Impossible!

CHAPTER 1

He knew his goose was cooked the very instant he saw her. His heart lurched and then missed a beat, his hands began to sweat, the air grew impossibly thin and if swallowing had meant the difference between life and death, he would have been a dead man. Never in his thirty-two years had he ever remembered reacting to woman this way. Well - correct that - with the exception of his second grade teacher, he'd never reacted this way to any woman! But then, what seven-year-old wouldn't have fallen in love with his teacher when she had brought donut holes to class on the first day of school? And not just one kind but three!

But the woman who held his attention now didn't bring images of grade school, play grounds or donut holes to mind. Instead, she filled his mind with images of slow, deep kisses, and mind-blowing, soul-stealing sex on cool black satin sheets! Silky, curling hair, in the deepest shade of red he had ever seen cascaded over her shoulders. Skin, the color of cream, made her deep green eyes all the more startling as her gaze swept over the audience, and met his only briefly, but widened just the tiniest bit in surprise. Her lips, full and perfectly shaped, were painted in what could only be termed racy red, and curved upward in the tiniest of smiles, both seductive and secretive, as she made her way down the catwalk. Clothed in a peignoir made of the sheerest cream colored silk and lace he'd ever seen, he watched the fabric swirl sensually around her as she moved. A quick turn had him catching a glimpse of one shapely leg, from her bare foot all the way up to her hip, and the teasing slim line of what had to be the narrowest side of a pair of panties he'd ever seen. As she reached the end of the catwalk, she turned, let the peignoir's wrap slip from her shoulders into a whispering puddle of fabric, and looked directly at Delaney. A Cheshire cat smile and a saucy wink had him catching his breath in disbelief.

And he could have sworn he heard a wicked, deep laugh escape her parted lips and with a teasing toss of the smoldering hair that fell to the middle of her barely covered back, she walked away from him, her hips swaying even more seductively than before.

She was killing him! Visions of all that flaming hair, draped across satin sheets, her body meeting his as he ravished her, had his body going into overload.

"Chief O'Connell, did you see what she did?" Can you believe it?" The questions came from his left, the voice filled with both awe and excitement.

Sparing a quick glance at the patrolman beside him, he had to remind himself not to scowl at the kid. Blonde, blue-eyed, tall and lanky, he looked more like a high school student than someone old enough to be wearing a police uniform and carrying a gun. When had the San Diego Police Department started hiring children? Looking around, he could understand the kid's reaction. It wasn't everyday you found yourself providing protective services and surrounded by gorgeous models parading around in lingerie meant to drive a man insane.

"I've died and gone to heaven!" the kid murmured softly, his gaze taking in the models that sashayed seductively down the runway before him, barely covered in the upcoming season's most provocative lingerie.

Chief Delaney O'Connell couldn't help the smile that had his lips curving at the kid's comment. The very same thought had crossed his mind. "Enjoy the view but remember you're here to do a job. Keep your eyes and ears opened, and your mind on the job. We screw this one up and the Commissioner will have all our asses!"

"Yes sir!" the kid agreed, pulling his eyes from the models and scanning the crowd that filled the huge ballroom at the Hotel Del Coronado.

 Seductive music drifted through the air. The sultry wail of a saxophone cast notes filled with need and desire into the atmosphere, as the models continued their sexy walks down the walkway, creating a mood that clearly stated its intent. Pure and simple, this was how one went about the business of selling sex legally! Delaney couldn't help shaking his head in admiration of the beautiful women before him. "All point check," he murmured into the small microphone attached to the lapel of his dark sports coat, his eyes constantly scanning the crowd. Never in his life had he seen a woman walk the way these women did, strolling so sensually he wouldn't have even blinked in surprise if he'd seen smoke rising from the ground beneath their feet. More so, he wasn't surprised when it took a second call to his men at their various stations before he finally received their callbacks. He had to concede, he was dealing with a bunch of men, cops though they may be, watching women barely clothed, parade about as if they were wearing snowsuits. A man would have had to be dead not to react - well - manly.

"Check point one, all clear."

"Check point two, all clear."

"Check point three, all clear."

And so it went, through all eleven checkpoints. All was clear, and that wasn't a bad thing!

When Commissioner Buchanan had come to Delaney, requesting he take this assignment, Delaney's first reaction had been a resounding NO. He and his men had a lot more important things to take care of than baby-sitting a bunch of models in town for a fashion show. There were plenty of private sector security agencies in the city that could have been used, but Delaney knew the moment Commissioner Buchanan had dropped the hint that the fashion designer was his Goddaughter, he'd known any further discussion would be worthless. The fact the Commissioner had come to him said a lot, because the Commissioner had made it a way of life not to ask for favors. Ever! The fact it also put a whole different type of pressure on Delaney, and his men, made him wonder if there was some way he could have managed to finagle his way out of the request. Then again, Commissioner Buchanan would have simply made it a demand and that would have been that!

So admitting some battles couldn't be won, (or for that matter, weren't even worth the fight) he had agreed to take on the case and here he was, legally ogling women he would have arrested for indecent exposure if they'd been on the street parading around the way they were now. Of course, that also entailed keeping his men's minds on their jobs, while the poor schleps were surrounded by nearly naked women showing off their goodies! Men were simple creatures; it didn't take much to fry what little brain matter they had! Which, when he really thought about it, would have taken all of about eleven seconds, considering the filmy bits of cloth they wore and called lingerie, that barely covered their bodies. Hardly the worst detail to be saddled with! But then again it made scanning the crowded room and looking for someone who had decided it was their job to see such '&ldots;scandalous and lewd clothing, the designer who had created it, and the whores who wore it, were sent to hell for adding to the deterioration of the God fearing people of the world&ldots;', or so the stalker's threatening letter had stated, that much trickier to find.

Delaney's blue-gray eyes scanned the crowd, looking for anything out of the ordinary that might signal a problem, but saw nothing that looked even remotely strange. The room was filled with more than four hundred people, gawking at women walking around in their underwear, and everything looked perfectly normal. If that didn't strike a strange cord, he couldn't imagine what might. Granted, he'd never been to a fashion show of any kind, but it was hard to imagine that such a crowd would show up for a 'lingerie show'. Then again, it was amazing how many people apparently didn't even blink to drop a quick two thousand dollars on a nightgown that probably wouldn't even make it through the night. Casting another quick glance toward the runway, he saw the models parading in yet another show of torturously sexual sleep ware ensembles, designed to turn a man to stone, and make sleeping the last thing on his mind. He wondered briefly if he, and his men, were going to survive this detail.

And he had to give credit where credit was due. The Commissioner's Goddaughter definitely knew what men liked when it came to dressing, or undressing, women. With the exception of one outfit, just a tad too out-there as far as he was concerned, he hadn't seen anything that wouldn't have inspired him under different conditions. Then again, rethinking the black outfit, under the right circumstances, it might have made for an exceptionally interesting night with the right woman! Not even realizing it, a deep chuckle vibrated in his chest.

