The Bad Ass Brigade
The Bad Ass Brigade
Bad Guys Beware. The Good Guys Are on the Prowl
By
Taylor Lee
From the #1 Bestselling HOT new release, Romantic Suspense/Mystery Thriller/Women Sleuth/Hard Boiled Author,
Taylor Lee
, comes:
“The Bad Ass Brigade”
,
Bad Guys Beware, The Good Guys Are on the Prowl.
A Sampler of Sizzling Romantic Suspense. Cops, Firefighters, Special Ops, Covert Agents, and Bad Ass Poker Players—HOT Men and HOTTER Women kick up a storm—and heat up the sheets in the process. A Novella, Four Short Stories and a full length Novel provide over 170,000 words of HOT, sexy, thrilling Romantic Suspense at its best.
Praise for
The Bad Ass Brigade,
Bad Guys Beware, The Good Guys Are on the Prowl…
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
Nights in White Satin…
“The Four Sexy undercover CID Agents from Big Girls Don’t Cry and an unforgettable female agent who kicks butt with the best of them”
~SMT Reviews
The D.C. Incident…
“
“Politics, Corruption, Murder, and Sex. Must be Washington D.C.!”
~Action Junkie
The Reckoning…
“This is a short story that will live in your memory. A hideous villain. An incredibly courageous young woman. In the face of such evil is love possible?”
~David Adams - Author,
Samara
The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face…
“A Valentine short story – “A Cinderella tale of Young Lovers Fighting Against the Odds –and winning!”
~RomanceReaderReviews
Aces Wild…
“They call him Angel, but every woman he meets sees the devil in his eyes.”
~Erotica Rox
Main Menu
A 40,000 word Novella Sequel to Trial by Fire
A Prequel to Big Girls Don’t Cry
A Sequel to The Moscow Affair
The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face
A Sweet Valentine Short Story
A Short Story About Evil and Retribution
A Full Length Historical Romantic Suspense
__________
FIRE AND ICE
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 4
th
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.
