps patterned her solitary room. She let the tears come silently and turned her face into her pillow. She had always held herself above fully giving in to a man, and now she had let the image of a stranger overwhelm her. No one would ever know. He would never know. She tried to analyze her feelings. Sure she had felt a strong sexual response - but she had felt a longing not only for sex, but for love mixed with her own need to give love. She dreamed briefly of his face - how she had wanted to touch him tenderly and know his soul and being. The absence of him left her reaching out and finding nothing. Now she felt empty. This was not her - not the Detective Inspector Anna Leyton of Interpol.

She got up and switched on the TV. She needed the sound of its company, but rarely watched. She pulled the curtains, showered and fixed a sandwich. A sense of barrenness drifted like an encircling mist around and within her. She wrapped herself in her dressing gown and put on her slippers. She brushed her long raven hair and cleaned the make up from her creamy skin and deep gray blue eyes.

She had cried - for the first time in months she had allowed feelings to surface. It had been almost a year since her split with Beaumont Locke. At last she felt as if she had moved on and that she could begin to put away at least one episode of her life. Her mind flashed back five years. There had been a murder - and if ever a murder could ever be routine, this was as close as it got. A story of drugs and gangs on the streets of South London had left a youth stabbed and dead on the pavement. She had been a young Detective Sergeant for whom this had been just another file. No one doubted who had done it, but as always a wall of silence and fear sheltered the killers.

Just at this time, questions of gang crime had been raised in Parliament. Police bosses scrambled to get their names on TV and their own heads off the block. Commander Locke of the Scotland Yard murder squad travelled down to South London with his entourage and personal driver. Anna first saw him on the steps of Brixton Police Station with his handsome face to camera. His hair was graying at the temples but otherwise dark and wavy, touching his collar. He wore his uniform for the media but removed his peaked cap so that the public could see his strong suave features, his smile, and accept his unctuous assurances that Law and Order would always prevail. It looked like he believed it - but he’d not spent much time behind a riot shield. Once you’ve seen a mob running wild, human life is a different concept. Once you’ve nicked an old dear dragging a fridge out a broken shop window you really understand the psychology of the impulse buy.

As the cameramen and journalists fled with their scoops “Brixton Cops Baffled - Yard Called in” Beaumont Locke made for his temporary office and changed into his double-breasted pin-stripe suit, white shirt with blue collar and matching blue handkerchief flopping from his top pocket. A few minutes later, Anna was seated in his office. She smiled at his name - Beau Locke...he looked too serious to follow her drift.

“You don’t want me here, I don’t want to be here - let’s solve this and go home,” he boomed in an upper class English tone, “full report Sergeant - Shoot!!”

Anna bridled at this arrogant monster, yet at the same time was drawn to his sheer self assurance. She gave her report while he leaned back in his chair, appraising her, taking in her willowy beauty and mysterious gray blue eyes. When she had finished he looked at her directly.

“Good girl,” he exclaimed with an irritating and patronizing clap, “You’re going a long way in your career my dear... or should I say 'Cher', looking at your beautiful hair - dinner together at 8.”

“Well...” she began.

“Well Sir!” he corrected.

“Well Sir - 8 will be fine,” she said, swallowing her anger.

Within a month they were lovers. Commander Locke - a man destined for the top. 35 years old, Oxford graduate in law and politics, was already divorced from his high flying lawyer wife.

The affair had been just that - an affair - wedged between their careers and egos. For her it had been a release from a detective’s life - the tyranny of piss stench stairwells, the halitosis of lies. She knew that she had never been an equal partner - had always been at his command. He had never asked to be called Sir in bed - but if he had, it would not have surprised her.

Then came that day. That day. That second. That lifetime of “if onlys” that would play and play again in her head. How she had been proud of her promotion to Inspector, even though it meant a return to uniform service for a year. She had had no need to chase those kids...no need to push them to... to their death. There she had said it again. Beaten herself with it again. And what a failure he had been! How she had needed him and how he had rowed away from her sinking ship when it looked like his career could be tainted by her troubles. She had stood alone when the mob had brayed for her head. He had scrambled away down the back stairs.

Her mind turned back to Freddie - the silly jokes, his philosophical remarks about truth, the arousing lick of his glance, his wounded brow and gentle brown eyes. That place in her soul that she had sought herself and wondered if it even existed - he had known and caressed in an instant. Something had been released within her and she would never be the same. And hell - she had lied, maybe damaged her father’s business and could even have compromised her career - and all because for a few moments she had wanted to be just Anna.

