Friction

She smiled when a virile twentysomething paraded by, treating her to a view of his perfect backside adorned in skintight red neoprene surf shorts. Hey, so he was nearly a decade younger than her—she could still enjoy the view. His strong, tanned legs veed slightly as he stood in front of her talking on a cell phone. She reached down and unlaced the knot at her waist, releasing the material of her skirt altogether and bending forward to fold it neatly before leaning back.

He shifted, taking a slightly different angle—the phone not quite where he needed it to have a conversation—and her attention perked. Stretching again and letting one foot fall teasingly over the side of her chair, her toes playing in the sand. She wanted to make sure she had his attention.

She had it, all right. And him.

She waved flirtatiously, though he appeared to be looking elsewhere. He froze.

Bingo.

In the next second, he was off like a shot and Sarah was after him. He was fast, but he wasn’t any match for her. At nearly six feet tall, she was all legs and she could move. She was also very, very motivated.

The hottie ran out of steam quickly and turned, panting, smiling at her engagingly.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

She smiled, inclining her head in his direction. “Same backatcha.”

He looked nervous. Good. He should be. She stepped a little closer, her tone friendly. “Beautiful day out here, isn’t it?”

He looked around and stepped back. “Yeah. It’s great.”

“And yet I can’t figure out why people who come to this beautiful, relaxing place would want to spend time talking on cell phones.”

“Some people have business.”

“And what kind of business do you have?”

She saw the flicker of panic and knew she had him. Any playfulness left her tone.

“Why don’t you hand over the phone and we’ll talk about the pictures you were taking of me back there?”

He grinned, though it wasn’t a charming smile. “You’re nuts, lady. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? C’mon. My guess is you got some pretty good close-ups of my boobs and crotch, but you know, it was easy—I really didn’t even make you work for it.”

He looked from side to side and flipped the phone nervously in his hand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m going to call a lifeguard in a minute.”

“Go ahead. You’ve been working this beach for a few weeks. I’ve seen the pictures that are ending up on the Web—pictures of women you’ve turned into your unsuspecting models—and you know, they really aren’t very flattering pictures.”

He stared at her for a moment, clearly unsure of what to do. Then, he threw the phone toward the surf and took off.

“Damn!”

Sarah lunged for the phone and managed to catch it midair just before it was washed over by the foamy surf splashing up on the sand. The impact knocked the wind out of her, but she was back up in a second and racing down the beach. Her body flew through the air a second time and she managed to catch him by the ankle, pulling him down hard. She winced as she felt something sharp dig into her thigh, but she ignored it.

All of her attention was on maneuvering herself around to sit on the creep’s lower back, dropping down on him hard and smiling when she heard the air whoosh out of him like a deflating balloon. She planted her heel firmly at the base of his skull and pressed, ever so slightly. She looked over to see the phone lying safely in the sand, and a lifeguard running in their direction.

“What’s going on here?” He looked at her bleeding leg. “You’re hurt.”

Her quarry started to speak, and she applied just a little more pressure with her foot, pushing his face into the sand. It was gratifying to hear him spitting in between curses. She felt the jab in her thigh again and nodded, “I think there must be some glass in the sand there—it’s just a cut.”

“Let me get my first aid kit, but, uh, maybe you should let that guy up?”

“Nope. He’s under arrest.” She smiled. “Sarah Jessup, Norfolk PD—sorry, I don’t have any ID on me at the moment.” She gestured to her scantily clad form. “This man is wanted for criminal activity in Norfolk and the surrounding area. I’d appreciate if you could call your local precinct for me and report this.”

She rattled off the number and her badge number. “They’ll confirm who I am and send someone to help me out. You can use that.” She smiled, pointing to the phone lying in the sand. She enjoyed the poetic justice of using the creep’s own phone to call the bust in.

The lifeguard looked a little confused, but complied, handing the phone back to her when he hung up. There was definite interest in his eyes as he took in her long limbs and flushed cheeks. He let his fingers brush hers when she took the phone, but the look she sent him told him clearly she was all business. He shrugged his tanned shoulders, heading back to his chair. Sarah poked some buttons on the phone and groaned, addressing the perp.

“Aw, man, you suck. Don’t give up your day job to be a photographer. I’m nearly naked, posing for you and that’s the best you could do? I mean, jeez, you’re blocking the light standing there. And that is by no means my best side.”

She smiled with satisfaction, clicking the phone shut and sitting back to wait for her backup. She bounced a happy little bounce on her captive’s kidneys, happy to have both perp and evidence in hand.

Listening to the spits and sputters of the man she was holding immobile, she looked out at the gently rolling waves of the Atlantic as people walked by, gawking. She shrugged.

“Just doing my part for the environment, folks. Getting garbage off the beach.”

A FEW HOURS later Sarah sat typing up the last of a report, reaching down every now and then to rub her thigh, which was aching like crazy now that the local anesthetic had worn off. She hated being made to go to the hospital, but she couldn’t get out of it. Officer wounded on scene; it was procedure.

The six stitches she’d had to get hurt more than the initial wound, but, as she’d learned at the academy, procedure was everything. It took some getting used to, all the rules and regulations and paperwork—but it was all worth it. She loved her job.

“Hey, what happened to you?” The concerned voice that had her looking up came from one of her partners, E. J. Beaumont, known in some circles as Ethan Jared Beaumont the fourth, which she called him when she wanted to get his shorts in a knot. E.J. was the other member of their three-agent team. He wasn’t alone, she noted, eyeing the beach babe standing in the doorway behind him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Forgot my cell phone last night. Came back to pick it up.”

Sarah arched an eyebrow, making sure her voice was low enough for just the two of them to hear, “Looks like that’s not the only thing you’re picking up.”

E.J. grinned, wicked mischief in his eyes. “You know, they say life is a like a box of chocolates, and I’d like to sample all I can.”

Sarah laughed in spite of herself—contrary to the evidence at hand, E.J. was a real southern gentleman. Refined, intelligent and wealthy as sin, his family owned a local ship-building company. She would have expected him to be a total snob and a real bore, but he was neither.

He was a great cook, a handsome devil and a decent man. He’d given up control of his family’s company to follow his heart, returning to a career in law enforcement. In the process he’d broken off his engagement with his high school sweetheart and had thrown himself headfirst into a very happy bachelorhood. Sarah wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him with the same girl twice.

They’d hung out, at work and socially, keeping each other company, talking shop. At one point, he’d actually tried his charms out on her, and while she might have been the teensiest bit tempted—he was good-looking, after all—she’d shut him down. They were colleagues, and, to an extent, buddies. In a completely platonic way, she loved E.J. to death.

Then her boss, Ian, showed up in the doorway, passing a curious glance over E.J.’s “date,” who fluttered her eyelashes in appreciation of Ian’s dark good looks, before turning his attention to Sarah.

“Full house today. They called me about the bust, said that you got hurt. What happened? Are you okay?”

His arms were crossed over his chest, one dark eyebrow raised as he leveled a look at her that she’d gotten used to. Still, there was approval in his eyes, something she yearned for on a very basic level—the recognition of doing a good job, being believed in, making a difference.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Then, in a more smartass tone, “Nice shirt, boss.”

Ian looked down at the wildly patterned Hawaiian shirt that was open at the chest, and shrugged.