Fire and Ice, Novella Sequel to Trial by Fire

by Lee Taylor

  Fire and Ice

  Novella Sequel to Trial by Fire

  By

  Taylor Lee

  Riveting Novella Sequel to Bestselling Sizzling Romantic Suspense Trial by Fire.

  Praise for Fire and Ice…

  “They call her the Ice Princess; blond, beautiful and cold as Ice. But a sexy police commander sees beneath her cold shell. He turns up the heat and proves that Fire does melt Ice.”

  ~ J John

  “A beautiful, tough cop has fought her way to the top of her profession the only way she knows how. Without asking for help from anyone. But when that ‘go it alone attitude’ almost gets her and others killed, she’s forced to reconsider.”

  ~ Erotica Rocs

  “A riveting mystery thriller that will have you on the edge of your seat. Pulse pounding action and steamy romance. A cast of unforgettable characters that will capture your heart.”

  ~ Action Junkie

  Main Menu

  Start Reading

  Afterword

  Other Works by Taylor Lee

  Works by Other Authors

  About the Author

  Contact Information

  Copyright Information

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  “Looks like you got competition, hotshot! We got another wannabe coming to Chicadia Falls to soak up all my wisdom. It’s a fucking miracle they haven’t drained me dry. This one’s coming up from the Cities.”

  Glancing around the conference table, his gaze landing on Sam, Nate sighed in mock dismay.

  “I guess I should be honored that every jackass in the country thinks I am as good as I am. They’re all fighting to finagle their hot house violets into my tender loving care.”

  Sam Carter allowed a slight smile to quirk his lips. The idea of Detective Nate Stryker, the badass cop whose national reputation for arrogance was as strong as his closed-case rate, having anyone in his ‘tender loving care’ was worth a full-out guffaw.

  But Nate’s announcement wasn’t surprising. Cops all over the country were shaking their mentor trees begging for an inside track into the Northern Minnesota police department. The CFPD had become a nationwide sensation. For one reason, and one reason only: lead detective and Deputy Police Chief Nate Stryker.

  Nate’s rock star looks, smart mouth and 1000-watt grin were as familiar on television as Magnum PI or Jim Rockford. In the last year, two headline murders replete with sex, gore and even a world famous lingerie model, aka murderer, had made Nate Stryker the “go-to” guy for every Fox News or CNN newshound looking for a snappy quote.

  Sam had set his sights on Stryker long before the media discovered the green-eyed, sharp-tongued wonder. As the youngest commander in the LAPD and a phenomenon in his own right, Sam used his star-studded connections to wrangle a sabbatical with Nate. Sam was on a fast track to become police chief, and wanted field experience with the acknowledged superstar to burnish his already gleaming resume. That Nate ruled from the incongruously named burg of Chicadia Falls, MN made his magnetic draw all the more remarkable. After two months of caustic banter and a murder case that would go down in police history, Sam’s respect and regard for Nate had grown exponentially. In addition, against all odds—given their competitive personalities—he and Nate became friends. Something neither of them did lightly or often.

  In response to Nate’s rhetorical question Sam stifled a smart remark and asked nonchalantly, “Are the wannabe’s nepotistic credentials as strong as mine?”

  Nate snorted. “Stronger, hotshot. This time it’s my relatives who are doing the finagling.”

  Acknowledging the interested squints from the team convened for the morning briefing, Nate ran his hands through his collar-length and sun-streaked hair.

  “Yeah, this time it’s my cuz, Connor—Deputy Chief, Chicadia Falls Fire Department. Says he has a bead on a fire inspector who could help us out. Connor’s convinced that the Lakeside Estates fires are arson. Now you guys all know my worrying cousin thinks that when the sun shines it means that rain is on the way, but I agree with his assessment on Lakeside. One fire—likely an accident. But two? Brand new upscale houses? Burned to the ground? At a new build development that is being picketed by the Tribes and the enviro nuts? Hell, even to me that looks suspicious.”

  Ignoring Nate’s scowl at the oozing cherry-filled Bismark in his meaty hand, Charlie Hanson brushed the doughnut crumbs off his chin and chugged on his coffee.

  “Who’s Connor bringin’ in, Nate? Whoever it is, it can’t hurt. As long as it’s a body. I know the fire department is as fuckin’ crazy as we are. Christ, the resorts are overrun with damn tourists out for a drunken weekend on the lakes. And, given the fire danger, Old Smokey the Bear’s gotta think someone’s squeezin’ his dick with a pair of pliers. If that ain’t enough to break us, we got the 4th of July coming up. Damn, with Mac and Dan at Ripley doing their two week guard training, we can use all the help we can get. Any chance the wannabe is a gen-u-wine fire inspector?”

  Glancing over at the sergeant who had been working the fires, Charlie added, “Nothing against you, Baker, but fires ain’t necessarily your specialty. And if it is arson, we need someone who knows what the fuck he’s doing.”

  Garrett Baker scowled. “Fuck you very much, Hanson. All you do is keep the fucking schedule. You try dealing with all those goddamned do-gooders and see if you’ve got time to even go to the fucking fire site. Much less figure out how it started, Columbo.”