Chapter 3

She slept fitfully, disturbed by fragmenting images of Freddie La Salle and her father. She imagined them together discussing the Nereus 74 motor cruiser over a glass of wine. He was telling the younger man about his detective daughter who had turned her back on the family business, preferring to fight criminals on the streets of London. How she had sat alone in the cells awaiting the verdict at the end of her trial for manslaughter...

She awoke with a start. It was 4 am and outside the traffic still bundled and buzzed through the night and into the dawn. The harsh light from the street lamps patterned her room. The wail of sirens brought her mind back to her real current life. How often she had floored the throttle of a patrol car hurtling through the streets of London... just that once too often. She saw the flames, heard the screaming voices. Maybe she should talk to someone... maybe she should get on with her job... maybe this guy...

In a few hours she would be at a briefing for her new assignment. An international squad had formed to combat the many headed monster of organized crime. In its latest incarnation, the internet allowed billions of dollars to be laundered through anonymous gambling. The money hatched in the swamps of drugs, prostitution, people trafficking and illegal weapon sales was set to work in pursuit of even bigger gains. Sports events could be fixed, players bribed or intimidated, officials corrupted. Huge amounts of cash flowed around the worlds of sport. Players could become the property of criminals. Just in the last few weeks football, cricket and tennis had been hit with revelations and scandals. The London Olympics were scheduled for 2012. The British and International governments wanted not only a level playing field, but also a clean one. She would know more after the briefing, but broadly their task would be to identify the criminals and infiltrate the networks inside sport.

As she took the tube to Vauxhall she was both excited and apprehensive. She was about to meet the other members of the team who would be from all over the world. She had dressed in a neat dark blue suit with a white blouse. In the end she had chosen high heels, to show off her legs and somehow to reflect her new awareness of herself. For the same reason she had selected her sexiest underwear and had paid detailed attention to her makeup. She told herself it was all because she was meeting the new team. Deep down she knew that it was for someone else - someone she would never see again.

It was a short walk to the National Criminal Intelligence Service offices just off the Embankment in Spring Gardens, near to Lambeth Bridge. The first leaves of autumn drifted along the footway. The pushing tongue of the Thames licked around the pillars of the bridges. Instead of focusing on the meeting, her mind turned to Freddie. Of course he would never phone her. She was just a woman he had met by chance in the street. His looks, easy confidence and obvious wealth would mean that there would always be admiring females on hand. How could she let herself dream that there had been a special spark between them? For one stolen hour she had come to life and now it was time to get back to business. She smiled at the way he had put on the heavy accent, took a deep breath and bit her lip as she recalled the maleness of his presence when he had kissed her cheek. She looked out at the sunlight catching the muscle of the river currents, thinking of his large powerful hands and the depth that hinted behind his brown eyes. Everything around had reminders of him. For a minute she stopped and took in the view. She let the picture of him fill her, feeling her body begin to respond. This was crazy! She had met this guy for about an hour and for sure he had some kind of dangerous agenda. He had swept her defenses aside and had simply invaded. The thought of him was like an urgent profound stroking within her body that wouldn’t stop.

She was first to arrive at the office, grabbed a coffee from the machine and took it directly to the conference room. She rarely bothered with breakfast beyond an espresso doppio. Next to arrive was a pretty bottle blonde woman of about her own age. For a couple of seconds they looked at each other in disbelief before letting out a shared squeal.

“Judy... Judy... I don’t believe it, I thought you were on maternity leave for another couple of months?”

They hugged and stood back. Anna’s thoughts raced back to Brixton Police Station where she and Judy had been the first all girl crew on the emergency response area car Lima 3.

Judy had... well... gone blonde and expanded a little since those days! Anyone taking her for a plump Earth Mother would be making a big mistake. She could drive like a demon and toss a violent man over her shoulder.

“Anna - Ma’am... err,” Judy stuttered.

How she hated to be called 'Ma’am'! She had not designed the police rank structure and she had no time for self importance.

“Anna... plain old Anna or mate for God’s sake,” she beamed, “it will be great to be on the same team again - but I had no idea.”

She continued delightedly. Quickly she got an update on the baby, the three year old and her husband Brian who was a community cop.

“I spotted the assignment at the last minute and managed to rearrange childcare, so we could work together on this new squad.  I only heard a couple of days ago that I'd got the job and thought I'd surprise you!”

Other members of the team drifted in. Some were shiny new detectives just out of the box. A couple were world weary old cops, glad to get out of the trenches for a while. The FBI had provided a bank of bright young analysts and a posse of special agents. Around the conference room conversations sprang up in French Italian and American. Anna joined in, well - she knew she was showing off, warming to her role as an Interpol liaison point between all the various groups. Finally the room fell silent. She looked up to see a familiar figure taking his place at the head of the table. Her heart sank and she found herself choking back rage. This had not been billed as part of the show! Her new boss was none other than her rejected ex lover, Commander Beaumont Locke.

