The Hot Shots

By Stephanie Queen

THE HOT SHOTS:

"Book two of the Scotland Yard Exchange Program is fast-paced, funny and packed with adventure" --Romantic Times Book Review

The snap on the story:

If you were a Boston decorator, would you jump off the USS Constitution into Boston Harbor with a perfect stranger? You would if he looked like hunky Chauncey Miller. Not exactly Bond-James Bond in the name department, but Sophia Alano can't help being impressed all the same.
That is until her big career break to host a TV decorating show gets side-tracked and she ends up being targeted along with Chauncey by a notorious terrorist out for revenge against her man. She goes on the run with Chauncey to set a trap for the mad man in London.
But once Chauncey catches the mad terrorist, how will she ever be happy to return to her life as a decorator?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephanie Queen
• Release date: Feb 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9780989027700

Stephanie Queen

Stephanie Queen lives in bucolic New Hampshire where her two sons visit when they’re not away at college learning how to run the world. Writing happy, snappy romances takes most of her time, however she does force herself to go to the gym on occasion so that she can continue to fit through the door. You can also find her watching UConn football and basketball games whenever they’re on, and sometimes even in person. Right now, she’s busy writing her next book, of course.

Book preview

The Hot Shots

Book 2:

The Scotland Yard Exchange Program Series

By

Stephanie Queen

The Hot Shots

Copyright 2012 Stephanie Queen

Formatted by IRONHORSE Formatting

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Praise for Stephanie Queen’s books

The Throwbacks:

"Boston comes vividly alive in the first of Queen’s Scotland Yard Exchange Program series. Grace is an engaging heroine with charm, humor and sass. Resplendent in rich detail, laugh-out-loud moments, a fast-paced plot and spellbinding characters, The Throwbacks is a stellar not-to-be-missed standout!"

--Romantic Times Book Review

Playing the Game:

Reading Queen is an absolutely scrumptious experience. Readers will fall in love, get heated, laugh and have an energizing adventure. The story has sublime settings, smooth writing that melds into a well-developed plot and characters who come alive like Pop Rocks and carbonated beverages. --Romantic Times Book Review

"If you're a fan of fast paced contemporaries, Playing The Game delivers one heck of a story" --Storm Goddess Book Reviews

A refreshing and fun romance story that swept my off my feet.

--I Just Wanna Sit Here and Read

Between a Rock and a Mad Woman:

Absolutely delightful

RomanticLoveBooks.com

I was riveted! The twists, turns, surprises & the love story that resulted were outstanding and I can’t wait to read more

HesperiaLovesBooks.com

Table Of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

A Note to Readers

About the Author

Chapter 1

I have a favor to ask, Grace said from behind her desk, pencil in hand and dimple in place. I need you to pick up David’s latest recruit from Scotland Yard at Logan Airport and keep him busy for the day. Show him around.

Sophia couldn’t stop her usual sarcasm in spite of the fact that Grace was her boss as well as her best friend. This so-called favor made no sense. Even for Grace.

Are you serious? Sophia planted her hands on her hips. Let me make sure I understand you—there’s no one in the entire Boston Police Department David can ask to do this, so you’re asking me to babysit one of David’s Scotland Yard hot shots on the eve of my possible career breakthrough?

Grace nodded. Her big blue eyes were wide and honest. Something was up.

That’s crazy talk. Tomorrow’s the shoot for the audition. Grace had helped set it up, but Sophia felt it was worth mentioning the obvious.

Yes. I know. Grace smiled, then looked back down at her drawing. And a distraction is exactly what you need to keep your nerves at bay.

What? My nerves are fine. If her damn voice hadn’t squeaked at that moment, she’d have been more convincing. Something was definitely up. And Sophia would never admit it to Grace, but she did feel a bit edgy—if edginess included nausea, headaches and sleeplessness.

I know you. Grace paused and gave her the serious-yet-loving older-sister type look that she mostly put up with. This will be good for you and…and I’d really appreciate it.

Grace was playing dirty pool now with that appreciation bit, but Sophia still didn’t buy it.

And what if I didn’t have time today? Were you going to tear me away from my project?

Actually, yes. I wasn’t going to mention it, but some of the men were complaining about your presence on the set and asked me to have you back off just a smidge. Grace scrunched her brow. But don’t worry, honey, they think you’re wonderful. It’s just lately...

