by Taylor Lee
Who did surprise her was the tall black man standing off to the side. He must be Sam Carter, the upstart commander from the LAPD who Connor told her about. The guy that every police gossip rag identified as an up-and-coming future Chief of Police at the prestigious LAPD. The fact that he couldn’t be more than early to mid-thirties at the most was shocking. His warm brown skin complimented his black curly closely cropped hair. But it was his features that stopped her cold. They spoke to a mixed heritage. African for sure, but his skin was a caramel color signally a racial mix. The slight tilt of his flashing black eyes hinted at an Asian influence. His high cheekbones were chiseled, fine. A scruff of neatly trimmed facial hair decorated his strong chin, and his full, inviting lips made him simply the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen.
Annika’s incipient interest that had sent sparks of tantalizing energy through her passion-starved body quickly died when she replayed the rest of the gossip she’d heard, and remembered exactly who he was. The stunning man who was studying her with a quizzical, hard to decipher expression, was none other than the son of the Chief Justice of the California Supreme Court. Their backgrounds were so different; she felt as though she’d been hatched on an inferior planet and had three heads. Even acknowledging that fact, Annika couldn’t squelch her disappointment. Damn. Commander Samuel D. Carter might just be the sexiest man she’d ever seen in her life.
Only when Detective Stryker frowned at her did she realize he’d been talking to her. Dragging her gaze away from Commander Carter, Annika tried to remember what Nate had asked her.
Stryker must have seen her confusion because a knowing smile tweaked his lips.
“I wanted to introduce you to the real rock star here, Lieutenant. This is Sam Carter. Sam’s a commander in the Los Angeles PD. He’s hanging out with me for a couple of months to see how the big dogs do it. We call him by a number of names: ‘Hollywood’ being the most descriptive, ‘hotshot’ being the most apt. Surprisingly, I also call him my friend.”
Sam Carter’s dark eyes twinkled as he reached for her hand. His grin had all of the wattage of Nate’s and then some.
“You’ll soon know that no matter how outrageous the Detective acts or speaks you’ll never meet a finer cop or, a finer man, for that matter. Welcome to the looney bin they call Chicadia Falls, Lieutenant. I’m grateful to welcome a fellow traveler. We aliens need to stick together.”
Annika swore she felt sparks when he squeezed her hand. She prayed that the heat flooding her cheeks wasn’t noticeable. The knowing smile the two striking men exchanged confirmed she’d prayed in vain.
Chapter 2
Sam choked back a laugh at the expression on Garrett Baker’s face as the indiscreet cop ogled Annika’s backside as she tromped through the charred rubble. The wiry sergeant’s tongue was literally hanging out of his mouth and it wasn’t due to dehydration. Given the steamy hot July afternoon, Baker could have blamed his flushed face and lusting eyes on the heat but he wouldn’t have fooled Sam. Hell, Sam couldn’t fault the guy. That backside was more than worth ogling.
Sam had offered to drive Annika and Baker to the fire site ignoring the sergeant’s annoyed frown at his interference. If she noticed their jockeying, Annika didn’t let on. In the ride to the development, she peppered Baker with one astute question after another, jotting notes in her leather bound folder. Her inquiries about triggering mechanisms, timing devices, and accelerants met with garbled replies or flat out declarations of ignorance from the clearly out of his league cop. By the time they reached Lakeside Estates, Annika had stopped asking questions, apparently deciding that any information she needed she would get for herself. Sam had been to the site once after the second fire but knew that both Connor and Nate were unhappy with Sgt. Baker’s inattention to detail. Annika seemed to agree with them.
When they arrived, the lithe woman hopped out of the car before either Sam or Sgt. Baker could get to the door to assist her. Stripping off her jacket and tossing it on the front seat of the car, she headed toward the burnt-out shell without speaking to either man. Her stark white sleeveless blouse might have been nondescript on another woman. On Annika, it was incendiary. Without the protective overlay of the suit coat, the lush swell of her breasts was clearly visible. The Kimber 380 tucked in her back holster only served to tighten the trousers that hugged a fine looking ass. When she swept her long silky hair up into a twist and fastened it the top of her head with a clip, Sam thought he might lose it.