"Like that one, Chief?" the patrolman at his side quietly asked him, his tone a bit surprised.

Delaney returned his mind quickly to the present and sent a quick glance toward the runway. Red, as he'd privately named her, was once again making her way down the runway. This time draped in yards and yards of silk the color of ripe peaches. She looked like a rich dessert begging to be tasted and he felt all his blood drain to the center of his body and his manhood surge to life. "Holy Christ!" he murmured softly, his mouth suddenly dry, his heart pounding as if he'd run a marathon.

Applause began as a soft wave and grew in intensity as the crowd showed their approval for the lavishly sensual, yet very conservative, peach creation the model wore and swirled about her. Showing off slim ankles and shapely calves, a soft smile, timid yet filled with sensual promise, lifted her full lips in a sexy, pouty manner.

And then the world froze.

As if in slow motion, Delaney watched in disbelief as her expression turned from joy to shock, and her hands reached for her stomach, the bright red of blood suddenly seeping from beneath her pale fingers, and spreading over the beautiful silk. For but a brief moment, his eyes met hers, and he frowned in confusion when it was anger, not fear or pain her saw in her smoldering green eyes.

Screams from the crowd echoed in the room, and pandemonium broke out as people jumped from their seats and began to run for the exits.

Delaney reached for the microphone on his lapel and yelled into it. "We've got a shooter; lock this fucking place down!" Without another word, he moved forward, toward the runway and Red who stood swaying in shock, her hands covered in blood, watching the wildness that surrounded her.

Delaney jumped up onto the end of the runway, and headed for her at full speed. Noting the surprise in her eyes just before he tackled her. Wrapping his arms around her protectively, he twisted so she fell on top of him as they hit the carpeted floor, instead of being crushed beneath him. In one quick motion, he rolled her under him, carefully draping his body over hers, keeping her tucked safely beneath his hard muscled body as he scanned the fleeing crowd and searched the balconies high above the floor, his gun already drawn. "Talk to me boys! Tell me you have the fuckin' perp!" he demanded into his microphone, listening to his men's responses through the tiny earphone, as he continued to peruse the melee of frightened people and models scattering for safety.

"I can't breathe." The statement was a weak whisper from beneath him.

He didn't look down at her, didn't dare take his eyes off the chaotic scene, but simply offered encouragingly, "Hang tight, darlin', help's on the way. Just take slow, easy breaths."

His voice was deep and calm and held just a hint of an Irish brogue that had her smiling in spite of the precarious position she was in. The brief glimpse she'd gotten of him before he'd tackled her had left her with the impression of a huge football player thundering toward her, and looking at her as if she was on the opposing team. She'd been certain she was about to be demolished, but instead found herself encircled by muscular arms, flying through the air and surrounded by a very warm, large body, who was crushing her as he tried to protect her. She just wished she could get a look, at more than the wide pair of shoulders encased in black wool, that obscured her vision.

"I can't," she murmured breathlessly, her warm breath teasing his neck as he felt her shift restlessly beneath him.

"Don't move, you're injured," Delaney demanded firmly, pressing against her, stilling her motion, his steely gaze taking in the uniformed police officers as they entered the room and made their way forward.

"What?" The woman's voice was weak and confused.

"Chief, the scene's secured. Back-up and paramedics are incoming," a voice sounded through the earphone and Delaney watched as the paramedics wheeled in gurneys and medical equipment.

"Ten-four," Delaney responded and holstered his weapon, leaning up on his elbow to look down into the pale face of the injured woman beneath him. Up close she was even more beautiful than she'd been from a few yards away, and he found the dusting of freckles that covered her nose endearing. "Help's here; you're going to be fine," he offered calmly.

The woman looked up into Delaney's gorgeous blue-gray eyes and felt herself holding her breath. His eyes were the kind that made you want to simply slip beneath their hypnotizing gaze and promise to do whatever they wanted if they would only keep looking at you forever. The way he looked at her actually made her feel giddy! For the briefest of instants, his eyes moved downward and then narrowed before returning to hers and she frowned in concern. "What's wrong?" she asked breathlessly.

He shook his head lightly back and forth. "Don't worry about anything; these guys are the best. You're going to be fine," he offered calmly, nodding toward the arriving paramedics.

"I don't need any paramedics."

Concern entered Delaney's eyes. It wasn't the first time he'd seen people seriously wounded, in shock and unaware of their injuries. It was a fine line one had to walk to keep someone in shock calm and not make their injuries worse by alarming them. At the same time, he had to remain calm himself, and the bright blood that covered the woman's abdomen didn't make it easy to do so. There was a disturbingly distinctive smell to blood that one didn't forget, a metallic taste that seemed to hang in the air and stick in the back of your throat. If he'd taken the time to think about it, it would have dawned on him he wasn't feeling nauseous like he usually did when he was in such close proximity to blood. He also didn't bother to counter her comment, but instead spoke as if he hadn't heard it. "They're here to help you. They'll have you breathing easy again in no time."

The woman looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. What was wrong with the man? He might be gorgeous but he was a being a lunatic at the moment. "I can breathe just fine now, but thanks anyway," she stated firmly, trying to sit up, only to find his hand pressing her back down to the floor, his fingers covering her right hand where it rested against her stomach.

"Are you trying to kill yourself? Don't move!" he growled, his beautiful eyes filled with concern and a hint of anger, before he sent the paramedics a scowl that clearly asked why they were taking so long to begin working on her. Christ, at the rate they were moving, she'd bleed out before they even got their bags open!

The woman looked at him with wide, question filled eyes. One of the two of them was totally out of it and unless she was mistaken, it wasn't her. "Look pal, I'm fine. Really," she began only to flinch in pain, when she felt him press harder against her hand. "Owwww. Do you have to do that?"

"It'll slow the bleeding," he murmured softly, his accent showing itself again.

"What bleeding?"

Delaney ignored her question, and sent another glance toward the paramedics, now moving toward her, finally ready to take over her care. "You're going to be fine," he murmured, rolling away from her.

"Chief Delaney."

Pulling his gaze away from the paramedics as they began to work on the woman, he found himself facing one of his men.

"Chief Delaney, Commissioner Buchanan is looking for you," the officer stated, pointing toward a group of men a short distance away.

"Thanks," Delaney murmured, nodding in acknowledgment before he headed off in the direction of the group of men surrounding Commissioner Buchanan.

He hadn't walked more than a few feet away when a scream erupted behind him; the sound sending the small hairs on the back of his neck jumping to attention and he was sure if he'd had fillings in his teeth, they would have been screaming in pain as well. A quick turn had him watching in disbelief, as the woman in peach, struggled to sit upright, pushing away the paramedic's assisting hands, her lungs working just fine.

"Get your damn hands off of me!" she yelled angrily.