Great. That’s great. Her hands flew into the air. I’ve got painters and paperhangers and carpenters talking to my boss behind my back. This was not good. She plunked herself on the edge of Grace’s desk and folded her arms. She tried staring at the stack of fabric samples on the other side of the office so Grace wouldn’t notice if a tear slipped out. Because, damn it, she might be on the brink of crying.

Grace picked up the box of tissues and handed it to her. You’ll be all right, Pixie honey. This is the perfect way to get your mind off everything to do with decorating and the design show audition and TV cameras. I’m asking for a one-day, one-shot favor.

Grace’s voice sounded a little too sweet, even for her, and Pixie honey or no Pixie honey, that was cause for suspicion. She blew her nose. Okay, so maybe she needed a break, but she wasn’t convinced that playing tour guide to some British guy fresh off the boat—or rather airline—was the way to go.

I’m saving up my vacation time and I don’t think you have the authority to assign me to pick up some random guy at Logan Airport and show him around town while I’m on the clock. We’re in the decorating business. She remained seated on the edge of Grace’s desk, tossed the balled-up tissue into a basket halfway across the small office, and refolded her arms. Besides, it doesn’t even sound safe. She blew the blunt-cut bangs off her forehead for emphasis.

Grace looked at her with that smile and said, He’s from Scotland Yard, honey. Of course it’s safe. It’ll be fun. I don’t know what you’re worried about. Her face brightened and she added, You don’t have to use vacation time. Consider it a client recruitment assignment. Grace went back to the sketch she’d been working on.

Sophia looked at her best friend and boss with a suspicious squint. What it sounded like to her was another one of Grace’s blind date setups in disguise.

You mean a client like David?

Grace snapped her head up from her drawing. As it always happened when they talked about David, she got that euphoric, adoring look. Grace was the picture of in-love and it took Sophia’s breath away to see it.

Wouldn’t that be wonderful if you found someone who could make your life bliss like David and me? Grace sighed.

Sophia rolled her eyes. Of course you’re blissful—you’re a newlywed and you’ve dreamed of married bliss all your life. Me, I’m not that kind of girl. Sophia would rather be swept off her feet into a wild affair by an Italian movie star. But she kept that thought to herself. No need to suffer another lecture.

Whatever you say, Pixie. But I would owe you big if you’d do me and David this favor. All you have to do is pick the guy up at the airport and keep him busy for the rest of the day...until after dinner. David will take him off your hands later this evening. This man wasn’t supposed to officially start with the Boston Police Department—you know, for the Exchange Program with Scotland Yard—for a couple more days. They moved up their initiation, or orientation, or whatever they call it—meeting—to tomorrow morning. Grace looked at her earnestly this time. Please, Pixie. Anything you want—name it. How about a bonus vacation day for your dream trip to Tuscany?

Grace’s face lit up because she knew she’d hit Sophia’s soft spot. But Sophia wasn’t ready to let go of her tension yet. The coil inside her refused to budge. She folded her arms across her chest. No easy task.

It’s exactly the diversion you need. I honestly can’t do it myself and David is ensconced in some top secret exercise all day...then we were going to have a romantic dinner, she confessed.

Sophia kept her arms firmly crossed and her lips pressed into a hard line, but she couldn’t continue to hold the pose for more than five seconds. Grace was calling in a favor in the name of romance. This must be important to her friend.

Don’t you know any Italian movie stars? Sophia muttered.

What?

"Never mind. I’ll do it. All thoughts of my shoot for the Design Boston audition are gone. Maybe I will recruit Scotland Yard Guy as a client—after all, he’s new to town, right? Give me the details. Tell me something about this guy, like his name and what he looks like."

Umm...

You don’t know? Wonderful. I’ll show up at Logan Airport with a sign that says ‘Scotland Yard Guy’ and see what happens, Pixie said, and bounced up off the corner of Grace’s desk.

Grace rummaged through some papers. No wait...here it is. I have two names but...well, I’m not sure which one is his real name. But I’m pretty sure he’ll answer to either of them. One of the names must be his new secret code name...or something. You know how these detectives are—all secretive cloak-and-dagger.

Pixie blew her bangs again, but decided to be nice to her friend. Grace deserved her run of smooth sailing. The least she could do was help out. Since David had been put in charge of the Scotland Yard Exchange Program in Boston the minute he and Grace had returned from their honeymoon, they’d been pressed to find much time together.

If you promise me this is not a fix-up in disguise, I’ll go to whatever lengths are required. Of course, all in the name of the Queen and country and to save the world and all that pip-pip rot. She gave Grace the sweetest and least mischievous grin she could manage.