His dick had been fighting for attention since Annika entered the conference room. But the soft sheen of sweat on the back of her neck was so damn tempting, Sam had to clamp his jaw shut to keep from reaching out and licking off the salty dampness. The thought of weaving his fingers through that glossy platinum mass and tipping her head back to bare her throat to his hungry mouth had his dick threatening to break through his zipper. Damn. What was it about this woman that had him on fire? This was not like him. Women had chased after him since he was fourteen years old. And he’d welcomed them, one and all. A bevy of harem-worthy pulchritude was waiting for him in LA and various other cities around the globe when he completed his “wilderness shtick” as his father jokingly called it.
Three months was a long time without a woman but Sam had decided he would forego sex while in Minnesota. Given the messiness of one night stands and the like, in a town where everyone knew before noon if you had raspberry or strawberry jelly on your English muffin, celibacy seemed like a sound professional move. Sam wanted to be remembered as the LA cop who came in to worship at the foot of the master, not challenge Nate’s ‘all night wonder’ reputation duly recorded in the Chicadia Falls version of the Guinness Book of Sexual Records.
But, he reminded himself, his commitment to celibacy was pre-Annika Nilsson.
Watching her long-legged strides through the bomb crater shell of the four hundred thousand dollar house, Sam marveled at her professionalism and her ability to ignore the two men jostling for her attention. He followed behind her like an obedient puppy dog, trying not to growl at Baker when the asshole closed the distance between him and Annika. To Sam’s glee, clumsy jackass that Baker was, he made the mistake of being too overt. In a sly reference to her enticing blouse, the sergeant pretended concern but didn’t try to hide the gleam in his eyes.
“Aren’t you afraid you might get that pretty little shirt dirty, Lieutenant?’
Without so much as a backward glance, Annika responded coolly, “That’s why they have washing machines, Sergeant.”
Sam managed not to crow, but instead depended on his $600 Starck shades to mask his delight at the other man’s discomfort. Annika’s scorn, however, was not reserved for the chastened middle aged guy licking his wounded pride. When Sam reached out to help her over a three foot strip of charred joists, Annika flicked his hand away with her finger tips as though he were an annoying mosquito. Never one to avoid a challenge he ignored the insult and made a stab at collegial conversation.
“Connor indicated that you’ve applied to become an ATF agent in their arson and explosives division. That’s a significant position. Very select. My understanding is that the training is rigorous and the acceptance rate is less than ten percent. Let us know how we can help. Nate and I, and I’m sure Connor, will be pleased to give you a recommendation.”
Annika stopped and stared at him for a moment as if considering what she wanted to say. She frowned and drew her lips into a tight line and shrugged.
“It might be better for you to see my work before you offer to recommend me, Commander. Thank you all the same, but my record stands for itself.”
She turned back to her note-taking, not waiting for a reply.
Properly chastised, Sam ignored Garret Baker’s grating chuckle, deciding he would seek retribution later. For the moment he contented himself watching the balletic movements of the athletic woman searching for clues in the ravaged remains left by a violent flaming destroyer.
Annika sipped on a bottle of water then ble
w a puff of air over her pouty lips. Sam forced himself to ignore the dampness on her upper lip. Christ, when did sweat become an aphrodisiac for him? Since he’d met the icy blond princess, just the hint of moisture made him fantasize about all the places on her luscious body he’d like to taste. Giving himself leeway, he decided that it wasn’t only the sight of her that had him as off kilter as a teen-aged boy. It was also her smell. The slight breeze brought whiffs of her spicy fragrance wafting through the trees. The soft lemony odor coupled with a minty overlay sealed the deal. With a profound sense of relief, Sam tossed aside his self-imposed prohibition against sex in Chicadia Falls. Freed from the constraint, he began the deeply satisfying process of visualizing where and how he would first make love to Lt. Annika Nilsson, Bomb and Arson Investigator extraordinaire.