He stood by his chair, motioning with his hand in an upward gesture indicating that everyone should stand in recognition of his rank and importance. Anna glanced across at Judy who returned a scornful roll of her eyes. This man was so in love with his image that if he had been gay, he would have married himself!

Anna suppressed a wave of loathing and cursed herself. She had let him inside her. Together they had dog rolled in the shit of the Love word. Her mind dragged back to that day. That day when she had left the court, cleared of manslaughter. That day when the suddenly present mothers of the dead kids screamed for her blood as the TV cameras focused in on her tears. That day when Commander Locke had tried to crawl back into the henhouse now that the fox was gone.

When everyone had stood up and fallen silent he graciously motioned them all to sit down. In the context of international squads, few senior officers stood on their dignity. Beaumont Locke was a “Sir”. It was only a matter of time before the Queen realized he was right and made it official.

Various officers who had already worked on the enquiry for months gave their briefings. Despite her concentration she found herself drifting into a daydream. Freddie was looking into her eyes. His gaze moved to her mouth as he pushed his own lips forward and looked back to her eyes. She raised her chin to receive the warmth and caressing touch of his kiss...

A distant voice was pulling her back into the present. A Chief Inspector from the National Criminal Intelligence Service had been tasked with assigning roles within the squad.

“Detective Inspector Leyton will be responsible for all European police liaison. I have a note that she will report directly to Commander Locke with her own daily briefing,” he said in a flat monotone.

Reporting directly to her ex-lover! The rat who had abandoned her then returned wanting sex the day she was safe. So he had fixed the whole deal. He had wanted her dangling on his string. She fired a glance in his direction and saw a smirk living its stinking life on his hateful face. Something venomous twisted in her gut. The fact that she had language skills and the track record as a top detective meant nothing to him. He had engineered her presence there for his amusement and in order to control her. She stared back at him with a contemptuous raise of her eyebrow. He avoided her eyes and looked away. It was a small victory - but a victory.

At last the meeting broke up for lunch. She collected Judy, grabbed a sandwich from the canteen and headed out of the building. The day was bright and clear and they found a bench overlooking the Thames.

“Come on Anna - what’s on your mind?” asked Judy.

“It’s just, you know after what happened... and having to work for Beaumont again?”

“Well, we all knew Anna,” said Judy, touching her arm, “look, it could have been anyone. We’re cops honey... we run on reflexes. We can all say if only this or if only that...”

“Maybe I should have gone to jail. Maybe I deserved that.”

“That’s rubbish Anna... look honey - it’s over. It happened.”

She smiled tearfully back at her friend. Judy just did not do sentiment.

“Beaumont is a piece of slime... he’s got me here out of spite... because I rejected him.”

“Well - you can deal with that I’m sure. Are you certain there’s nothing else bothering you?” asked Judy with an open sympathetic smile.

Anna took a deep breath, she still felt the same trust and ease in her friend's company. As she thought carefully she checked her mobile in case she had missed any calls. She noticed the mystery number from the previous night.

“Could you get a number checked discreetly?” she asked, scribbling on a business card and passing it to her.

“Of course, but come on Anna. Let’s pretend we’re on night shift at Brixton and we’re sitting up waiting for the next nightmare.”

Her mind turned back to how they had shared every danger and every personal secret. Okay - she would not short change her old comrade and anyhow, she needed to talk like never before.

“I met a guy - I met a guy who’s left me wondering about everything - about what I am and what I want,” she said, relieved to have opened her heart. Just the act of talking about him brought him alive.

“How long have you known him?”

“About an hour.”

“About an hour - are you serious? This is strong medicine! Give me the whole gorgeous picture.”

Anna gave her the story of their meeting, his humor, his looks and sexual presence. Listening to herself she realized that if there had been no more than this, she would have merely shrugged it off.

“But there was more than that,” she continued, “I wanted him completely. I wanted to care and give him everything - really absolutely anything - and I’d only just met him. I felt kind of enslaved and filled with power all at once. But I do know he’s some sort of crook.”

“God - what’s his name? Does he have a brother or at least a close relative?” asked Judy with a theatrical wistfulness.

“Frederic - Freddie, Freddie, Freddie, Freddie,” she replied letting the name bubble out joyfully as if to say his name brought him alive at her side.

“Freddie... I think I heard that name recently... something Brian said perhaps, but all he does is read the back page of the paper. But heck... what are you going to do?”

