Fit To Be Frisked: Fit To Be Frisked / Mr. Cool Under Fire

“But, sir…Uncle Tate—” she tried in vain to protest.

“I’ve given Mr. and Mrs. Preston, the elderly owners of the home, a rental car and an expense-paid vacation at the hotel of their choice until we can collect evidence,” Tate continued as he walked over to grab a suitcase that set on his couch. “Glad you dropped by. It’ll save me a trip.”

He handed the luggage to her. “You’ll find several sets of clothes similar to the Prestons’ usual attire, plus some wigs, stage makeup and photographs so you can duplicate their appearance as best you can. It will help that you and Vance won’t be showing up at the house until almost dark so the neighbors and suspects will have difficulty distinguishing between you and the Prestons. I’ll drop off their car at your place so you can use it tomorrow night.”

“A stakeout? Using a civilian?” she chirped. “Isn’t that irregular?”

Tate shrugged nonchalantly as he scooped up his hat. “I’ve done it a few times before. We’re understaffed at the moment, since one of the officers is on vacation. This will work perfectly. You and Vance are already paired up and I need a couple to go undercover.”

Like a doomed prisoner on her way to the gallows, Miranda walked from the house with a suitcase of disguises in hand. This could not be happening. She’d go crazy if she had to share the same house with Vance. She was already going crazy after that lip-sizzling, heart-stopping kiss that had left her half-naked and wanting him beyond bearing last night.

VANCE MANAGED TO MAKE IT through the day with Randi helping him string wire and clip it to the new posts. He’d made the decision to suffer through evening patrol duty by pulling his hat over his eyes and pretending to catch a few z’s while Randi cruised around town.

But curiosity got the best of him and he found himself monitoring Randi while she settled a domestic dispute between a middle-aged couple that resulted in the wife hurling her husband’s clothing onto the lawn. Vance also watched her deal compassionately with a four-year-old boy who’d gotten lost and needed a police chauffeur to take him safely home.

An hour before they went off duty, Randi pulled over a rattletrap car with four male occupants. When she approached the vehicle Vance rolled down the window to monitor the conversation.

To his frustration he heard wolf whistles as she halted by the driver’s window. He couldn’t hear what she said in response, but he did hear the male guffaws wafting in the breeze. That did it. She didn’t have to tolerate that kind of disrespect and he didn’t have to sit here and listen to it.

Vance was out of the squad car in nothing flat. He bore down on the four juveniles who had their baseball caps turned backward on their heads and were leering at Randi whose shapely physique was spotlighted by the headlights of the squad car.

He could tell right off that she resented his interference. Her head snapped up and she flashed him a get-your-butt-back-in-the-car stare. He disregarded the silent command because his protective instincts were in overdrive.

“I believe I heard the officer ask for your license,” Vance growled. “Hand it over.”

The boys lapsed into silence while Randi checked the license and wrote out a ticket for speeding and reckless driving. When the foursome cruised off Randi rounded on Vance like an attack Doberman. “I told you to stay in the car!” she all but yelled at him. “That was the deal. You ride along, not participate. I can do my job.”

“Well, I can’t do mine,” Vance flared. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit by and watch those little creeps treat you with disrespect.”

“It didn’t bother you when you were the one coming on to me,” she retorted as she stamped back to the car.

She definitely had him there. “Yeah, well, I’m a grown man and I’m attracted to you. I couldn’t help but act like an idiot. Those young punks stepped over the line with those catcalls and rude gestures.”

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