~~~
Brennan Corcoran met the three of them in the ornate lobby of the State Street Savings and Loan. The large, burly Irishman came straight out of central casting. From his flaming red hair brushed with gray at the temples to his effusive greeting tinged with a slight brogue, Corcoran’s Irish was in full force. He welcomed Sam, Garrett and Annika into his spacious office and pointed to the conference table urging them to be seated. Sam noted that the large man was almost as tall as he was but probably outweighed him by fifty pounds—of fat not muscle. Corcoran barely acknowledged either Sam or Garrett, making it clear his eyes were on Annika.
“My dear, please sit in the chair across from me so that I can feast on you. I never thought these words would come out of my mouth, but you Lt. Nilsson may be the loveliest woman I have ever seen. Your Nordic beauty is simply stunning. Tell me, my dear, where is your family from? Stockholm? Malmo? Gothenburg? I love your home country but I confess until this moment I never thought even the glorious Swedish women could compete with our bonny Irish lasses. You, my dear, have disabused me of that belief.”
Annika flushed slightly at the effusive praise but recovered quickly.
“Thank you, Mr. Corcoran. You are kind. I will also make a confession. All my life I’ve wished for red hair or coal black hair — anything but the pale blond I was blessed with. As for my family, I grew up in foster homes, none of which had information about my birth family. And while I’m confident that my “home country” is beautiful, I’ve never travelled outside of this country, so I wouldn’t know.”
In the uneasy silence that followed, Sam struggled with the urge to rush in and protect Annika from this intrusive scrutiny. He wanted to tell the overbearing Irishman to back off. But Annika’s quiet dignity stopped him from jumping in. Even Sgt. Baker had enough sense to hold his tongue.
Not so, Brennan Corcoran.
“Well, lass, you really aren’t missing much. Travelling isn’t all it is cracked up to be. In fact it can be a royal pain in the ass. I’m always glad to hit the shores of the good old U.S.A. Can finally get a good steak.”
Sam sat back in his chair debating whether he should call out the officious boor who managed to say in one sentence that Annika’s ‘foster home’ childhood and inability to travel weren’t big losses. Annika spared him the need to break in.
Not bothering to respond to their host’s insensitive remark, the young woman who Sam was coming to admire more and more easily turned the discussion to the fires at Lakeside Estates. Opening her leather folder and placing it on the table in front of her, she pinned Corcoran with a firm gaze.
“I regret that two of your lovely homes were destroyed, Mr. Corcoran. I have several questions for you. If you have no objection, I would like to record our conversation.”
Corcoran reared back in his chair with a pained expression.
“No, no, by all means, record or take notes, whatever works best for you. But please, my dear, call me Brennan. I expect that you and I will have several conversations, and it is my hope that we can make this difficult time more pleasant for both of us.”
“Of course, Mr. Corcoran, but I would remind you that this is an official investigation and it is my job to determine if a crime was committed.”
For the first time Corcoran lost some of his bonhomie. His expression tightened and Sam glimpsed the hard-driving business man who not only was the president of the largest Savings and Loan in the upper Midwest but also the founding partner of the development company that was building what would be the most expensive homes in Minnesota outside of the Twin Cities. From conversations with Nate and Chief Roberts, Sam knew that Brennan Corcoran for all his Irish good-ole-boy mannerisms was one tough S.O.B. and not to be underestimated.
“But of course, my dear. No one knows better than I do the seriousness of the issue.” The crease between Corcoran’s brows deepened. “As it stands I am facing millions of dollars of losses, as well as a long legal fight with my insurance company. Your findings will have a significant impact on my financial future and the enterprise I am building.” He softened his gaze and added, “But my dear, that doesn’t mean that you and I can’t be friends.”
Sam had had enough. Smiling at the overbearing man, he broke in.