He immediately retraced his steps, jumping up onto the walkway, coming to kneel beside the struggling woman. "Ma'am, if you'd just lay back and relax, the paramedics can help you. But if you keep thrashing around, you're just going to make your injury that much worse. Please. Cooperate." Delaney's calm voice held just a hint of desperation. Didn't the woman know how seriously she was hurt? Didn't she understand everyone was just trying to help her?

Everyone was doing their very best to cajole the beauty into complying, but their words fell on deaf ears. She wasn't having any part of their nonsense and continued her tirade.

"I don't need to lie back and relax; there's not a damn thing wrong with me other than this gown is ruined! Do you have any idea how much it cost?" she railed, again struggling to pull the full-length skirt out from beneath one of the paramedic's knees.

"Ma'am, please," a paramedic pleaded, falling sideways as the woman succeeded in finally pulling the silken skirt from beneath his knees. With a loud crash, his case full of equipment tumbled over the side of the walkway, scattering medical paraphernalia all over the carpet.

"Ma'am! You need to calm down!" Delaney's voice lost its calmness and turned forceful, as he watched her push the second paramedic away from her, barely saving him from going over the opposite side of the walkway his partner had gone over only seconds before. After making sure the paramedics were still in one piece, he returned his attention to the vision in peach, wondering how someone so who couldn't weigh much more than a hundred pounds could cause such havoc? And then it hit him. He'd read People magazine; he'd seen the TV gossip shows. He was a knowledgeable man of the twenty-first century. If she wasn't flying high on some designer drug, his name wasn't Delaney O'Connell!

Worried about her hurting herself anymore than she already had, he did what he had to do. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he forcibly pushed her back to the ground, laying his upper body over hers, and throwing one leg over her still thrashing legs as she twisted to escape his grip. Screaming what could definitely be termed as threats of bodily harm against him at the top of her lungs, he couldn't help the smile the curved his lips at her language. Her words would have made a sailor blush, but he had to give her credit for her imaginative suggestions. Looking down into her flushed and furious face, he found himself startled to be thinking of ways to otherwise occupy that ranting mouth, and for a split second, actually considered covering it with his own, simply to gain some silence. For a woman with a gunshot wound to the gut, she had a set of lungs on her that would have done an opera singer proud!

"Ma'am, you're going to hurt yourself," Delaney murmured, pressing more of his weight against her as he felt her wriggling free.

"Not if you let go of me!"

The wiggling continued, causing both concern and physical reactions Delaney didn't want to even acknowledge, let alone think about. Maybe a straight forward approach was what was needed to get her to subside her erratic behavior and gain her cooperation. Sometimes being blunt did the trick. "Ma'am, you've been shot." His tone was firm, no-nonsense, and bordering on angry.

The woman looked up at him in astonishment, and immediately ceased struggling. For all of five seconds and then she really lost it. "With a damn paint ball, you moron!" she hissed.

Delaney looked down at the stain, realized in that instant that the sickening smell of blood that always had his stomach roiling and his head throbbing wasn't present and called himself seven kinds of a fool. This had definitely turned into one of those days where he never should have even gotten out of bed this morning! "Ma'am&ldots;" he murmured, planning to apologize, only to find her again pushing at him forcefully.

"Get off of me, you ass!" she growled, arching her back, her eyes widening in surprise as their hips bumped, and she encountered what suspiciously felt like an aroused male. Sending him a furious glare, she hissed nastily, "Is that a flashlight in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?"

Delaney simply quirked one eyebrow at her, and sent her a dark look. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

For a brief second she couldn't think, and then her green eyes darkened and she frowned at the answer; unhappy his low voice had immediately sent warm tingles rushing through her body. Why she should respond to an obvious Neanderthal simply proving his superior strength pissed her off more than the fact the forty-eight hundred-dollar peignoir ensemble she was wearing was completely ruined and that fact really pissed her off! "I don't want to know a damn thing about you. But you, on the other hand, should know, just how much trouble you're in!"

"I'm not the one who's been threatening a police officer for the last five minutes with various forms of torture and death that I'm sure are illegal in most states and probably a few European countries as well!" Delaney countered darkly. Did she really think she could scare him?

"You don't know who I am!" she taunted him.

"Not yet, but I can assure you, I will very shortly!" he fired back, flinching as he felt a sharp pinch along his waist. "Owww! That's assault, sweetheart!" he growled, pressing against her even harder, and smiling to himself when he heard her gasp of surprise as her lungs were compressed and she could only take shallow little breaths.

"You don't know who you're dealing with," she whispered, barely able to breathe but swearing silently to herself she would not plead with him to ease off her chest and let her have some air.

"So tell me," Delaney taunted her; once again too aware of the softness of her breasts beneath his chest and fullness of her parted lips as she breathed shallowly. It would be so easy to simply close the short distance between their lips and see if she tasted as delicious as they looked.

The woman's eyes lifted, looking over Delaney's shoulder and her lips curved into a smile. Her eyes filled with a Cheshire-like glimmer. "Hi Uncle Aidan," she whispered sweetly.

The small hairs on Delaney's neck began to dance again.

"Hello, Devon." The voice was impossible not to recognize, Commissioner Buchanan stood over his shoulder.

Could the day get any fuckin' better!

Delaney closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. Sighing harshly, he prayed this whole fiasco was nothing more than a horrible nightmare he'd awaken from, but when his eyes fluttered open, he found himself looking into the darkest green eyes he'd ever seen; now filled with haughtiness, arrogance, and way too smug.

"Chief O'Connell, I'd like you to meet my Goddaughter, Devon Sommersby. Devon, this is Captain Delaney O'Connell."

Both their expressions echoed disbelief and astonishment, and Devon's light push had Delaney immediately sitting up, and offering her a hand in assistance.

Devon slapped it away, not even considering consorting with what she perceived to be the enemy and sat up, her eyes filled with fire. "You owe me forty-eight hundred dollars!" she stated flatly, her hands running over the ruined peach silk, her eyes filling with tears at the blood-red paint that stained the front of the gown.

Delaney blinked in surprise. "I beg your pardon?" Surely he couldn't have heard her right. Forty-eight hundred dollars for a nightgown?

"If you'd been doing your job, this wouldn't look the way it does right now!" Devon growled, her beautiful hands holding the ruined material away from her slim body.

"We were doing everything possible&ldots;" Delaney began only to be interrupted.

"Well, it obviously wasn't enough! Look at this," Devon railed, crushing the delicate silk in her hands, then finding several small tears in the skirt. The fabric was as thin as tissue paper and obviously hadn't survived being man-handled. In frustration, she groaned and simply added one more long tear to the fabric. What the hell difference did it matter? The gorgeous creation was destroyed anyway. "Do you have any idea how long it took to make this?"

Delaney gave her a condescending look. "I would hazard a guess longer than it's taking you to shred it!" He spoke to her as if she were a child in the middle of a tantrum, calm and condescending. But it was the glint of humor in his blue-gray eyes that really set her off.

"Do you think this is fucking funny?" she asked furiously.

