Operation Paradise - Sarah Evans

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going inside to have a look around.' His voice was crackly and distorted over the wire. `Don't contact me unless it's an absolute emergency.'

      `Ten-four, good buddy,' said Ely sounding like some Yankee truck driver. He'd be wittering on about rubber ducks next.

      Half an hour later Fox reappeared on the arm of a burly dark bearded man. The man dwarfed Fox as he steered him towards a sleek silver Rover. The car was one of those sporty types that make me salivate. Burton jotted down the number plate and called it over the radio for owner confirmation. Ely was listening to Fox through the earphones. His shoulders began to shake.

      `Watch this,' he mouthed, waving us to the window.

      We looked out. The passenger door flew open and Fox was tossed from the car. He tumbled on to the pavement, all sprawled legs and spangled stockings. One of the slut heels tumbled into the gutter. Poor Cinders. Prince Charming had bombed out. The Rover shot off and Fox cussed into his D-cups while scrabbling about on all fours, retrieving his dinky sequinned handbag and spike shoe.

      `Bloody bloke thought I was a tranny!' he gibbered.

      `No, really?' I said. `I wonder where he got that idea?'

      `This is not working, boss. I feel too vulnerable like this.'

      `Now you know how half the population feels, Fox.'

      You could feel the simmering heat melting the radio contact as Fox fought to control his annoyance.

      `Point taken,' he said finally.

      `You can take five and change your stockings. We've a spare pair of fishnets up here.'

      `I can't wait.'

      `Nor me.' I couldn't resist a chuckle.

      My mobile phone rang just as the show was getting interesting. I would've carried on perving as Fox peeled off his laddered spangles if the caller hadn't been my daughter, Chastity. Muscular male thighs and sweet sixteen daughters do not mix. Believe it or not, I do have some integrity.

      `Hi Mum,' she chirruped. `Thought I'd better remind you about parents' night.'

      Parents' night! Grief. I hated parents' nights. Half the teachers made me feel I was ten, and a complete moron, while the others avoidrd eye contact because they'd been nicked for something.

      `As if I'd forget,' I lied.

      Since my latest promotion, Chastity had attended boarding school, the theory being I wouldn't have to worry about getting home every night, keeping up with the laundry and putting hot dinners on the table. It also meant I didn't have anyone updating the calendar.

      `It's tonight.'

      It was? Damn.

      `I'm in the middle of an operation.' It was a valid excuse. I didn't have to go. I had an abductor to catch. Infinitely preferable to sitting opposite a bunch of arrogant, smart alec teachers discussing my shortcomings as a parent.

      `You had forgotten! You weren't going to come and this is my first parents' night at Saint Immaculata's.' Sixteen years of emotional blackmail punched down the line.

      My heart sank. I was a sucker where my daughter was concerned. She knew which buttons to press, and how.

      `You want me there, I'll be there.'

      `I want you there.'

      `So I'll organise something.'

      Look, I'd named my daughter Chastity in the vain hope she'd be smarter than me. And actually she was. Hey, a win!

      And my mother had named me Eve. Why? Because of the original sin. But that ploy hadn't been quite so successful. Like my mother, I'd fallen pregnant after a one-night stand. Though in my case it had been a torrid weekend, but same difference. It goes without saying I hadn't seen the worthless Romeo again. My luck with men was abysmal, unless they were crooks and I was banging them to rights. This adds up to a social life as barren as the Simpson Desert. But that didn't mean I'd rather attend a painful parents' night than stay at home twiddling my thumbs, so I said goodbye to Chastity, then cursed as I stashed away my phone.

      `Problems, chief?' said Burton.

      `Nah.' Rule number one in the professional battle of the sexes: never admit weakness. Never tell them when the Achilles heel of family life is pierced. `Did you get a fix on the bloke with the Rover?'

      `Yeah, he's a divorce lawyer. Leo Stark. Clean as far as a criminal record goes.'

      `I doubt if he's the one we're looking for,' said Fox.

      I turned to the young officer. He was taller than I'd calculated when seeing him on the street. Probably six foot without the red heels. He was rail thin, blond and cherubic and he easily cast Brad Pitt into the shade. Dreamy blue eyes were skilfully made-up with black eyeliner and mascara. Cherry lipstick emphasised his curved, full lips and made them look extremely kissable. I involuntarily licked my own. As Burton had said, Fox made one tasty chick.

      I reached out and ran my fingertips over Fox's chin. It was firm, smooth and sleek. Not a hint of stubble, but I felt like teasing.

      `Better shave,' I murmured. `Don't want you giving the punters bristle rash.'

      His blue eyes, no longer dreamy but deliciously steamy, held mine for a spine-tingling second. A pulse jack-hammered at the base of his exposed throat. I resisted, just, the temptation to place a finger there too, because, hey, it wouldn't have been professional.

      `Yes, boss,' he said and spun away to rummage in a black sports bag for his razor.

      `Why don't you think the Rover bloke is our suspect?' I asked, admiring the view of to his scarlet, lurex-clad back.

      `Didn't have the right smell.' He drew out a razor and clicked it on, running it over that dimpled jaw while he twisted back to face me.

      I raised my brows and flicked a glance at the other two officers. Ely was eyeballing the street, but Burton had been watching our exchange. He shrugged and didn't offer an opinion. I turned back to Fox.

      `Can you expand on that?'

      `Not really. Just my gut instinct says he's clean.' He kept shaving.

      `And this instinct has been honed how, exactly?'

      Fox snapped off the razor and gave me a bland stare. `From my years on the street,' he said.

      `Spare me. You haven't been a cop that long. You still reek of baby powder and teething rusks.'

      He offered a tight, humourless smile, as if I'd hit a nerve. `For your information, DI Rock, I did have a life before I joined the police force.'

      `And it's this previous life that honed your sense of er…smell?'

      `Yes.'

      `I see.' My curiosity was piqued but now wasn't the time to pursue the subject. `So we go with the smell?'

      I wasn't convinced.

      `Don't forget my gut instinct.'

      My eyes automatically dropped to his flat belly shown to beauteous advantage in the scarlet stretch top. It was perfect, but did it mean it was a foolproof crime-o-metre? Hmm. But I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. At least for now.

      `Okay. You're entitled to your opinion. But we'll do a follow up on him anyway.'

      `Yes, boss.'

      `Get back to your beat as soon as you're done.'

      `Yes, boss.'

      My eyes narrowed and I stared at his mild, angelic countenance. I wasn't sure if there was a lot going on behind that sweet face. Perhaps I'd been landed with a dud.

      Or perhaps not.

      It struck me that I could have a lot of fun finding out, now that Chastity wasn't home to cramp my style. I might miss having her around since she moved to St Immaculata's, but there was an upside to the arrangement. It meant I could indulge my addiction for red wine, Indian takeaways and

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