“Lt. Nilsson pointed out to me a fact I was unaware of, Mr. Corcoran. Apparently Lakeside is your first development project, correct? I’m curious, how did you choose the location? You’ll have to admit, it was a controversial choice. The environmental groups aren’t happy that it butts up against protected reserves, and it’s my understanding that the Tribes are protesting the development because it borders on spiritual lands.” Taking note of the flush making its way up Corcoran’s neck, Sam persisted with a pleasant smile. “I heard that even Chief Roberts is unhappy with the location you chose. Seems you are perilously close to the Chief’s private bird sanctuary.”
Corcoran sucked in an audible breath, then rotated in his chair to face Sam head-on. Glaring at him through narrowed eyes, Corcoran didn’t bother to hide his contempt. His voice rose as he took issue with Sam’s analysis.
“When one dares to do big things, young man, one comes to expect that lesser men will find reasons to complain. It’s the price of being a visionary. I am building my dream—showplace homes worthy of the people I plan to attract to this community. And no one is going to stop me. Not a group of ragtag environmental nuts or a bunch of native people who seem to think that because their illiterate ancestors lived here hundreds of years ago that somehow the land belongs to them.”
As if he realized that he’d shown more passion than he intended, Corcoran made an effort to tone down his anger, but couldn’t keep from adding one last salvo.
“And, as for John Roberts’s fucking bird sanctuary, since when did birds take precedence over human beings? I’ll have you know when my project is complete, we will have tripled the tax base in this community and if we lose a few chickadees in the process, who the hell cares?”
Sam allowed his smile to widen.
“An admirable goal, Mr. Brennan. I can see you are passionate about your project as you should be. But I must take issue with your inclusion of Chief Roberts in your description of ‘lesser men’.” Turning to Annika, Sam noted, “You haven’t met our Chief yet, Lt. Nilsson, but my guess is when you do you will find Mr. Brennan’s assertion comical.”
Corcoran made a visible effort to control what was surely an explosive temper. He clamped his lips together in a firm line then twisted them into the makings of a smile. Turning to Annika, his tone was ingratiating.
“I trust, my dear, that when you do meet the good Chief that you will refrain from repeating my ‘comical’ comment. Knowing John as I do, he will ensure that Baker here sees that I get at least a parking ticket a week and more than likely a speeding ticket as well.”
At a sound from the anteroom, Corcoran glanced up at the slender young woman in the doorway—who Sam noted had magically appeared at an opportune time.
“Yes, Monica?”
The lovely woman smiled a gracious smile, then frowned as though hating to intrude. “I apologize, Mr. Corcoran. I know you asked not to be interrupted, but I have Governor Stephens on the t
elephone. He’s only available for the next few minutes.”
As they made preparations to leave, Corcoran leaned over close to Annika. “If it is not too much trouble, my dear, can we continue our conversation in the morning? I have many concerns I wish to share with you. I think they will be useful in your investigation.”
Annika gathered up her notepad then glanced at her iPhone.
“Will 10 a.m. work for you, Mr. Corcoran?”
“Yes, of course, my dear, whatever is convenient for you. But let’s meet here in my office where we won’t be interrupted.”
When Annika shrugged in agreement, Corcoran added in a low tone with an ingratiating smile, “Perhaps, then I can convince you to call me Brennan and I would be honored to call you by your given name—which I believe is Annika. A lovely name. So like you.”
Annika didn’t hide her slight frown, but nodded pleasantly.
“I prefer Lt. Nilsson, Mr. Corcoran. I’ve worked hard to earn that title.”
Corcoran eyed her for a long moment, then nodded in agreement.
“I can see that you have, my dear. You’ve clearly worked very hard.”
Giving her a slight bow, he said, “Tomorrow then at 10 a.m.”
Turning to Sam, his expression hardened.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Commander Carter. I’ve heard a lot about you. Perhaps we can have lunch together at the Country Club. I have a private dining room. I’m confident we have many associations in common.”
He nodded to Sgt. Baker without speaking then strode from the room.
Chapter 3