"Devon&ldots;" Commissioner Buchanan cajoled quietly, looking at her warily. He'd seen it happen too many times, knew what was coming and wished to hell he was anywhere but here. When she'd been a child, Devon throwing a simple tantrum had been bad enough. But now, as an adult, when she really went ballistic and exploded there wasn't a safe place on the planet!

"I think you're getting your knickers in a twist over a nightgown."

Devon's green eyes darkened dangerously. "Pardon me?" She really wanted to kill the man.

"Take a moment and think about it. Would you really rather have been shot with a bullet instead of a paint ball?" Delaney asked in astonishment. The woman was in a full-blown rage over a stain on a nightgown!

Devon was speechless; rage, disbelief and astonishment all warred for first billing and her hands clenched in tight fists at her side as she fought back the urge to punch the arrogant idiot in the face. In confusion she cast her gaze to her Godfather, surely he could offer her some hope. "This is the best you have to offer?"

At the Commissioner's small nod, she closed her eyes in frustration.

"I'm a dead woman."

The statement was made in as flat and cold a tone as he had ever heard and his ego blanched at her disbelief in his capabilities. He hadn't become a Chief with the San Diego Police Department by being an idiot! He'd devoted his entire adult life to the business of 'protecting and serving' those in need, and now he was faced with a diva who didn't think he could do the job he'd been given; namely, keep her shapely ass alive until the person stalking her had been apprehended and no longer posed a threat. Briefly, he wondered, if the world would really miss one less diva, but quickly brushed the thought aside knowing that there were at least a few people on the planet who would miss her, Commissioner Buchanan being one of them. So, he'd have to suck up his desire to paddle her snotty ass and see if he couldn't do the job that he'd promised his superior he'd do.

"You'll make it through just fine if you follow my orders," Delaney stated, just as coldly, brushing off his pants as he stood up.

Devon scrambled to her feet, her feet getting tangled in the full silk skirts and tripping her, and leaving her with no option but to mumble a thanks as Delaney's hand came out to steady her. Finally taking the time to look at him, she managed to keep her surprise to herself. Tall, the man definitely looked as if football would have been his sport of choice. With wide shoulders, that showed through the fine cut of his sport coat, she noted the black turtleneck didn't detract, but rather enhanced, the definition of his muscular upper body. Long legs encased in black trousers showed the flexing muscles of his thighs and her body again tingled as she contemplated the way his body had felt pressed against hers. A quick glance at his crotch had her lifting her eyebrows questioningly. His answering smug expression as he caught her look told her he knew exactly what she was thinking and she wanted to punch him yet again as she felt heat flush her cheeks.

Waving black hair, cut conservatively but stylishly, and shapely black eyebrows drew attention to his startling blue-gray eyes and the unfairly lush black lashes. Why did men always seem to be granted the gift of long beautiful eyelashes and perfectly shaped brows, when women had to constantly struggle with their own? Simply one more point of proof that God was male! Add to that sculpted cheekbones, a nose that was too straight and lifted arrogantly, and emphasized his full lips, (which were presently scowling at her), all in all, he was tolerable to look at. Okay, more than tolerable, but she wouldn't think about that. Nor would she think about how her body tingled every time she got near him. She refused to be attracted to an overbearing cop who couldn't even manage the simple job of making sure her fashion show had gone off cleanly. What did she have to show for the whole fiasco but a completely ruined expensive peignoir ensemble (that just happened to be her favorite creation), frightened models hiding God only who knew where who would be afraid to ever work for her again and buyers who would probably never purchase another item of anything from her? Her life sucked at the moment, and it was all his fault!

Another glance at him showed her he was still waiting for her response. "I don't follow orders; I give them!" she argued stubbornly, lifting her chin defiantly.

Delaney's eyes flared with frustration and he opened his mouth to argue with her, but at that moment, a loud explosion sounded, and the building shook with the aftershock. Windows rattled, chandeliers swayed and crystal tinkled, but otherwise the building remained intact.

Everyone remaining in the building looked to each other, questions clearly reflected in terror filled eyes, and police radios on the officer's belts inside the building were busy chattering as questions were asked and information exchanged.

"Chief Delaney, come in," an officer called over the radio.

"Delaney here," he answered, pressing on his lapel microphone.

"We've had an explosion in the parking lot. Single vehicle, but fire's involved two other cars. No known injuries at this time. Fire department's on the way - ETA four minutes."

"Ten-four. Keep me advised," Delaney called into the microphone.

"Is anyone hurt?" Devon asked worriedly.

"Not that we're aware of," Delaney answered her curtly and began calling to his men on the radio, issuing instructions, and answering questions as they came in.

For several minutes, organized chaos reigned, and Devon found herself being finally checked out by the paramedics after relenting to the Commissioner's pleading. Other than being stained by the paint, and suffering a decent sized bruise by the paint pellet itself, a carpet burn to her elbow and one broken nail, were her only injuries. In her opinion they were more than enough!

The Commissioner had stayed with her while the paramedics worked, regaling her with fond remembrances and stories of happier times, trying to keep her mind off of the fiasco surrounding her and the shambles her fashion show had turned into. One day she'd be able to laugh about it, but today was not the day!

From across the room she'd watched Delaney interacting with his men, and had to admit, much to her distress, that he appeared to be efficient. Not that she could tell it from looking at the disaster of peach silk that covered her. Plucking at the destroyed designer peignoir, she sighed wistfully. This had been her baby; her favorite design out of all she'd made. She shouldn't even have been wearing it, but she couldn't resist showing it off. She refused to even allow another model to wear it, and so, the only way for the public to see it was if she had it on. So she'd slipped the sensuous creation over her silken skin, and sashayed her way down the catwalk, smiling like a sultans favorite, feeling like a million bucks, then found herself covered in blood-red paint and tackled by a monster as he tried to save her. If it wasn't so damn pathetic, it might actually be funny. But at the moment, nothing was funny.

And it didn't get any funnier when Delaney came strolling toward them, dangling what appeared to be a twisted license plate between his fingers.

"Do you recognize this?" he asked, holding up the twisted plate so she could see it.

SLPN2IT. Devon cringed as she reached for her license plate. She'd been so proud when she'd finally thought of a license plate that could also advertise her passion: lingerie. It had taken hours, but she'd decided on the perfect slogan. Slip into it. Thus SLPN2IT had come to be. And was now obviously in close to the same condition as her peach creation. "My car's the one that exploded?" she asked quietly.

Delaney nodded up and down.

"How bad is it?"

"That's one of the bigger pieces," he answered quietly, nodding toward the plate she still held carefully in her fingers.

"My car&ldots;" she whimpered. Closing her eyes she thought about the shiny, silver little BMW roadster she'd loved so dearly, all the road trips she'd taken up the coast in the speedy little toy that hugged the curves as surely as her designer lingerie hugged the lines of all who wore them. When her eyes blinked back open, there was a new light in them, one filled with fire and anger. "This is all your fault!" she accused Delaney.

