Power

By Emma Calin

CORONAVIRUS LOCKDOWN ON ALL TITLES IN THE SERIES TO HELP KEEP YOU READING THROUGH THE CRISIS.

A thug pulls a knife on a mean London street...
...Rookie cop Olivia Johnston-Denny steps up.
When irresistible American congressman Jackson T. Paine intervenes, her life is changed for ever.
Olivia is a fiery Scot. Jackson’s a cool Oklahoma boy. Feel the heat of the chemical reaction.
Tipped as a future president, ruthless opponents plot his downfall, by smear or by death. Olivia and Jackson cannot risk involvement but forces of emotion and passion run out of control as they express their love in shadows.
When her lover breaks free to face down those who would destroy him, he stands alone for the final showdown.
He has one invincible weapon. A woman in love.
Buy this book now to feel the victory of the human heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emma Calin
• Release date: Jun 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463027578

Emma Calin

Novelist, philosopher, blogger, poet and would be master chef. A woman eternally pedaling between Peckham and Pigalle, in search of passion and enduring romance.

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was a knife. Power had shifted and the guy facing her possessed it. Despite her uniform and the authority of the law, she was a static target of blood and tissue. Her eyes flicked between the blade and the face of what she’d thought was a homeless guy. Late thirties, dirty wild beard, eyes hard and merciless. A second before she’d been checking the street for security threats. She’d bent down to speak kindly to some ragged lost soul lying by the plastic sacks of trash. He’d turned like a cobra. She’d jumped back. She could hear the pumping of her blood. Her mouth was dry. He could lunge before she could draw her baton or deploy her CS gas spray. Defense of her body core would slice her hands and tendons. She needed time.

Hey! How are you feeling fella?

His face twisted. He let out a dark growl. Her hand inched toward the gas canister on her belt. She’d have to flip off the fastener, draw and aim. His eyes fixed on her hand.

No trouble, my friend. Just wanted to see if you’re OK? she said, calming her voice and breathing.

The guy looked down, still pointing the knife at her belly.

It’s cool, no worries, OK? It’s all good.

Fuck you.

He didn’t move, but was still dangerous. The weapon was a twelve-inch chef’s knife. More than likely he was mentally ill and wasn’t even in the same universe of perception. For the last ten seconds she’d been aware of nothing but the threat facing her. Now to her left and from behind, a guy strode in. His head was down, his right arm and shoulder pulled back, his hand a fist. Like an eagle striking its prey he swept the blade aside and drove a blow hard into the attacker’s gut. In an instant he crumpled to the ground. The stranger stamped on the hand still clasping the knife and kicked it away.

Did he touch you, ma’am? He spoke with a confident voice, like a movie star cowboy. I’d tie him up, if I were you.

Metropolitan Police Constable Olivia Johnston-Denny reached for her cuffs. All the same she was indignant that this man had intervened. She’d begun to feel in control. The suspect was groaning on the floor.

He’s in pain, she said.

It’s just so great when a plan works out.

Didn’t this guy care? Where was his social awareness?

Look, thanks but he’s more to be pitied than blamed. He’ll have all kinds of issues with drugs, relationships, and mental illness.

Doesn’t alter the length of that blade, officer.

She bent down, snapping the cuff onto a pale wrist. The backs of his hands were smeared with dirt. The prisoner flailed out with his free arm. Her savior grabbed it and bent it like a straw for her to apply the other ratchet.

Guess that’s spoiled his day, said the stranger with a laugh.

He really did sound like a cowboy. He also looked hot and arrogantly aware of his good looks.

Sir, thanks. He could have hurt you I know, but….

Yeah, but he didn’t see me coming. He was looking at you. I mean any guy would.

She glared into his smiling eyes. This man was pretty much full of himself, sexist and flippant.

I’ll need a statement from you.

Sure. I can state right here and now that you’re from Scotland, right?

He was getting right under her skin. Sure, she was from Scotland, but it was none of his business.

Everyone is from somewhere, even this poor bloke.

Keep talking, I love that accent.

This was ridiculous. She drew a deep breath, shot him a sharp look and took care of business. She pressed her shoulder mic’ button.

Whisky Alpha three seven zero. Transport for prisoner. Nine Elms Lane. Over.

A male London voice hissed back.

This early in the morning? What ya caught, Ollie?

Jack the Ripper.

Christ! We’ve been waiting over a hundred years. OK. Van on way. Tea’s up in ten.

She smiled. It was good to have a team around her, but she had to swallow the Ollie.

I’ll wait while the cavalry comes over the hill, drawled her companion. She didn’t mind having him there. She didn’t like his attitudes, but hell she could overlook his flaws for an hour or two. She knew it wouldn’t be professional to get into personal conversation. She was only just out of her probationary stage and her best friend was still the Met Police rule book.