It worked. Grace’s face went back to unperturbed bliss. Thank you, Pix. I’ve no idea what he looks like, but one of his names is Chauncey Miller. I’m sure he’ll answer to it.

Great. Chauncey. What’s the other name?

Winston …

Never mind. Although it would be nice to know which one is his real name and which one is code. It didn’t matter to her, but it might matter to him.

You can ask him when you meet him. Grace checked her wristwatch. In one hour. Grace gave her that signature beatific smile. It was a wonder how she tolerated Miss Sunshine, but Sophia would be lost in the thunderstorms of her own personality if it weren’t for her best friend Gracie.

She saluted her friend. On it, boss. Then she flew out the door.

Sophia eyed the other name-placard-bearing chauffeurs lined up at the end of the British Airways arrival passageway and noticed they were all eying her. She didn’t let the fact that she was at least a half a foot shorter than the shortest of them, and the only female, bother her in the least. In fact, she scowled back at them with her I am a short-tempered, as well as short-statured, redheaded woman who routinely goes well past feisty at the least provocation look.

She was about to say something when a man grabbed her by the elbow and swept her along toward the exit. She dropped her Magic Marker-enhanced poster board and looked up into the face of a devil if she ever saw one. She opened her mouth, saw his eyes shift to hers in a dare and said, Chauncey, I presume? She figured his grin, signified by the dimple on the side of his face, was his answer in the affirmative.

They swept out the door to the street and he dragged her to a taxi toward the end of the line, around the line of travelers waiting for said taxi, and he still hadn’t even given her more than a peripheral glance.

Hey, how do I know you’re not a kidnapper? She planted herself on the curb at the back door of the taxi. No way was she getting in with this stranger, devilish grin or no. He bent to talk to the cab driver through the open passenger window while he flipped his phone from his pocket and punched in a number.

With the phone to his ear, he finally turned to her and gave her a flash of his full-fledged smile. It was too wicked to be a smile, framed by the dark shadow of a beard along his strong jaw. His straight dark hair was a bit too long, but it didn’t hide his crystal blue eyes. She took a deep breath and doubled up on her stare of disapproval. She folded her arms across her chest. Too late she watched his eyes follow her move and aim straight at her double Ds. Double damn. But then, without a word, he handed his phone to her and she had to unfold her arms to take it.

Hello? Sophia said as she kept her frown aimed at him.

Pixie? Is that you? It was David Young’s voice on the other end of the line. Gosh darn it. This guy was the genuine Chauncey Miller.

Never mind. I’ve got your new guy. Just checking in, she said and turned the phone off. She gave Chauncey her look. He eyed her right back.

You sounded rather official for a decorator, he said, and gestured for her to return his phone.

She rolled her eyes, determined not to register surprise that he knew she was a decorator, and ducked into the taxi. I suppose you know my bra size too, she said as he slid in next to her. She looked straight at him, unflinching, to see his response. He didn’t flinch either, unless she considered a loud bark of laughter a flinch.

No, but I could arrange to acquire that information by the end of the day. Where to, Ms. Pixie? Chief Young put you in charge of my safekeeping. I trust his judgment. Or I did.

You’ve been talking to David too much. Or rather he’s been talking too much to you, I see. The name is Sophia Alano. She leaned forward to address the cab driver herself. "Let’s go to Charlestown, shall we? To the U.S.S. Constitution." She sat back in the seat and the car took off. So what if it was only a few blocks away from her mostly finished town house filled with video equipment? Grace didn’t have to know if Sophia just happened to stop by there while she babysat Chauncey, did she?

Sightseeing?

That’s right, Chauncey. Any problem with that?

It’ll do.

So why are you here anyway? Why have you been exiled to the Boston Police Department, of all places? Then before he answered, she thought of a more important question. And where the heck is your luggage?

I travel light. What makes you think this is an exile? It could be a plum assignment for which I competed with many qualified detectives all lined up to come to the States.

Is your life in danger?

He stopped talking and gave her his look again. Bingo. She’d hit the nerve she’d been looking for. He wasn’t so tough after all.

Are you an undercover decorator?

Only when I go to bed at night. She kept her eyes on him.

He barked another laugh. Not much humor in it.

You seem edgy. Should I be worried? She persisted, unsure why she was playing this game, but enjoying it all the same—enjoying that she was playing well.