Delaney rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Why doesn't it surprise me to hear you say that?"

"You owe me for my car! If you'd been doing your job, my car would still be in one piece," she railed at him, her voice growing louder as he turned and walked away from her, ignoring her scathing comments.

"Start a tab for me!" he called over his shoulder, smiling as he heard her scream his name and then curse him to hell.

"Too late, I'm already there!" he mumbled to himself, and kept walking, heading back outside, hoping the sea air would blow away his urge to wrap his fingers around her slim, white neck and kiss her senseless.

Walking out onto the verandah, he leaned his elbows against the pristine white railing and gazed to the west, the startling blue of the Pacific Ocean encompassing his view, the smell of the ocean blowing on the breeze, caressing his face and settling his ragged nerves.

The woman was going to drive him stark raving nuts before this case was over, he was certain of it!

"Chief Delaney?"

The call came from behind him and he looked over his shoulder to once again find the young policeman a few feet behind him. He still liked like an anxious puppy. "Yes?"

"Commissioner Buchanan is requesting your presence." The kid stated the request with what could only be termed a 'pained' expression.

He understood the expression and commiserated with the young policeman. "Thanks." Casting a final expression to the calm ocean before him and knowing he was walking back into the heart of an erupting volcano, he lifted his chin, squared his shoulders, and led the way back inside, mumbling briefly, the kid falling in behind him.

"I'm sorry, sir, did you say something?" the kid asked.

Delaney gave the kid a considering look, and answered him with a growl. "I said this is going to be fucking impossible!"

The kid's eyebrows lifted in surprise. It was only during the most stressful of situations when you heard the captain using the 'f' word! In fact, the captain had a way of looking at you if he caught you using that particular word that made you feel as if you'd been caught by your mother with your pants down around your ankles! With his free use of the word and his dire expression, things had to be a whole lot than anyone was letting on they were. So doing the only thing he could think to do, he murmured, "Yes, sir," in confused agreement and silently followed the captain back into the building.

Chapter 2

The day didn't improve! Not that Delaney had actually thought it might, but he figured it couldn't hurt to hope. Of course, hoping did make it happen. And so, over the course of the next three hours, police scoured the grand ballroom, the model's dressing rooms, and the parking lot. Investigators traced and retraced their foot steps as they searched for the most mundane, least-likely piece of evidence that might give them some idea who the nut-case was that had not only wrecked havoc with the fashion show, and set off a bomb in public parking lot, but more importantly, had actually taken a shot at the Police Commissioner's goddaughter.

The search wasn't going well. After spending the better part of the afternoon searching the crime scenes, the evidence they had found bordered on pathetic and was of little use, even though they bagged it anyway, and frustration levels were rapidly escalating.

Commissioner Buchanan had tried his hardest to have Devon taken to the hospital to be thoroughly checked out, but her lack of cooperation had left the paramedics shell-shocked, wary and more than a little anxious that she might explode again. They couldn't pick up their gear and get their bruised butts out of the place fast enough when the Commissioner finally relented and released them to be on their way.

Apprehensively they cast suspicious glances her way as they made sure they'd found every piece of their medical gear that had been scattered upon Devon's initial outburst and finally, heaving sighs of relief, made their escape amid mumbled comments of 'nuts' and 'crazy' and something about sympathy for the commissioner.

Devon's fury-filled eyes followed their every move and an inelegant sound escaped her lips when they were finally gone. "What a bunch of morons; they can't even tell the difference between blood and paint. How do they manage to handle real emergencies?" she hissed.

The commissioner cast a quick look heavenward, prayed for patience, and looked calmly at his goddaughter. "They're excellent paramedics, Devon."

Another inelegant snort sounded. "Could have fooled me! What'd they do, train at the same school the idiot cop did?"

Commissioner Buchanan rubbed a tired hand over his eyes and counted to ten. She was in a full-blown snit and arguing with her would only make it last that much longer. Besides, he knew none of his men were idiots. "Which idiot cop would that be, Devon?"

Devon looked at him in amazement. "The one who tackled me, that's who! Who else could it be?"

"He was trying to keep you safe," the commissioner countered.

"If he'd been doing his job properly, tackling me wouldn't have even become an issue," she argued, her chin lifting stubbornly, their gazes locked.

"Devon&ldots;" the commissioner began, only to stop himself before things got so out of control they ended up saying things that couldn't be taken back later. His goddaughter was as hardheaded as they came. Her emotions ran hot and passionate and when she'd made up her mind about something it was next to impossible to change it. And usually she was fair about listening to both sides before making a decision. In this instance, for whatever reason, she'd taken it into her head to dislike Delaney on general purpose, and nothing he could say was going to change her way of thinking. At least he didn't have to worry about the two of them getting involved with each other. Watching Delaney, as he made his way toward them, if the scowl on his face was any indication, he wasn't any crazier about Devon than she was about him.

"Commissioner, we just got a call from dispatch regarding Miss Sommersby's home," Delaney told his boss.

"My home? What's going on at my home?" Devon asked in disbelief. Surely this couldn't be happening. First her show, then her car, and now her home?

"Apparently your neighbor noticed what he thought looked like a cat in your front yard, running loose. Do you own a cat?"

"I have three, they're inside cats only," she murmured, her heart starting to pound as she thought about the possibility someone had hurt her babies.

"Well, your neighbor decided to get a closer look at the cat, because he was kind of staggering around in the grass," Delaney cast a quick look at the commissioner and at his nod, continued, "and didn't look quite right."

"What do you mean the cat didn't look 'quite right'?"

Delaney took a breath. "Ma'am, do you own a hairless cat?"

Devon looked at him in confused silence.

"The cat in your front yard is hairless, or at least is now - mostly."

Devon's eyes widened at Delaney's last word. "Mostly? What do you mean 'mostly'?" She asked the question in the softest, calmest voice he'd ever heard but he could feel the underlying anger building around him and if her eyes were any indication, she was rapidly moving toward furious.

God she was gorgeous!

"It looks as if the cat was shaved. He's&ldots;"

"I have only females," she interrupted him.

"Well then, she's bald, except for her feet, her ears and the end of her tail."

Devon's elegant hands covered her mouth and she gasped in disbelief. "What color is she?" she mumbled from behind her hands.

It was Delaney's turn to look confused.

Devon pulled her hands from her face and snapped her fingers in front of his face. "The cat, what color is the cat?"

Delaney seemed to snap back to the present and mumbled, "The officer said she's kind of orangy."

"Peaches." Devon sighed sadly; knowing how distressed her baby would be to seen without her lovely orange and peach colored fur. She was a sensitive, sweet cat, who loved to be brushed. Now there wouldn't be anything to brush and the very thought made Devon furious all over again. "Take me home!" she demanded.

Delaney and the commissioner looked at each other, their silent messages to each other clear. You take her!

 Devon looked from her godfather to Delaney and back again and with a low growl of frustration, grabbed Delaney's arm. "I don't have time for this. Take me home now, Captain O'Connell, and then you can walk away and forget about protecting me. I can protect myself!"

