Knockout! A Passionate Police Romance by Emma Calin Page B

arm.
    Looking at her, Anna found a warmth and compassion in her eyes that was not entirely unpleasant. Within herself she was beginning to discover a calculating deviousness that she didn’t like, but which gave her a sense of power that almost thrilled her. In contrast with this moment, her time with Freddie left her powerless and swept away on a wave of desire. She smiled at Christine, wondering what she knew of helpless love and the shortness of life and its seasons.
    The day was bright, slightly autumnal. The sunlight shone through the polished luster of her hair. Her red lips added a tantalizing sensual splash to her beauty.
    “You’re a lovely talented young woman,” declared Christine as if to a thoroughbred filly as she powered across Vauxhall Bridge. “You have a wonderful career ahead.”
    Anna desperately tried to keep up in her high heels which were no match for the older woman’s burnished black brogues.
    “Thank you Ma’am.” Said Anna.
    “Stop that bullshit... to you I’m Chris.” She ordered, taking a deep pull on her second Marlboro.
    “And thanks for your help this morning at the meeting.”
    “No worries - that Beaumont is such a pompous ass. I first met him when he was a bobby at Tottenham. Absolute jargon and paperwork jockey - very modern. They used to call him the Olympic torch - because he never went out,” she laughed. “Wasn’t there some kind of thing between you two?”
    “There was - I was foolish but I’ve learned from the mistake believe me. I didn’t know what I was or what I wanted.”
    “And do you know now?”
    “I’m beginning to see I think.” Replied Anna with a deliberate note of ambiguity, sensing just a little of her power and letting her eyes stay on Christine’s face.
    “Just be careful with that La Salle. He’s a bit of a charmer and Interpol has not issued chastity belts since the crusades” Warned Christine.
    “I’ve never met him - I’m only going to pose as the boss’s daughter and try to sell him a boat.”
    “Be careful my dear. We all felt for you after the crash - but you are damaged - you need time to repair.”
    They reached the restaurant in Strutton Ground, just a short trot from Scotland Yard and took a pavement table. Chris ordered a meat feast pizza and a large lager. Anna went for a Mozzarella salad and a bottle of mineral water.
    “I want you to find out who contacts La Salle and who he contacts. Does he want to win this fight? He’s been wandering about in London, so he’s obviously not in training. Then there’s Mom - she’s hauled herself up from trailer trash to loadsa cash and looks like one tough cookie.”
    “What do you know about Mom?” Asked Anna, trying to sound professional.
    “Just what I read when Beaumont was droning on. Looks like she met Monsieur La Salle when she was a student at the Sorbonne. She’s from a poor but aspirational family who turned their back on her when she married this French poet hippy and ended up with a baby. I guess the marriage didn’t work out and she ends up back in the States.”
    “Quite a story.” Commented Anna.
    “The story we want is some evidence on these hoods that are muscling in on sport. These gambling scams can wreck the credibility of sport all together. If these guys are still running around when the Olympics come to London, our political masters will not be amused. To be frank my sweet gal - I don’t care how we get our evidence.” Said Christine flatly as if she were talking about a trip to the seaside.
    “I’ll do my best.” Nodded Anna, beginning to feel the weight of what she had undertaken.
    “You can go to the top from this case but don’t think this is a walk in the park. This fight is in New York and our old Mafia friends will be in the shadows. You’ll be undercover without a safety net. They’ve already killed and some odd girlfriend could get caught in the crossfire. We’re talking millions and millions of dollars, pounds, euro and yen.”
    Anna