"So, you think I’ve got an accent, Cowboy?"

Sure, and how did you know my name was Cowboy?

Well, you’re not from Edinburgh and you’re sure not from London.

You—only you in this world is ever allowed to call me Cowboy, OK. That’s our little thing for the rest of our lives.

The rest of our lives together will be about five minutes.

The stranger smiled a slow smile that spread like the rising sun on a cornfield horizon.

You said you wanted a statement and I want to state everything I know to you just to hear your voice, wee Lassie.

She couldn’t help it. She started to giggle, then laugh, pulling off her hat and letting her red hair flow free.

Is that Lassie the Hollywood sheep dog?

It’s Lassie the warrior maiden of the glen.

To be honest with herself she could just hug him. She’d been afraid and the sense of relief was surging through her body. His boyish confidence and man force just zinged to her inner woman. She was twenty-four. This man was early to mid-thirties. In the distance she heard the wail of a police vehicle siren. It was the dawn of a bright late January London day of bare trees and wind-whipped rags of scudding cloud. And Olivia Johnston-Denny, granddaughter of the Duke of Falkirk, was clinging on to everything she’d ever believed about men and about life. The prison truck pulled up, blue strobes creating the theatre of everyday tragedy. The cowboy stepped back while they loaded the prisoner. She realized she didn’t want to just slip away from this man without knowing more. She could walk away from any male, any heartless alpha mansplaining patriarch. Anyway, he’d be married with kids and a blonde wife who knitted stage costumes for their perfect children. She also ran the Ford Motor Company when she wasn’t giving TV interviews about her beauty and intelligence. You could hate a woman like that simply for submitting to testosterone dominance and the cliché of the nuclear family.

She mumbled the official statement of rights to the prisoner and jumped up into the vehicle. Cowboy was smiling.

Better not forget the knife. Careful it’s sharp, he said handing her the weapon, handle first, like a gentleman. I’ll be at the embassy all morning. The name’s Jackson.

Like the seventh president. Anyway, which embassy?

Hey! That’s impressive for a Scottish lassie. The Cowboy Embassy—the big new place with the horse rail outside.

She had to laugh. This guy really was a patronizing mansplainer. The new American Embassy was a couple of hundred yards away. She knew very well he was from there.

If I need you, I’ll just ask for Mr. Jackson.

Jackson T. Paine if you want to be technical.

Congressman Jackson T. Paine, right? she repeated. You’re addressing parliament this afternoon.

Sure. Lucky you caught me on my coffee break.

I’ll call you. I guess the Cowboy Embassy has a phone line.

There’s wires along the railroad. You’ll get through if the sheriff’s shot all the bandits.

An officer was pushing the doors closed. The cowboy waved and turned away. He was a chauvinist barn door hunk. His suit accentuated his body. He raked his hand back through his dark brown wavy thick hair. She hated him.

Chapter 2

Her prisoner squirmed and cursed on the floor. It was a five-minute ride to the Wandsworth Custody Centre. A heavily built old sweat cop was her escort. She knew him by sight, but he wasn’t the type who conversed with shiny college girls just out of the box.

Sarge won’t want this heap of stinking shit all day, he said wearily.

She knew he was right. She nodded.

That guy back there was Jackson T. Paine. He’s the independent congressman who’s come to give a speech at Westminster.

Sounds like something to miss. They’re all the bloody same. Just out for themselves. Full of wind and piss.

His reply was just so predictable.

He might be a bit different.

They all start out like that. Then the bankers and the big business crooks start pulling their strings. They need a fortune to get elected.

Did you ever consider a career in the diplomatic service?

Nah, I’m not cynical enough. The old cop was laughing. You did good there. That’s a mean knife.

The compliment warmed her.

Thanks.

He turned his eyes to her and looked her over.

You’re that fast-track kid with the university degree in politics, right?

Didn’t know I was famous.

With that hair no one’s going to forget you.

Why did these unreformed men think they could make personal remarks?

I’m a token red one. They needed to make up the quota.

He laughed again.

You’re OK. You’re on my wavelength. I’m Mike.

Olivia.

They call you Ollie.

I call myself Olivia.

I’ll stick with the crowd, Ollie.

That’s cool, Micky.

He laughed again. The van was pulling up.

OK. Let’s shovel shit, he said.

So often she had to bite her lip. These old soldier types were dying out, but they’d come from a different universe where criminals were disrespected and sometimes caught a slap. She knew this wasn’t the way. She was on the promotion fast-track and soon she’d have the authority to bring better ways to these old timers. They slid the prisoner out of the vehicle face down and stood him up.

You fucks, he groaned.