  Nate looked from his frontline Lieutenant who kept the assignment schedule sane to the sergeant whose florid face had darkened ominously at the putdown.

  “Pull it back, Baker. Don’t think for a minute I don’t know you’re in an impossible spot. But Charlie’s right. This calls for an experienced fire investigator. Connor’s guy seems like the real deal. Best of all, he’s a cop. A lieutenant at that. Heads up the Minneapolis PD Bomb and Arson Squad. He’s gotta know his ass from a hand grenade if he’s made it that far under Jack Rolfson. Rolfson’s a tougher son of a bitch than I am. Course, rather than trying to help us out, it could be a big fat joke. Jack wanting to foist off a troublemaker just to see me squirm. But you know damn well, all my charming cousin Connor has to do is flash that choir-boy smile and the devil himself would give up his last pitchfork to help him out. Come to think of it, that’s as good a description of Rolfson as I can think of. “

  Charlie nodded at Nate then winked at Sam. “Think a winning smile just might be a family trait, Sam? Ever seen anyone else who just has to grin to make the rest of us willing to cough up our last nut to be helpful?”

  Nate chortled. “Yeah, right, Hanson. I smile and you jump? Hell, the only way I can get you to do what I ask is to take away all your crap junk food. Which reminds me, I ordered one of those Toledo scales, like the one they use on ‘Who’s the Biggest Loser?’ The kind that flash your weight around the room in three foot high numerals. And just so you know Charlie, I’m about to implement a serious fitness program—”

  Amid the groans that interrupted Nate’s threat and sure-to-come lecture about the dangers facing out-of-shape cops, Connor’s voice drifted from the hallway. “The team is in here, Lieutenant Nilsson.”

  Stepping to the side, a big grin on his handsome face, Connor ushered his guest into the room.

  “They’re expecting you, Lieutenant. Aren’t you, fellows?”

  Later, Sam grinned thinking about Connor’s intentionally blasé introduction of the visiting fire expert. From the stunned expressions of the men around the table staring at the figure standing in the doorway, the last thing any of them expected was the cop who followed Connor into
the conference room. A can of C4 couldn’t have achieved a more explosive reaction.

  Connor Lang was impressive by any standard. Several inches shorter than his six foot four inch cousin, Connor made up for his measly six foot height in breadth. Even at thirty years old, he looked like the college wrestling all-star he’d been. His dark brown almost black neatly-trimmed hair and flashing gray eyes contrasted with his cousin Nate’s dirt-blond surfer-dude look. Lately, Sam noted that the clean cut Connor had begun to cautiously assume some of his cousin’s bad boy trademarks, even allowing an occasional second day beard shadow to sprout. The one thing both cousins shared was a grin that lit up a room, and had both men and women angling for ways to get that light to shine their way.

  But Connor could have been riding a unicycle stark naked for all the attention he got. Not so, the apparition behind him. The young woman was wearing a silvery grey tailored pant suit. The cropped, fitted jacket flared slightly at her waist revealing the seductive curve of her hips. The slim cut trousers emphasized long legs and a heart-shaped ass that brought every man at the table to attention. No doubt her abbreviated suit coat hid a shoulder holster and perhaps a back sheathe, but it was unlikely any of the gaping men got past the front of her jacket that swelled impressively in critical areas.

  As sensational as her body was—and it was runway worthy—it was her face and hair that stole Sam’s breath. He remembered being awed by Michael Corder’s Snow Queen Ballet at the London Coliseum. But this vision who casually entered the institutionally bland conference room at the Chicadia Falls police station could just as well have flitted across a glittering stage of ice and snow. Her skin was pale, almost translucent. A faint rosy flush tinted her cheeks, and her full lips glistened with that glossy goop women wore that drove men crazy. Her large, wide-spaced eyes were violet colored—more purple than blue. Dark brows and a sweep of dark lashes contrasted sharply with the lush blond hair that fell in myriad platinum-streaked waves past her shoulders. Sam knew that in a lifetime peopled with memorable creatures of the female persuasion, he had never seen a more beautiful woman.

  Nate’s sharp whistle and exclamation spoke for the group.

  “Well, I’ll be dammed.”

  Connor quirked a wry brow.

  “I venture to say that’s a given, Cuz.”

  Nate slowly shook his head and huffed out a low chuckle.

  “Damn, Connor. Why does this keep happening to me? First you spring Erin, spelled e.r.i.n. on me.” Nodding at Sam, he growled, “Then the Chief launches ‘Hollywood’ here into my life, and now you calmly introduce this… this… vision as Lt. Nilsson? The MPD Bomb and Arson Squad leader? Tell me you’re kidding!”

  Connor turned with a grin to the young woman whose lips were curved in a tentative smile.

  “Annika, Lt. Nilsson to the rest of you. In case you didn’t recognize him from his numerous television appearances and magazine cover stories, this scruffy-looking guy in the blue jeans and t-shirt is the infamous Detective Nate Stryker. Nate runs this little operation. His greatest claim to fame is that he is my bad boy cousin and somehow convinced the second most gorgeous woman in the world to fall in love with him—the most gorgeous, being my wife.”