He relaxed back in the seat and seemed to uncoil before her eyes. Before he answered her he took his time looking her over, then pinned her with his icy blue eyes. Not unless you’re worried about how I might discover your bra size later. Then he smiled, for real, all the way to the corners of those eyes. They didn’t seem so cold anymore.

Pixie felt a flutter. That was immediately followed by a mental slap. This man was too serious and intense and self-important, but most of all, too dangerously edgy. Not dangerous in that fake-emotional, trying-to-take-advantage of a girl way, but in a life-threatening way. As in, if she hung out with him, she would be in danger of losing life and limb. She wondered if Grace ever felt that way with David. Hmmm.

Hmmm?

She hadn’t realized she hmmmed out loud. She was saved having to explain the hmmm by their arrival at the old Navy Yard and the abrupt stop of the cab.

Seagulls, sea air and the scent of murky harbor water filled her nostrils. She breathed it all in deeply to restart her brain. She’d need all her wits to play with this guy and win. She popped out of the cab and started walking toward the pier.

So how old are you anyway? she asked, not looking back at him over her shoulder.

Top secret. He caught up to her in two strides.

Old enough to want to hide it, eh?

Thirty-five.

She stopped and bravely faced him with her hands on her hips, chest all exposed, and said, At the top of your form and ready to make your mark in your career and here you are stuck in Boston relegated to hiding out with me.

Are you some kind of psychic?

Yes, I’m a Pixie, remember?

I didn’t know Pixies were noted for anything other than their short stature.

Hey, don’t get offensive with me. I didn’t send you here. She gave him a triple-furrowed scowl. Besides, here is better than ending up dead in Liverpool. She waved her arm in the direction of the harbor and the boat, the U.S.S. Constitution. She felt a small niggle of guilt about the Revolutionary War rub, and then immediately got over it.

They followed their guide up the plank and onto the boat.

So this is my hideout? A relic warship? He looked down at her as they stepped onto the deck. Then he looked around at the various small groups of people spread about. While they were waiting for the official tour to start, he led her up to the bow of the ship that overlooked the harbor. Then he stood and looked out over the water—in the direction of England, she presumed.

She folded her arms across her chest yet again and shook her head. Well aren’t you a pile of fun? Are you going to stand there and brood or are you going to tell me what this is all about?

***

He laughed. She was trying so damn hard to be intimidating and tough, but her petite pixie persona didn’t allow for it. Neither did her killer body. He allowed a flick of his eyes over her voluptuous, miniature form. He guessed her to stand at not a centimeter over five feet and was about to risk patting her on the head for sport, but a loud whistle drew their attention.

A uniformed tour guide blew his whistle again and gestured to assemble the various groups of tourists about himself. As was his habit, Chauncey hung back and watched the others, studying the faces in the crowd for anyone familiar or dangerous. The Pixie woman felt no such compulsion to be cautious and stepped ahead of him.

At that moment he spotted a man in his peripheral vision. Chauncey ducked behind a wide pole and grabbed Pixie by the corner of her bag and tugged her back into him, sliding his hand over her mouth as he captured her with his other arm to hold her still. He peered between some hanging ropes to where the man stood. There was no mistake.

Pixie stomped on his foot and pushed his hand away from her mouth. Hey! she squeaked.

Damn. He couldn’t stop her without harming her, though he tried. She struggled from his hold and the safety of the hidden corner and moved out into the open, drawing attention to them. He stepped to her side quickly and blocked her, keeping his back to the man.

Don’t be shy—step right up and join us, the costumed guide said as he gestured toward them, causing everyone to turn in their direction.

Double bloody damn. He sensed rather than saw the man’s movement. There was no time for explanations.

Of course—as soon as I’ve been to the loo, he said with a tight smile and pulled Pixie with him around the far corner away from the crowd. He saw the man move to the back of the group and disappear around the other side of the cabin, blocking their exit. Or blocking the exit if they left the same way they came onto the boat. He moved them fast and thought faster.

Geesh—you have a bladder control problem or something? What’s with you? The Pixie whined, but kept up.

He stopped when they were out of view. She stared up into his face with her frown in place and her green eyes daring him. Her reddish hair blew around her face in the sea breeze and she swiped at a stray strand that stuck to her mouth. Her plump, juicy red mouth, he thought.

He had no business thinking that thought, he realized, and no choice but to trust her and protect her. After all, he’d put her in danger in the first place. Now the man had seen her with him and Chauncey feared she was as doomed as he. Not doomed, he corrected himself, rather she was now as likely to be hunted as he.

"The man who’s after me is on