The rest was predictable. He refused to give his name. She searched him, took his prints and mug shot, then put him in a cell. The place stank of disinfectant, human sweat, and grinding dirtiness. The police surgeon declared the prisoner was mentally ill and called another doctor. He was transferred to a secure psychiatric unit. Olivia knew the rest of the story. He’d be put on medication, he’d improve, he’d be released, and the story would repeat. At least she wouldn’t need a statement from Cowboy. She had no legitimate reason to call him. Maybe it’d be polite to thank him. Maybe she liked that little twitch he’d given her, maybe later she’d privately think of him. It was nice to have a face, a voice, a focus.

She filed the case papers and got a coffee. She needed a ride back to Battersea, her own station.

Olivia. We need a word together.

The female voice snapped her out of her daydream. She looked over her cup to see Superintendent Shannon Aguerri standing in the doorway of the restroom.

Sure, ma’am.

She followed the older woman to her office. The superintendent had only just been posted to Wandsworth and few officers had actually met her. Shannon Aguerri was a legend, a beautiful mixed-race woman of about thirty-six, a true cop’s cop, married to some sort of aristocrat. She motioned for Olivia to sit, and spoke with a smile in her voice.

When shit hits fans you just have to be standing in the right place, she said.

How’s my positioning? asked Olivia.

It’s OK. Nothing we can’t wipe off. Look. This won’t surprise you. An alleged cell phone video in very steady pro quality HD reached the CNN news room at 8 a.m. An anonymous passerby spotted the world’s most beautiful sexy politico fighting for truth and justice on the streets of London. By 8:15 a.m. it’s gone so viral that the World Health Organization is stockpiling YouTube vaccine.

Jackson T. Paine?

How did you guess? Olivia, just tell me that you’re not part of a set-up, you’re not his secret lover, the mother of his love child or a donor to the ‘Keep It Strong, Keep It Kind’ movement?

Not guilty, so far. Was I set up?

Fuck knows, honey. He has political enemies who are already screeching so. This stuff is playing so big that he could stand for pope and win. The bad news for you is that the world of politics and the media hellhounds want to check it all out—with you, my dear.

Um, this could be life-changing, yes?

Right.

So, I tell them the truth.

"This is truth through the prism of politics and the rainbow sure ain’t going black and white any time soon. Our back-room staff and the intelligence services are looking at the images. There’s a faint inaudible soundtrack so perhaps we can lift the voice off the background and know everything you both said. Last check—promise me you are not involved in this?"

No.

OK, I’ll update the Foreign Office and the prime minister. Jackson’s enemies will do anything to prove he’s a fake. One opposing news network has already interviewed some creep who swears you’re a porn actress called Ginger Bush dressed up in police kit.

I can prove that’s not true, ma’am. I keep things neat, if you follow me.

Superintendent Aguerri let out a shriek of laughter.

Too much information and for Christ’s sake keep that to yourself. Here’s the bottom line. Until this blows over, you’re out of sight. By tonight everyone over five years old will have seen the footage. Anyone who knows you will recognize you. We need you to be invisible. I believe it’s all genuine but one of his press aides had a decent camera and saw the PR possibilities. We can’t risk any sort of suspicion that the UK government would favor this guy. His enemies are saying that he wants to help the British get a free trade deal with the USA. It’s bad enough he was invited here to speak to parliament.

So where can I go? What do I have to do?

Well, you can’t go home to your apartment in Bloomsbury. Help me out here. You’re from Scotland, I think?

Yeah, don’t tell me I’ve got to be a maiden in a castle tower?

Maidens aren’t my style. Are you joking about castles? I did hear you have an old family home.

Blackness Castle on the Firth of Forth. They made the Ivanhoe TV shows there. It faces the sea. It’s pretty grim in winter.

Grim enough to deter the press. A lot of these guys don’t like to operate too far from Starbucks or a lounge lizard cocktail bar.

Olivia was thinking. If only she’d been wearing a body camera everything would be clear. It was just an early morning street check around the American Embassy area. She’d graduated from university with a first-class degree. She’d been top student at Hendon Police College. She’d been accepted onto the fast-track career program. Being labelled as porn star Ginger Bush would stick for the rest of her life whatever she achieved. That Jackson T. Paine had de-railed her, but it didn’t have to be a wreck. Bloody Jackson T. Paine….

Is he married, ma’am?

Paine? No. I’ll be honest with you. I’ve met him socially in the USA and I like him. Politics has turned toxic and divided everywhere. This guy could pull off a new deal with his ideas and you know—reaching the female response.

Olivia understood her. She repeated her question.

Not married then?

No. Long-term girlfriend is a journalist war reporter. They split cos her editor wanted her to be politically neutral. She chose her career.

Kids?

No.

Girls? Lovers? Scandals?