  Connor grinned at her and added with a wink, “As of today, I think I better add a third woman to that rarified group.”

  A consenting murmur from the awed men at the table confirmed the group agreed with him.

  Charlie Hanson managed to close his mouth long enough to choke on his coffee. His voice mimicked the wonder on his facial expression.

  “Fuckin’-A, if I didn’t know better, I’d a thought Connor had dug up that blond babe, that tennis player on television. You know… that Anna Corna… Anna Cornucopia…”

  The hoots of laughter from the gang at the table, brought a flush of red to the Lieutenant’s ruddy face.

  Nate grinned.

  “Uh, Charlie, I think you might be referring to Anna Kournikova.”

  Sam saw Nate wrestling with the notion of rescuing his lieutenant but the devastating twinkle in the irrepressible smart ass’s eyes confirmed that as usual Nate wouldn’t hold back. Instead he waded into the deep water.

  “Come to think of it, Charlie, ‘cornucopia’ isn’t far off. Uh… bodacious baskets… cornucopia. Yeah, I can see where you might have gotten confused….”

  A chorus of guffaws and snickers followed Nate’s intentionally shocking taunt.

  Connor jumped in, turning a cold eye on Nate and Charlie, although he couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  “Annika, please forgive my outrageous cousin and his cohorts. They don’t get out of their cage much and Nate banned out of hand anything resembling a human resources department. The one good thing is that no one’s ever brought a harassment suit against them. No one except the Mayor, of course, but he backed off when Nate threatened to go after his daughter. Or was it his wife, Cuz?”

  Nate grinned and clapped Connor on the back.

  “Now, now, Connor. That’s ancient history. Don’t you try and scare off Lt. Nilsson. We need her. Ask Sergeant Baker. Garrett’s been stuck as the de facto fire inspector and we’re just too damned short-handed to give him the time to do a decent job of investigating these recent fires. So, Lieutenant, my cousin is correct. We don’t get out much and you’ll have to overlook my atrocious manners and those of some members of my team.”

  He included Charlie in his sweeping nod around the room.

  Sam had been the object of too many racially charged jokes, even good-natured ones like Nate threw his way on a regular basis, not to pay attention to the quiet woman’s reaction to what he knew must be the norm for her. What else could she expect in a male-dominated profession that kept its sanity with outrageous language and equally offensive humor? It was the lifeblood of every precinct he’d worked in. The juice that kept their engines stoked, ready for action. The on-going hazing allowed the adrenalin junkies that filled the perilous ranks to blow off steam. There was nothing these dangerous men and women who put their lives on the line every day of the week liked better than thumbing their collective noses at the politically correct establishment. Sam knew the only place that was worse than the police was the military and Special Ops was the baddest of the bad. And he ought to have known. He’d survived them all with his sense of humor and pride intact. The greater the danger, the more testosterone-laden the mission, the more outrageous the humorous bomb-throwing. But the politically incorrect wit was even handed, an equal opportunity attack. No one minority or sex escaped—or was overly targeted. At least in the good departments. The ones run by wise men like Nate and his cousin Connor. And like Sam, on his own turf.

  Sam was surprised at the concern he felt watching the lieutenant’s reaction. A stab of protectiveness caught him off guard. To his practiced gaze Lt. Nilsson looked fragile, vulnerable. Her lip trembled and a flash of what could have been pain streaked through her eyes. But as though liquid steel from an unknown source stiffened her spine, her expression quickly hardened. Although her voice was low, almost sweet, her words weren’t. Wisely ignoring Nate, she chose to focus her barb on Charlie.

  “I know the feeling, Lt. Hanson. Whenever I meet a black man or an unreformed rock star or a fifty year old white man, I’m struck by the fact that once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. You know, the way all blondes look alike to you.”

  Charlie’s flush deepened but he managed a good-natured salute and a small bow which Annika acknowledged with a smile.

  Once again, Nate spoke for the group.

  “Touché, Lieutenant. On behalf of Sam, the black guy who frankly doesn’t look like any black guy I’ve met, only the ones I’ve seen on television or in the movies, and my self-declared redneck buddy, and myself who’s as far from a rock star as you’ll ever meet, may I welcome you to our incorrigible group. Should you choose to become one of us, I can assure you that our ill-begotten humor only gets worse the longer we’re on duty and the farther aw
ay we are from an ice-cold long neck.”

  Annika smiled at the imposing man who was grinning at her but she didn’t miss the careful scrutiny underlying his grin. Stryker was measuring her, seeing if she could take it. Take the ribbing certain to come her way. Like a good leader he was testing her. To see if she could handle his proudly outrageous group. God knows she should be able to. She’d had years of practice. She tipped up her chin and gave him a cool smile that must have reassured him, because he winked at her, a welcoming gesture. Damn, the famous detective was as gorgeous as advertised. Like everyone in the state, Annika had seen Detective Stryker on television so often he was familiar, not surprising. Only he was more striking in person, if possible.

  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.