“There’s nothing to do. I won’t hear from him again.”

“Do you want to bet on that? We are on the gambling squad,” laughed Judy

Anna laughed too, unable to resist the delicious possibility that she would see him again. Judy reached out and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Look, this guy’s gonna call. Just look at you - slim - Miss World looks, educated and from a rich family. Damn near makes me sick!”

“Would you swap lives with me Judy?” she asked seriously.

Her friend looked out across the river and appeared to be thinking before she replied.

“To be honest, no. The two horrors at home drive me nuts and it’s an uphill slog to work and be everywhere else. But now it makes sense - at last something makes sense.”

“How come?” asked Anna, surprised to have received such a philosophical answer.

“Do you remember all the dead junkies, all those cops and robbers chases, all those desperate folk who’d just been robbed raped or worse? Well, when you hold your baby - all new and innocent with a life ahead where anything is possible - it kinda tells you why we do it - why we care. Anyway that’s what they told me on the Home Office woman awareness course. It also tells you that something weighing ten pounds can contain twelve pounds of shit.”

Just when you thought Judy had found God she hit you with some excrement. She smiled at her friend. Those dead kids in that car had been babies once. Her own professional life was back on track. Not so long ago she could have been in that big truck on the way to Holloway prison.

They wandered back to the office in the warm sunshine still living on its memories of summer. Their friendship had been re-born and this unexpected reunion meant more to her than she could ever have imagined. Just as they reached the door she felt the vibrating alert of her cell phone. She snatched it out of her pocket and looked at the number. It was an unknown contact with an international prefix of 33. The caller was on a French phone. Her heart leapt and thumped. She stared at the phone without moving. It continued to buzz in her hand. All her conflicting feelings were beginning to shout at once.

“Answer it!” ordered Judy with a bemused frown, “you know you’re gonna die if you don’t see him again. If he’s a crook you can still shag him and then lock him up. It’ll only cost you money if he rings off and you have to call him back!”

With that her friend went on into the building and Anna did what she had to do... she pressed the answer button.

“Madame Leyton. I am calling about the boat you have advertised for sale. Is it still available and could I come round to see if it floats?” came a delicious deep voice in a deliberately hammy accent.

Anna laughed with nervousness and at his offbeat humor

“Yes, of course,” she stumbled...

“Ok, I will come straight round. I have to leave London tomorrow and maybe I can be sailing back to France if the boat is good?”

“No... look, Freddie you can’t do that,” she replied with a grin in her voice.

“Ooh la la. So you remember me. You must be a top girl - but isn’t it usually the sales people who chase the client?”

Her mind raced with all the consequences of her next move. She knew that her plain lust for him would pull her along as if she had no more will than a bottle bobbing in the Thames. Perhaps he had realized that there was something very odd about a sales type with no business cards and who didn’t try to close a sale. And come on woman - he just has to be a crook.

“The Nereus sells itself to the right quality of buyer.”

“So I must prove my quality eh? Well, we had better fix a date then.”

“I’m waiting for a call from my father. He’s down in Antibes right now,” she lied.

“Well, call him again and you can tell me the result tonight.”

The sexy sound of his voice was pressing on all her doors. Maybe she could peep out.

“Tonight?”

“Yes...it is that wonderful period in our lives that will happen between now and tomorrow.” he said with such obviousness it was like a wet lick from a Labrador.

And still she was being swept along. She was falling for it for Christ’s sake. If she was going to see him - and she knew that she was - she would need to get home, get herself made over, and find some kind of composure.

“It’s a kind offer... I have to work quite late - maybe I’ll be free at about 8.30.”

“I’ll pick you up... just give me the address.”

She faltered. She didn’t want this guy to know her address. She had known him for an hour and she knew nothing about him. She thought quickly. If she knew a date of birth she could check him out with French police. She hated the way her mind had come to work - with everyone under suspicion. If ever he wanted to know why she didn’t tell him she was a cop, this would be reason enough.

“I’ll be at Queen’s Park tube station,” she blurted out, knowing that she could walk there easily from her flat.

“Ok - it must be tough selling boats. Be hungry - I have something to show you.”

She imagined him holding the phone. His voice soothed and seduced her. She imagined the hard strong feel of his body, the brush of his lips. She brought her mind back to a police check.

“Freddie - what star sign are you?” she asked, hoping she sounded girly.

“What - do you do all this destiny stuff? If you must know - I’m a Gemini - 23rd May. Do I fit with your chart?”

She felt a little ashamed and kind of dirty. He had answered so innocently and openly. Here she was - using an old police trick to get a handle on his ID. When she had met him she had snatched the chance to be simply herself as a woman. She would have to tell him the truth before things went too far.