Only Ginger Bush so far.

That guy was dangerous. It feels like Jackson’s a brave man. He didn’t move like a trained fighter. He rushed in like a regular Joe, kind of angry that…. You know.

Like kind of wanting to protect a woman who’s facing a piece of shit with a knife. I’d buy into that, said Superintendent Aguerri with a raised eyebrow and half grin.

Yeah, all that sick chauvinist male patriarch chest-beating stuff.

Gets in my panties every time, sugar. I’m thinking he hit your spot, but you don’t want to say it? That’s why he could be president in 2024. That’s why his followers love country music. That’s why keeping it strong, keeping it kind is a powerful message, like the man you dream of protecting and loving you. He’s not a career politico and you might have spotted he’s a sexy hunk.

Olivia drew in a deep breath. This woman was in the stratosphere of police importance. She had influence and connections. Could she be a proper feminist or even a woman and feel this way? All the same she could be a tremendous ally in her own career climb. She bit her tongue.

I could never fall for that hero stuff. I didn’t need him to barge in.

No man is an island, Olivia. Needing the other person is what makes us a person.

Male hero mythologies patronize and neutralize the female integrity and dignity.

Her boss sat back in her chair and spoke with a seriousness that surprised Olivia.

I’m guessing that’s from some university book. First or second day at police school they tell you never to treat anyone as a stereotype, right?

Yes, she answered slowly, sensing a trap.

So, don’t stereotype yourself. You aren’t a text book or a synthetic attitude. Around me, feel free to like men if they’re good. Feel free to love a man, if you do. I don’t take any shit from anyone male or female. You’ll be a better cop by having an open mind.

Olivia nodded. She guessed she’d been mildly admonished. For certain she didn’t want to argue with her superior. All the same, this woman was from the bloody stone age. Maybe, despite her rank and reputation, she’d never been to university? Her mind flicked to Jackson T. Paine and the tiny tingle she’d felt around him. How could Superintendent Shannon Aguerri know him socially?

Ma’am, thanks for your frankness. It must have been cool to meet him.

Yeah, my husband has a lot of business in the States. Politics needs a lot of cash and Jackson’s team was running a fundraising rally. He hasn’t got the big biz backing. Basically, he’s a farmer.

A real cowboy on a horse?

Well, that’s the image. Now, let’s hope some other big news story knocks this one off the top. Your knife man has gone off to a secure mental hospital, so you don’t need to contact Mr. Paine. So, don’t, OK.

Her tone was firm. Although she had no interest in him, Olivia swallowed her disappointment. After all, if people were talking of him as president in 2024, he’d be quite a guy to know. The last thing she wanted was to let her boss know she cared.

I don’t think I could bear all that big handsome strong and kind man stuff. I mean, that’s so obviously just PR for the naive masses. Educated people know masculinity is so, so toxic. I can’t believe sophisticated folk would buy into that stuff.

Shannon Aguerri smiled.

"Not everyone is as sophisticated as you, Olivia. Those naive masses are the people we serve so it’s suited me well enough to stay on the same wavelength. I hope you don’t mind me saying you could lead quite a lonely life."

Olivia avoided eye contact. This interview hadn’t gone well.

So, what happens to me now?

Olivia, look you’re a good cop—a brave cop—and I’m proud to have you on the team. Jackson doesn’t want any chance of a smear and there’s plenty of enemies out there with buckets of shit. We’ll get you back to your place in Bloomsbury so you can pack a bag. We can hide you or you can slip away to your castle. While there’s any chance of some story about porn star Ginger Bush with the congressman there’ll be big budget hounds out there hunting you down.

So, this is what fake news looks like from the inside.

Honey, it’s all just news. This is our world. Just maybe there’s a guy out there to bring us all back to sense and maybe decency.

Olivia smiled faintly. Surely her boss wasn’t some dumb fan of a guy like this? Sure, he was handsome and had some sentimental old days charm, but a modern woman wouldn’t allow herself to be seduced by that.

I’ll call my folks; I’d rather go there.

Great. I know Jackson will be grateful. We live in a world now where no one, man or woman, with any sort of past can ever escape. There’s always going to be an ex or a jealous would-be out there to dish some dirt from school days or even childhood.

So how can these folks live a proper life?

They can’t. Her boss smiled, stood up, and walked to the door. As Olivia reached her she was surprised to receive a warm hug. Thanks for taking this on the chin. Being a cop isn’t a normal life. If you don’t mind me saying, you’ve got a very special look with those big brown eyes and hot red hair. You made a big impression on the future president.

Olivia was speechless. Could she compliment her boss on her flawless coffee skin and blue eyes? She thought not.

Thanks … thanks, she mumbled.

She felt completely out of her depth. It was weird that a homeless guy had sprung up