Love Is In the Air by Anji Nolan

Author:Anji Nolan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, suspense
Publisher: Crimson Romance, an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
Published: 2013-09-30T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Jim Cromwell paced the floor of the Portland Police Department waiting for a phone call. He’d received information from forensics that not only had a set of prints belonging to Dante Goldwater Merrill been lifted from the stolen Toyota they’d recovered at a warehouse in Orient Heights, but also that casts made of another vehicle at the scene revealed High-Grade Z-Rated Yokohama tires imported through Akron, Ohio. And while that information in itself might not have proved damaging to anyone, Jim had found out the factory had distributed the expensive custom tires to only fifteen U.S. outlets — and one of them happened to be Kickin’ It Custom in Queens, New York. He fancied he now had a direct path from Maine to his drug distributor.

When the phone rang, it was the NYPD, who said Kickin’ It Custom had been on their watch list for months. However, though they had an informant in place, they could find nothing to tie the operation to anything illegal. All they could tell Jim was the high-end car dealership pandered to the rich and famous. And to gain access to the showroom and speak to anyone, a customer referral was needed. Jim put down the phone and smiled. He knew exactly who might get that referral.

• • •

“Well hello, Sergeant Cromwell,” said Sophie. “Where have you been for the past two days?”

“Pulling impossibly late nights to try and forget how much I need you. What else would I be doing? I’m glad to see you’re still off the flying roster; I guess your plan worked.”

Sophie giggled. “You should have seen my performance at the doctor’s office. I could have won an Oscar. For the foreseeable future, I’m on PR duty only. You know I loathe all that stuff, but if being so visible makes me less of a target, and you get to sleep at night, I’m okay with it.”

“Who says I sleep at night? I’m alone and don’t seem to manage that so well anymore.”

“Don’t fret, little boy; mama will be home soon.”

Jim laughed. “So, I’ve been monitoring you in the tabloids. Who was the bozo at the Gargantua premiere?”

“Oooo,” she giggled. “Is that a little green monster raising its ugly head?”

“Maybe a tiny, tiny one. By the way, I loved the navy blue Badgley Mischka you wore, and the emeralds were a touch of genius.”

“Well thank you, kind sir. It’s good to know you have a keen fashion sense. Never know when that might come in handy.”

“Yeah that’s me, a positive Mr. Blackwell,” said Jim. “So who was the bozo practically drooling over you?”

Sophie laughed. “Before or after the flick?”

“Before — penguin suit, glasses, slicked back hair.”

“That was Skipper. Real name Cecil Calhoun Purvis the third.”

“Good grief, are you serious?” asked Jim.

“Swear to God. He’s the nephew of one of Granola’s major shareholders and heads up PR and Marketing. I didn’t wear it, but he bought me a wrist corsage.

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