Passion Patrol 2 - a Sexy Police Romance Suspense Novel With a Touch of Humor: Hot Cops. Hot Crime. Hot Romance. by Emma Calin

like that?”
    “Yeah, I know about kids and love because I see it by its absence in every lost kid in the city. I see admiration and pride in every kid in a gang. I’ve seen love withheld in lonely suicides and in psychopaths who kill for so-called respect or fame—that fucking word the unloved use for love.”
    He took a deep breath. She had meant him to. She had meant to swear to show him just a little of her mettle.
    “You express many of my own views—in your own way, Shannon. But I think you’re right.”
    He stood up and came round the table. She stood to join him, looking into his eyes.
    “Can’t you just hug me or something,” she said.
    “That could be a mistake.”
    “Mistake me in your arms then.”
    Then, he held her, not kissing, not pressing. He simply held her to him. She felt the warmth of his body. His arms closed around her shoulders as she laid her head on his chest. She nuzzled him a little and made a long “mmmmm” sound. She felt him relax and hugged his waist. This was a sweet fruit and a succulent pain. She loved the immovability of his big bear-like body. She softened into him, not sexually as such, but as a woman fits to a man.
    He stepped back and let out a deep sigh. She wanted to speak first.
    “Spencer, whatever you do or say do not tell me you’re sorry and that you’ve exceeded your role as a gentleman or any such rubbish. I wanted that as much as you, maybe more,” she said reaching up to his cheeks and fixing his head while she spoke.
    “You did?”
    “I just said so. I’d have asked for a kiss but I didn’t want to burn out your guilt fuses.”
    He shook his head yet smiled innocently like a boy catching his first fish.
    “Come and see the gallery of ancient Bloxingtons and beyond,” he said.
    At some point, somewhere near the portrait of the composer Handel, either she took his hand or he took hers. It was a while before they let go.

Chapter 5
    It was approximately 10:20 a.m. the following morning when a farmer found the body of a young woman in a roadside ditch. Shannon received a call by radio and made it first to the scene on her bike. First procedure was to secure the area and preserve evidence. A glance suggested the girl was no more than twenty. Possibly she was Cambodian or Vietnamese from what she’d learned on a temporary posting to an immigration unit. The spot was in open country about half a mile from the village. In the distance she could see the flags from the show house at Badger’s Knoll. High above the field a bird sang on the wing.
    She wasn’t alone for long. Within a few minutes she was joined by Scenes of Crime officers and senior detectives. She had had little time to assess the situation. All the same she was sure the body hadn’t been there for long. It was just too visible and the insects had scarcely started their work. At a glance she could see the victim had a large graze on the side of her face. She wore a T-shirt and light cotton trousers. The style didn’t look British.
    Being new on Z District, Shannon knew none of the police team. Soon she was helping to place incident tape and set up a roadblock. A white tent went up over the body and a pathway was pegged out to prevent contamination of the scene. It was a procedure she had seen many times. Two bus loads of officers arrived to conduct a fingertip search of the ditch, roadside, and adjoining field. The police radio was calling her.
    “There’s gonna be a conference at 1400 hours. The superintendent wants to use your police house. Can you set it up Zulu Delta over?”
    “I’ll do my best.”
    “Great. Get the kettle on.”
    “Looks like I’ve found my level. I’ve only got two cups and no bloody teapot.”
    “Initiative my dear Watson. If you can’t take a joke you shouldn’t have joined. Zulu Delta out.”
    Shannon cursed. In the distance she saw Inspector Lilly.
    “Guv, they want a conference at my place. I’ll need tea, milk, sugar, and cups, or at least a bucket