“Yeah - you fit my chart. Will you be standing at the station?”

“You won’t be able to miss me. À bientôt Chérie,” he said, and was gone.

God! She was already late. She had to check him out. He was rich - seemingly minted up to his eyes. Certainly he didn’t run a corner store or fix washing machines. Any woman would wonder, let alone a Scotland Yard Detective. When a woman wonders it’s curiosity, but when an Interpol detective wondered - it was suspicion. She knew that it was against police regulations to mix with anyone undesirable. She smiled at the word since Freddie was the most desirable man she had ever met. One thing she knew - this was no regular guy. And if he were a crook - what would she do or care?

Chapter 4

It was mid afternoon when she got the chance to call Interpol headquarters in Lyon, France. Just as she was about to lift the handset, Judy walked into the office.

“You know that number you gave me to check, the call you received in the taxi last night? It was a payphone in the lobby of the Hilton, Park Lane.”

Anna leaned back in her chair. It must have been Freddie, checking out her number to see if she had been straight with him. He was no fool. He was patient and calculating. Would he expect her to lie? The question evoked her big lie that sat like a stone in her heart. When she saw him again she would tell him. She dialed the Interpol number and waited.

“Inspecteur Du Maurier - bonjour.”

“Raymond - bonjour,” she began, speaking automatically in flawless French, “un petit service s'il vous plaît. Can you run a check on a French National called Freddie La Salle born 23rd May... he’s about 34,” the line went silent.

“Raymond...?”

“You are serious? You do not need me Anna. Try Google or the Newspapers,” chuckled Du Maurier, “I guess you are too busy to read the sports pages?”

“Raymond. Tell me! Who is he?”

“Freddie La Salle, World Cruiserweight Champion - signed yesterday for the final defense of his title.”

“A boxer!”

“And some... de plus! Un legend. He’s still a pretty boy - but he was badly cut by a head butt in his last fight. I’m guessing you don’t follow the fight game Anna?”

“No - never, it’s not too kosher - I have to think of my personality profile with the human resources department. I could be denounced,” she half joked, knowing that an interest in boxing could mark her as politically incorrect.

“Freddie would tell you it’s an art form. He’s a bit of a puzzle. He reads philosophy and has written a book about the artist Gustave Courbet. He’s a noted art collector. His mother is a Yank and doubles as his manager. His father is the French poet Mathieu La Salle. Freddie has business interests all over the world.”

“He doesn’t look beaten up... but you’re right, there is a mean scar over his right brow,” she answered numbly, trying to take in all the information.

“The champion is the guy who hurts the other guy. That cut was his only injury in the ring. A lot of questions were asked.”

“Questions?” Anna echoed.

“Certainement... questions of murder and money. I’ll e mail you the whole file and note your interest. That way any input or news will get flashed straight to you.”

She thanked her colleague and rang off, immediately typing La Salle into the Google window. Dozens of files popped up. She clicked on a fan site. There he was, gloved with hands raised looking out from the ring, blood pouring from a terrible gash over his eye. A headline ran “Le French Professor gets a lesson in pain”. Anna winced at the corny pun. She flicked through other web sites, making notes. Freddie La Salle - known as “le Professeur” on account of his careful boxing technique and intellectual tastes. His trip to London was widely examined under the title “A Fight Too Far”. He had signed to fight Billy 'The Boulder' Brennan, an up and coming hard man out of New York City. She read on in horror that Freddie was rumored not to have trained for the fight and just wanted a final pay day. The article described Brennan as 'the most dangerous street fighting brawler that he would ever face.'

She hated the thought of him cut and even maimed in a terrible contest. Beneath his humorous and thoughtful manner there must be a brute. She flicked on through pages of him in his champion’s belts, flexing his biceps, triceps, quadriceps and pecs. Sure it was tacky, but God! He was gorgeous. There was Freddie with blondes in bikinis, Freddie with babes in grass skirts, Freddie with French film stars - none of whom she knew. How could she never have heard of him? She hadn’t seen a movie for years, never read the sports pages and always put her work in front of everything else in her life. Whatever happened - she had to get out more!

The office door opened and she pulled her eyes away from the screen.

“The Commander wants to see you,” Judy informed her, adding a flat derision to the word Commander, “he’s just so up himself.”

“Tell me about it,” Anna agreed, her heart sinking at the thought of him. Judy came round and looked over her shoulder at the screen.

“Wah!!!” she exclaimed, “is that him? Are you gonna sort him out?  Wow - I would! Is he a sex God or what?”