Hustling him out of the ballroom, she stopped only long enough to grab her purse from the dressing room she had used, and followed Delaney outside to find the sun had disappeared and a steady rain was now falling.

"Hell," she murmured, casting her eyes to the dark clouds; coming to a stop under the protective awning and watching as Delaney continued out into the parking lot, seemingly ignoring the rain.

"O'Connell!" she called.

He ignored her and kept moving forward.

"O'Connell!" she yelled, louder this time.

"You said you wanted to go home; I'm taking you home. You won't get there if you don't get in the car, and you may have long legs, but you're not going to be able to do it from there," he called over his shoulder, ignoring her sound of frustration and protest.

"Bring the car up," she demanded.

"Don't have time. The rain's getting worse and it's going to take us that much longer to get you home as it is. I'd quit screwing around if I were you," he taunted her, lifting his eyes to the sky, the once gentle rain growing heavier, heavy drops splashing on his face.

"I'm not screwing around. I need you to bring the car up here," Devon yelled. "I can't get this material wet!"

Delaney rolled his eyes in exasperation. "That nightgown's tanked! What difference does it make if it gets wet?" he growled, not even bothering to wait for her answer as he slipped into the SUV and putting the key in the ignition, started the huge engine with a twist of his fingers.

Devon looked to the sky again, scowled at the downpour and cursed herself to hell and back. Of all the times to find herself stuck in the rain, she had to be wearing silk that would disappear into nothingness as soon as it got wet. And, of all places to have it happen, it just had to be in the middle of a huge parking lot, filled with cops and firemen, and too many gawkers to count!

Delaney had pulled the monstrous machine out of the parking spot, and moved it forward but had stopped it some fifty feet away from her. Him honking the horn impatiently had her gritting her teeth, but when he waved her forward hastily, she began thinking about ways she'd like to slowly torture him.

Giving it one last shot, she gestured from him to move forward. His only response was another impatient blast on the horn.

"Idiot!" she mumbled to herself, and knowing what was to come, she cautiously made her way down the steps and out into the rain. Within seconds she was saturated, the peach fabric melting against her body as it seemed to disappear around her.

Delaney couldn't believe his eyes. In a matter of seconds, the material literally seemed to dissolve around her, leaving him gawking at a magnificent pair of breasts and looking as if she was wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of what could loosely be called underwear. He could only imagine how much less there was to the back of them considering how little there was to the front of them! Slamming the SUV into park, he jumped from the vehicle, and ran toward Devon, slipping the coat from his shoulders. "Don't you own any normal sized underwear?" he growled, swinging the coat around her shoulders, grabbing one hand and pulling her back toward the SUV.

"I told you I shouldn't get the material wet!" Devon argued, following him as he moved to the passenger's door and opened it for her, helping her up into the large vehicle. Her foot slipped on the wet running board and his hands automatically reached for her, his eyes widening in astonishment as the coat rode up and he got an eyeful of a very shapely bottom covered in sheer, wet silk, and not a lot else.

"You didn't tell me it was going to dissolve around you!" he argued huskily, throwing the rest of the wet material of her skirts into the SUV and slamming the door.

"Maybe if you'd listened to me!" she yelled at his retreating body.

He ignored her comment and took his time rounding the back of the SUV, regaining control of his emotions and his body, doing everything he could to erase the erotic image of her nearly-naked body from his mind, before he entered the SUV. Sending her a quick look, he stated flatly, "Buckle up - it's the law!"

Belligerently, she sat there, unmoving, waiting to see his reaction.

All it took was one steady, long, dark look, and the subtle raising of one eyebrow in warning, and she was clicking the buckle into place. He couldn't help the little smug smile that curved his lips as he put the vehicle into motion.

"Are you always so anal?" Devon complained.

She'd stayed silent longer than he would have bet she would have. "There are reasons for rules. That particular one saves lives."

"And you think it's your job to see every rule's followed?"

"As many as I can," he replied smugly.

She sent him a look that screamed Yeah, right!

"If it makes it any easier, the State of California seems to think it's my job too," he replied drolly.

Devon shrugged her shoulders, the huge coat barely moving up and down. "Some people say 'rules are meant to be broken'."

"Some people say 'women are meant to be seen and not heard' too," he countered condescendingly.

"Not in this country!" Devon argued.

"Miss Sommersby, you'd be surprised at the people in this country who seem to think that rule should stand. I, personally, am not one of them. Although I do believe there are times when being quiet would suit a particular situation."

"Such as when a man is losing an argument with a woman?" Devon asked sweetly, her eyes shining devilishly.

Delaney's eyes scanned the traffic in front of him, silently contemplating her statement for a moment. "Do men lose arguments with women?" he challenged her.

She sent him a dismissive look. "Constantly, but since men don't talk to each other about anything but sports and business they're unaware it's an occurrence that happens regularly."

"Unlike women, who spill their guts regularly to anyone who will listen."

"That's not true!"

"Oh, please&ldots;" he chuckled in astonishment, his deep laugh sending warm currents flowing through her body. "Women are constantly complaining to other women what morons and insensitive clods we men are."

"We're not complaining to 'other women', we're discussing our miseries with close friends and confidants, who just happen to be women. Or gay men," she added as an afterthought.

Delaney's gaze swung around, and his expression was priceless. "Why would you know gay men?"

Devon's eyes widened in pretended innocence, and she pulled the front of his coat open, displaying the clinging silk that was still too damp to hide much. She didn't notice the way his breath caught or that he suddenly had difficulty swallowing. "Hello! Look at the field I'm in. News flash, Captain, it's not unusual to run into gay men in the designing business!" Her voice was filled with barely contained laughter and the fact her tone was sing-songy made him feel ridiculous.

He had to stamp down the urge to ask how many gay men had seen her naked, had touched her. Why the thought should even cross his mind, let alone bother him, had him scowling again. "I suppose," he finally mumbled.

Devon sent him a sideways glance, saw the way his jaw tightened and relaxed in anger and wanted to brush her fingers across it and tell him to relax. But for some reason the idea he was bothered by the idea that men had seen her naked made her want to smile and she had no desire to try to figure that problem out. The man infuriated her! He was obviously inept at his job; look at the fiasco the day was turning into. Granted, he was tolerably handsome - okay, he was gorgeous - but that didn't mean he knew what the hell he was doing. What on earth had her Uncle Aidan been thinking when he'd asked the captain to put her under his protection until this stalker was found and taken care of? They'd be lucky if they didn't kill each other before that happened! Unconsciously she scratched the spot that was itching on her neck, pondering the turn her day had taken and silently worrying about Peaches, the poor kitty. Who on earth would have done something as awful as shave a cat? The more she thought about it, the more her neck itched. And then her shoulders. And then her chest. And then her arms.

