Hot Blooded

flourish. "Nice work."
    "Thanks." She settled the hat precisely on her head. Her eyes flicking over
to the unconscious bruiser, she keyed her mike again. "Oh, and send an
ambulance. We've got one Signal Eight." Releasing the button, Grace looked at
him. "Which means 'knocked cold.' Very pretty punch, by the way. Looks like you
broke his nose."
    Lance shrugged. "Judging by the interesting contours, that's been done
before."
    She smiled, full lips curving. "Probably by half the people who know him. And
the other half have thought about it."
    "And should have followed through on the impulse." Staring at that soft,
unpainted mouth, Lance considered kissing her. He really wanted to find out how
she'd taste.
    She'd probably slug him.
    Might be worth it, though. Grace had been pretty even as a teenager, but as a
woman, she was lovely. In contrast to that tough, athlete's body, she had the
face of an art deco wood nymph. Her cheekbones were delicately curved rather
than sculpted under that creamy, fine-grained skin, and her nose was slim and
straight above sweetly seductive lips. Her eyes shone a translucent, crystalline
blue that was almost gemlike. Lance wondered how long that honey-blonde hair
would be, freed of its vicious braid. He'd love to run his fingers through it
and find out.
    But he was even more interested in getting that black uniform unbuttoned.
Even through its thick fabric, he could tell Grace had very pretty breasts.
    "When is your shift over?" Lance cleared his throat, trying to rid his voice
of its low growl of need. "I'd like to talk."
    "I wouldn't." She lifted her stubborn little chin. "I know what you're going
to say, and I'm not interested."
    He'd played the game far too long to believe that lie. Lance took a step
closer, dipped his head to her ear and purred, "Are you sure?"
    Her pulse began to pound beneath the satin skin of her throat. Before he
could yield to temptation, she took a step back. "Very. Excuse me, I think the
Duke of Budweiser is regaining consciousness." Without another glance at him,
she moved away to kneel beside her weakly stirring prisoner.
    Lance's narrowed eyes swept from her long, delicate nape to the enticing
curve of her ass. He started toward her…
    "Damn, Xena, who'd you beat up this time?" a deputy demanded, stepping out of
the crowd.
    Lance stopped short as the cop swaggered toward her. The conversation he had
in mind definitely didn't need witnesses. Muscles coiling in frustration, he
turned and stalked for the door.
    Luckily, there was plenty of time before dawn.
    Â 
    GRACE escorted the now fully dressed stripper out to her patrol car. Rod
Smith had parked his vehicle beside hers, its rotating light bar sending blue
and white light chasing one another across the surrounding cars. Smith and the
rookie he was training sat in the front seat, the drunk in the back. Paramedics
must have decided Sir Drinksalot was up to a night in jail after all.
    He was lucky. Lance could have shattered his skull.
    Mrs. Drinksalot had sunk into a sullen silence. As Grace opened the rear car
door and guided her inside, the woman said, "He's just going to beat the hell
out of me when he gets out tomorrow." Tears had tracked white paths through the
blood drying on her face.
    "Probably. Which is why you need to leave his ass. You can stay at the
women's shelter until you get a place."
    "But I love him!"
    Grace rolled her eyes and slammed the car door. People thought love was an
excuse for anything.
    Staring into violet eyes blazing with jealous rage, she felt long
fingernails bite into her jaw. Waves of another woman's madness crashed over her
mind. Grace knew her own sanity was about to be seared away.
    Then Lance's big hands wrapped around her attacker's head and…
    She shoved the memory aside.
    As Grace stalked around to the driver's door, she heard the rookie say, "Man,
she's hot. Is she married?"
    "Who, the stripper?" The windows of Smith's patrol car were rolled up, but
Grace's inhumanly keen hearing picked up the conversation anyway.
    "Nah, the deputy. What's her name?"
    "You mean Xena?" Smith snorted. "Hell, boy, you don't want nothing to do with
that. She's a ballbuster. Does steroids, the whole bit."
    The rookie snorted back. "You're crazy. Testosterone didn't have nothing to
do with
that
body."
    Grace smiled slightly as she pulled open her door and tossed her hat inside.
Thank you, rookie
.
    "Nah, man, I mean it. I've seen her