Detective Raegen Crosby lives to rid Phoenix's streets of undesirables. Now, the city has two new players in town. One leads a band of gunrunners. The second is Thaine McDuff. He's red-hot eye-candy and wears a badge. Raegen is tempted to tease Thaine into bed just once. Or possibly, the city's honcho menace might kill her first.
Mild-mannered Thaine McDuff transferred to Arizona to keep his only family out of prison again. Thaine's brother lives too high and mighty and Raegen counts on busting him as the gunrunning ringleader. That is, if Thaine allows Raegen to have her way. She's irresistible with a body worth killing for and a masked sensitivity able to weaken his resolve.
When Raegen's cover is blown, Thaine steps up to outsmart the wannabe killers. As the Phoenix temperatures rise, strong wills clash and hungry passions rule while danger prowls way too close to home.
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The way his eyes critically studied her, Raegen Crosby figured her two-bit ho style had worked. On the other hand, having the barrel of his .44 Magnum aimed at her heart raised even the cheap wig's hair at the back of her neck. Sometimes rookies had itchy fingers.
Bad enough she felt naked without her badge and weapon, but the new sky-blue tube top—silver thread laced throughout—inched farther down with every breath she inhaled. She should've purchased a halter top or something with sturdy straps.
"Hands behind your head. Feet spread apart," Thaine McDuff said. "Both of you." He handled the show pretty well.
The commander selected McDuff because he could "look" the part of a buyer. Not bad either. Immaculate, the tailored three-piece suit in dark rust fit him to perfection when Raegen had expected a raggedy ensemble boasting pinstripes on seersucker, gangster brim and white shoes. Instead, silk tie, off-white shirt, gold cufflinks, black shoes polished to high gloss...Wow.
Behind McDuff, six cops had lined up a quartet of suspects against the wall, frisking and cuffing the band of teenaged gunrunners, confiscating evidence. Three other unlucky devils were old enough to face major hell in prison if any one of the weapons came back positive in the deaths of two cops last month. Summer heat usually brought out the worst in people. Oppressive temperatures in Phoenix had skyrocketed to 110 and it was only the second week of June.
Perspiration already dampened Raegen's forehead. She raised her hands as high as her shoulders.
"I said lock your fingers."
Hell's bells. She glared at PeeWee the Snitch, who'd set up the meeting and the buy. Following orders, Raegen locked her fingers together. She put some inches between her stilettos, which hiked her metallic blue, miniskirt high enough to parade all she owned.
As cops escorted the teens out of the building, the tube top rolled below her boobs. Shit. In front of PeeWee, the same chump she'd put behind bars for dealing heroin a few years ago. In her opinion, he'd gotten his get-out-of-jail ticket early on false pretenses. She'd questioned the liar's integrity more than once. Didn't matter. Detective Bob Slater continued using him as street eyes.
Following suit, Slater's rumbling laughter filtered through the dilapidated building. No big deal there. The detective had fondled every inch of her body. Then she found out he was married. With four kids. The white boy knew his stuff, though. At least his tongue and mouth knew something good. He would rather feast than fuck. Problem was he'd been nagging her crazy about hooking up again.
Slater had sense enough to block PeeWee's view. McDuff had sense enough to block all the other eyeballers' scrutiny. Tonight was the last damn time she'd wear this particular ho getup.
When she tried to pull her top into place, the cop that others called "Duffy" said, "Don't tempt me, sister."
Strike one against him, dammit. She so wished she had been born with laser beams for eyes. By now, he'd have two perfect circles burned into his smooth forehead.
What the hell could she possibly hide? Well, she'd nestled her single-shot derringer in the green bustier, but this top was stretch-knit, gripping. Her nipples were obviously en point for all to see.
Keeping his gun focused on her, he circled silently behind her. She heard the clink of cuffs.
Raegen licked her lips. When in the hell did he plan on letting her cover her boobs? Tomorrow? "You know, sir—"
The timbre of his sexy bass wrapped around her in a delicious caress. Despite the building's warmth, Raegen shivered. Still. Strike two. He'd taken this a little too damn far with his shitty orders. She took commands from only one person. Commander Vanderbilt.
Gently, Duffy swung her right hand behind her back. Hmm, Raegen thought. Gently. Somebody needed to re-educate him on handling suspects. He was lucky they were on the same side. She could've easily caught him off-balance; flipped him, taken his gun, dotted both eyes, cut off air to his windpipe, and wrenched his balls.
"Too tight?" he asked.
She rolled her eyes. That's it. Blatant red flag. He'd jacked up her three-strikes-you're-out rule. Thaine McDuff was on his way back to school, back to the Academy. Tomorrow. Immediately, if she had any say-so.
The first time she saw the baby-faced rookie's fine—very fine—trampoline buns was from across the station's parking lot. He was bent over the trunk of his car. He wasn't tall tall, but at a distance, it appeared everything fit in the right places.
Definitely hot eye-candy, a fine specimen: broad chest, tight butt filling out his trousers, muscled from shoulders to calves. But, at this rate, the same roped substance had likely filled the space between his ears.
"Will you at least pull up my top?" she whispered. "Damn."
"If you want all that meat put in place," Duffy said, "you need to bend over so I can stretch and stuff."
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