Pushing the sleeves of the jacket up her arm, she groaned as she took in the rash that was turning her arm bright red. "Oh, hell!" she mumbled, taking a look at her other arm and finding the same rash.

Delaney cast her a quick look. "What's wrong?" His gaze took in the red rash spreading up both her bared arms. "What is that?" he asked worriedly, noting the same red rash was covering her upper chest and neck.

"Tell me your coat doesn't have wool in it?" she pleaded.

"A hundred percent pure virgin wool, at least according to the label."

Devon sent him a look filled with disbelief. "Wool is for cold weather climates! This is California. Who in their right mind wears wool in California?"

"It's November, and in case you didn't notice, it's a little cool today," he mumbled in explanation, casting another apprehensive glance at the rash on her upper body, and silently wondering if it had spread a little further up her neck. Never in a million years would he admit that he'd been sweating like the proverbial pig all day. So much for thinking to look like he blended with the crowd who'd been at the lingerie show.

"Temperatures in the fifty's is not cold enough to wear hundred percent wool!" Devon argued hotly, sending him a look so filled with disgust he thought he should apologize for his stupidity; and almost did.

Until common sense kicked in and it dawned on him he had nothing to apologize for. He'd been being gallant, offering her his coat. It wasn't his fault she hadn't told him she was allergic to wool! He had done nothing wrong. "Look, I was cold this morning, so I put on a fucking wool coat!" he growled.

"And look at me now," Devon demanded, trying unsuccessfully to stop from scratching at her itchy skin.

Delaney did as she asked and almost started scratching himself. The angry red rash was definitely moving upward and now the silken skin of her cheeks were beginning to look red as well. In commiseration his fingers actually twitched, and the spot between his shoulder blades began to itch. "You should put something on that," he mumbled, returning his gaze to the road ahead of him and sighing in relief as he turned onto her street and saw the squad cars parked in front of what had to be her house.

Coming to a skidding stop, Delaney shut off the engine and got out, circling around the back of the SUV on his way to help Devon from the vehicle when he watched her push the door open and scramble out of it, jumping down into the thick grass, the coat left behind on the seat.

The rain fell in a lazy drizzle that coated her bare skin and began to turn the silk once again into a tissue-thin veil that didn't cover, but enhanced, every square inch of Devon's shapely body. But she didn't notice. Her attention instead was centered on the slim man who stood talking to a police officer, holding a pathetic looking creature in his arms, stroking it gently and swaying comfortingly from side to side.

"Peaches!" Running forward, the man turned in his arms, his initial smile of greeting turning to a look of aghast disbelief as he took in her shredded gown and the angry red rash covering her arms, chest, neck and face.

Both the police officer and the man with the cat in his arms turned around, both their eyes widening at the sight of Devon, her gown a sheer veil covering her body.

"Good Lord, angel! What have you done to yourself?" he asked her, his appraising gaze moving up and down her body, his look entirely too territorial for Delaney.

"Wool." Devon answered, disgust clear in her voice, as she scooped her cat out of the man's arms and cuddled her close to her heart, her fingers lovingly caressing the cat, as she murmured words of comfort to the poor creature.

"Chief Delaney," the police officer taking the information from the man stated in acknowledgment.

"Officer Benton," Delaney offered in return.

"This is Antoine Saxton, Miss Sommersby's neighbor&ldots;" Benton began.

"And part time kitty-sitter," Antoine added with a smile, extending his hand to Delaney in greeting.

Delaney accepted the man's hand, and shook it, frowning only slightly at the rather soft handshake he received.

"Mr. Saxton is the one who found Peaches and called for assistance."

"Devon never lets her babies out of the house!" Antoine stated dramatically. "And then to find poor Peaches, looking as if she'd been scalped&ldots;" Antoine actually sniffed in sadness. "Why, I couldn't believe my eyes. Who could be so evil to commit such a horrible crime to such a darling little kitty?" he questioned with a very heart-felt sigh.

Benton and Delaney exchanged curious looks.

"Probably the same animal who tanked my show and blew up my car!" Devon snarled, continuing to cuddle Peaches who continued to look up at her in what could only be termed completely pitiful.

Antoine's slim, perfectly manicured hands, came together over his heart, and his eyes widened in disbelief. "Someone blew up your car?"

"Can you think of any other reason I would ride in a monster truck?" Devon countered, sending the vehicle a look of disgust.

Antoine shared a look of commiserating understanding with her.

"It's not a monster truck, it's an SUV," Delaney countered.

"Same thing!" Antoine and Devon's voices rang out together.

"It got you here, didn't it?" Delaney argued.

"With a rash," Antoine added, taking a closer look at Devon and cringing at the mass of red welts.

"The SUV didn't give her a rash," Delaney growled.

"No, you did that with your stupid wool coat," Devon contended.

"I didn't know you were allergic to wool," Delaney groaned.

"Why were you wearing a wool coat?" Antoine asked curiously, looking at the bigger man with a speculative look that had Delaney wanting to move a little closer to Devon.

"It was cold this morning!" he stated defensively.

Everyone looked at him as if he was crazy, and then Antoine and Devon shared a look that had them rolling their eyes in disgust, and Benton looking at him curiously. It was all too ridiculous!

"We should get you a shot of Benadryl and some calamine lotion for that rash," Antoine suddenly suggested, breaking the strange mood.

"I have some inside," Devon stated, moving across the lawn and toward the front door of her home.

"Not anymore you don't, angel. I hate to be the messenger - being they're always getting shot and all - but whoever blew up your car did a job on your house too."

"No!" Devon murmured; refusing to believe any such thing could be possible. Looking to Officer Benton, she silently pleaded for his denial.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Mr. Saxton is right. Your home's a bit messier now than when you left it this morning. Investigators are in there now."

"'Messier'? Now that's an understatement! Angel, it looks as if someone turned it upside down and shook it!" Antoine exclaimed, too dramatically if you asked Delaney.

Devon sent a furious look toward Delaney and then her house, and all of a sudden her face went white. "My other cats?" she asked breathlessly.

"They're fine. Mr. Saxton was kind enough to get them into their cages for us; they were giving the investigators a bit of trouble," Officer Benton explained lightly.

"They don't like strangers much," she said absently, rubbing her face against Peaches' soft skin, and fighting back tears that suddenly seemed too close to the surface. How had a day that had started out so amazingly turned to crap so quickly? It was all too much to think about.

All three men watched Devon, and saw the sheen of tears in her eyes, but it was Antoine who stepped forward and clapping his hands lightly together, stated, "Suppose we go reunite you with your babies? They'll certainly be happy to see you and besides, I have calamine lotion and Benadryl at home so we can get you fixed up as well." Sending questioning looks to both Officer Benton and Chief Delaney, he inquired, "I don't suppose it will be a problem if I take Devon to my house while you boys do your thing?"

Delaney wasn't thrilled having Antoine refer to him as a boy, but the fact he didn't have to deal with Devon and her impending tears was more than enough to have him nodding affirmatively.

