Perhaps it’s the evil imp on my shoulder, or maybe it’s the generous angel who sits on the other side, whatever prompts me, I’m sharing a second excerpt from Striker my detective/crime, mystery, erotic romance. It’s been out for a week as of today, and I think it’s time for some serious teasing of those of you who haven’t read it yet.
This segment is from Chapter 2. It’s rated R for language.
You can read a G-rated excerpt from Chapter 1 here.
The next morning, I realized it had been a huge mistake to allow my partner to drive the police vehicle to the scene of the latest murder. She was reckless and completely unconcerned about other cars. Sure, we had our flasher in the window and the siren on, but we were in an unmarked car. People were slower to get out of the way than they would be for a marked police car. “Geez, slow the fuck down!”
She grinned at me and slewed the car on the wet road. A moment later, she was back in control, but her grin was a little false. I gripped the oh shit bar above the window and held on for dear life. Even a seat belt and air bags wouldn’t be enough if she lost control at this speed.
“God damn it, Piccolino! I said slow down!”
“Grow some balls, Striker!”
“I mean it. You’re going to kill us both. Now cut it out!”
“Or what?” she mocked. “You’re going to spank me?”
Where she’d gotten that, almost reading my mind, kind of threw me for a loop. But if a person ever deserved a spanking more than Piccolino, I couldn’t think of one.
Rain started again, pelting the windshield with big, drooling drops. She flicked the wipers on, but didn’t slow down in the least. We rounded a corner and fishtailed, but once again, she got control after a heart-stopping moment.
“You sure as hell need a spanking, you little brat.”
“Good luck with that. I know karate.”
“Not that it would do you any good.” We swerved and I saw my life flash before my eyes. “You are out of control, woman!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” The car screeched to a halt, well, almost to a halt, just as it sideswiped a parked vehicle a block away from our destination. Piccolino’s mouth opened and shut a few times, and then she squeaked, “Oops.”
“Your ass is grass, Piccolino,” I told her. “Get out of the car.” My door was pinned closed against the crunched driver’s side door of the BMW she’d hit. Silently, her face pale, Piccolino got out of the car, and I awkwardly moved across the seats and got out behind her. There were no pedestrians and few moving cars along the street, probably due to the rainy weather. That was fortunate for my partner, because it was going to be bad enough reporting this MVA to Donati. Accidents happened when pursuing criminals, but we hadn’t been in pursuit, so there was no excuse for it this time.
I straightened my fedora and stared down at her, my brows drawn together.
I remained silent.
“Really. I’m sorry. I should have listened to you. I’ve just never been so excited. Rolling to the scene of a homicide. I felt like I was in the big time, you know, like… I don’t know…”
“Starsky and Hutch.”
“Never mind. You crossed the line. This was no little fender-bender.” I pointed to the Beamer. “That guy’s paint job alone is going to cost a thousand bucks.”
“Do we have to say it was my fault?”
“It was your fault.”
“Well, kinda. And kinda not.”
“You want me to lie?”
“Lie? No. Just… don’t say anything about how fast I was going. If you don’t say anything, Donati will never know this was more than an unfortunate skid and crunch due to the weather.”
“I’ve had it about up to here with your attitude, Piccolino,” I told her, gesturing to the top of my head. “You deserve whatever you get from Donati.”
She bit her lower lip. “Do I deserve…maybe…a spanking?”
Striker is available at the following retailers, for $3.95.