"Not at all. We appreciate the assistance," Officer Benton stated.

Antoine's smile was dazzling. "Good. If you need us, you know where I live," he offered, sending Delaney a sly wink and smiling at the man's flustered expression. Delaney was simply too easy a mark not to tease. He might as well have had the word homophobic tattooed across his forehead. And as cute as he might be, it was clear he only had eyes for Devon, despite his pretense otherwise. When nobody was watching, the man practically swallowed her with his eyes. It just went to show; not all the good looking guys were gay!

Delaney and Benton watched the two walk across Devon's yard, cross the street and head toward Antoine's house, his arm draped comfortably across the woman's shoulders, his head close to hers, as if sharing a personal comment and Delaney felt a stab of jealousy he didn't even want to explore.

"It's good to know that Miss Sommersby has such a nice neighbor. Too often neighbors don't look out for each other," Benton stated casually, casting a look toward Delaney, surprised to see man's jaw clenched and his eyes filled with fire.

"Yeah. Too bad he didn't see the person that trashed her house," he stated flatly.

Benton had to nod in agreement. "At least he saved her cats," he offered.

Delaney sent Antoine's house a dark look. "Yeah. Bully for him."

Without another word, he headed toward Devon's house, anxious to hear what, if anything, the investigators had found, that might give him some idea of the type of person they needed to be looking for, and exactly how crazy the person was.

The minute he stepped into the house he knew he was dealing with someone who had definitely slid over the edge of reason. Devon's furniture had been slashed to ribbons; stuffing from the pillows and couches scattered all over, bookshelves over-turned, glass shattered, pictures destroyed. With calm detachment, Delaney walked through her home, and found himself it what had to be her bedroom; it practically screamed her name. Decorated in shades of peach, what had once been a beautiful peach silk bedspread was now a pile of slashed material, with a huge red stain that looked like blood, but then so had the paint on Devon, smeared in the middle of the bed. But what really bothered him and left his heart pounding anxiously, was the picture of Devon, wearing the same peach silk peignoir she had on now, anchored to the wall with a huge knife, the words, 'escape is impossible', scribbled across the picture.

"Hey, Del." One of the investigators coming out of the bathroom attached to the bedroom greeted him, and looked up at the picture. "Hell of a calling card isn't it?" he asked lightly. After years of seeing the unbelievable things people could do to each other, it almost became expected to see such things and investigators became desensitized to what might be looked at as bizarre by a normal person, whatever it was that dictated normal.

Delaney didn't answer him immediately, he was still trying to still his pumping heart and catch his breath. He'd seen worse pictures, but there was just something about this one - a coldness - that had really taken him by surprise. Instead, he just nodded.

The investigator looked at the picture. "She is a looker. Rumor has it she's the Commissioner's goddaughter."

"Yeah," Delaney answered quietly, dragging his eyes away from the picture.

"This one's hitting a little close to home," the investigator quipped.

"Too close. Got anything so far?" Delaney asked, looking at the black case the investigator held, hopefully now full of evidence.

"Nothing blatantly obvious. Whoever tossed her house knew what he was doing. Came in through the back door, no sign of forced entry. Got in and out without being seen, and other than a pile of cat hair, there's not a lot of obvious evidence."

"Impossible, there's got to be something," Delaney murmured softly, running one hand through his hair.

"Nothing's impossible, Del, you know that!" the investigator laughed. "Criminals today are a new breed of crazy! They take their careers seriously and work at being perfect. At least until they get bored or sloppy, and when they do, we nail their asses!"

"Why doesn't that make me feel any better?" Delaney asked flatly.

"Because you don't get to play with all the neat equipment I do so you don't feel like you're doing anything worthwhile," the investigator harassed him good naturedly. "Besides, I hear you're doing security detail for the victim. How'd the Commissioner talk you into that?"

"Don't ask," Delaney groaned, shaking his head.

The investigator cast another quick look at the picture. "Oh quit bitching. At least she's easy to look at!"

Despite his inclination to add, if only she'd keep her mouth shut!, Delaney wisely simply nodded in agreement.

"Look, some of us have to work for a living. I'll touch base with you soon and let you know if I find anything interesting," the investigator offered, before he headed off to process the next room.

Delaney couldn't help himself, he was drawn to the picture, could practically feel it demanding to be looked at. So he complied. "What am I missing?" he mumbled to himself, his gaze taking in every aspect of the picture. Something nagged at him, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was.

He was still gazing intently at the picture when his cell phone rang. "Delaney," he answered, his mind only half on the call, the other half still concentrating on the picture.

"You can't save her; she's Satan's spawn!" a technically enhanced voice stated tauntingly.

Delaney instantly went on alert. "Can't save who?" he asked calmly, even though he wanted to reach through the phone and grab the guy on the other end by his throat.

"She brought it on herself. She was warned her behavior would bring destruction to the world. She wouldn't listen, and now she must be punished."

"Wearing sexy nightgowns will bring about the destruction of the world? I think there might be a few other things that will bring it about first, don't you?" Delaney countered. The guy really was nuts if he thought a nightgown or skimpy panties could bring on Armageddon.

"You've both been warned. Your life is worth no more than hers if you remain with her."

Delaney's blood began to boil. He'd never taken being threatened well and he didn't do it any better this time. "Look, your comments could be construed as threatening a police officer and I really don't think you want to involve yourself with that kind of trouble."

"You think I'm afraid of the amazing Chief Delaney O'Connell?" the voice asked, a wickedly evil laugh, that actually had the hairs on the back of Delaney's neck lifting, followed his question.

Delaney remained silent.

"You'd be amazed at all I know, Chief Delaney."

"You don't know shit!" Delaney countered.

The wicked laugh echoed through the phone again. "You're wrong. I know it will be impossible to keep me from achieving my goal," he murmured ominously

"And what goal's that?" Delaney growled.

"Ridding the world of one more evil bent on the destruction of goodness," the voice stated coldly. "I'll be seeing you, Chief. Very soon."

The cell phone's connection disappeared and Delaney found himself torn between wanting to punch something and rushing across the street to make sure Devon was all right. He was still standing there holding the phone when Officer Benton came looking for him.

"Miss Sommersby wants to know if she can come over and take a look at her things yet?"

Delaney blinked at Benton's question, as if being startled suddenly, and he found himself being watched rather quizzically by the officer. "Yeah, tell her she needs to gather some clothes together. She obviously can't stay here tonight," he stated absently, looking at the destruction around him.

Benton looked at Delaney, more than a little puzzled by his behavior. "Right. Everything okay, Chief?"

Delaney speared him with a look filled with determination and fire. "Fine; everything's fine," he stated firmly.

Benton nodded in agreement and headed off to tell Devon the news. Delaney could only imagine what her reaction was going to be when he told her she'd be staying with him for the night.

After all, one look at her house and it was crystal clear no one was going to be staying here anytime soon!*

Copyright © 2002-2003 C.E. Moynihan

*All Rights Reserved