Force Of Corruption

By E.N. Chanting

Force of Corruption is a spicy romantic suspense novel. Here is the blurb:

"If I tell you that, I may have to kill you."

Paige Patterson hopes her new love interest is joking, she laughs.

Rhett Baker is mostly teasing, though he's not ready to explain his chosen career, just yet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.N. Chanting Author
• Release date: Nov 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798989350919

Book preview

Chapter One

Paige

Sweat drips down my back as I try to look professional in my too-tight pencil skirt suit. It’s Florida, and despite my calendar claiming we’re in October, it’s pushing ninety degrees today. My light-brown hair has already frizzed beyond repair, and it is barely contained in a semi-professional bun. My hair is off my neck, making a difference of one degree, max. Any Floridian will tell you one-degree cooler can be heavenly. The chief signals to me, and I quickly replace the mugshot poster with a poster showing the collection of weapons found at the crime scene. That is the last one, I’m hopeful he’ll finish soon. I’d like to get back to my office, away from the TV cameras and reporters. I hate this part of my job. Especially today, when I’m bloated and fighting off cramps. It’s way too hot in this musty old government room. The chief is still answering questions. I’m only listening for his patented finale with his usual tagline of, God bless America!

Staring at the people in the room and not seeing them, I’m praying for an end to my torture. I notice a small male with dark hair and eyes. He’s wearing a worn baseball cap that says, Hooters in orange letters. He’s slowly working his way to the front of the crowd. Something about him has warning bells blaring in my head. My skin pebbles in goose bumps, and the hair at the back of my skull is lifted by the bad energy coming off him in waves. Carefully watching him, I can see he is laser-focused on the chief. The man’s face is twisted into a scowl, his muscles are taught. I spot a shiny small object clasped in his right hand; his fingers are white from the pressure. He looks ready to pounce, like a jaguar perched in a tree. The chief waves at the audience. The man jumps onto the dais as he yells something in Spanish. It’s an anguished cry. Mataste mi hermano!!

He lunges at the chief. Not thinking, I act, launching myself at him. I crash on top of him as he falls backward onto the floor. We land hard between scrambling reporters on the scarred linoleum. His elbow knocks the wind out of me, I don’t stop. Likely flashing everyone, I completely forget I’m in a skirt and heels. Grabbing his hand, I see it holds a knife. I twist his wrist to dislodge the weapon. His skin feels cold and clammy against mine. Everything happens so fast, it’s over before anyone can react.

After I disarm him, I bend his arms behind his back. Using my legs to wrap around him, I turn him over. Despite the hour, he smells like a bar. Liquor, crushed dreams, and cigarettes. He’s sweating and squirming, pulling away from me. I fight to keep a grasp on him. He’s only slightly bigger than me, and I’m able to hold him in place by sitting on him. The other officers in the room rush in and surround us.

It only takes a moment for Deputy Perez to cuff him. The man’s mumbling in Spanish and he’s gone limp. It seems the fight has left him; he deflates like a leftover party balloon. I hear a few words I recognize: hermana, muerte, Dios, and por favor. They sound like prayers or pleas.

Deputy Perez speaks to him quietly in Spanish. He immediately removes the subdued man from the room, frog-marching him out the side exit. Another deputy collects the knife with a glove.

As the sounds of the room come back to me in a rush, I hear people panicking and floundering around, their screams are over-the-top. I don’t see any other threats, so I straighten myself up and smooth my skirt into place. I wait for the Chief to do whatever he’s going to do. I can feel the adrenaline making my body vibrate, and I’m a bit out of breath. Nothing like tackling a crazed assailant to start your day. I forcibly slow my breathing, waiting for the adrenaline to disperse. With years of practice, I’m an expert at keeping myself calm, despite any autonomic physical reactions.

The chief holds his hands in the air and presses them down, signaling the crowd to calm down.

Okay, folks, the excitement is over. Our superbly trained officers have everything under control. Please remain calm, the threat has been neutralized.

I roll my eyes, he’s so obnoxious. He acts like he trained us. I’ve only ever seen him push papers or host these types of media events. I’ve never seen any actual police work. I know he was a detective for many years so he must know how to do it, he just doesn’t bother. Why should he? He has us to do all the work.

Okay, folks the excitement is over, he repeats. Our well-trained staff has eliminated the threat. The reporters slow and look at him. They quickly reorganize, on the hunt for a big story. They shout questions at him, and he smiles. Back in his element, back in control.

Chief! Who was that man?

Over here, Chief! Did he have a weapon?

Sir! What did that man say? Was he targeting you specifically?

A reporter who looks camera ready in her tight dress and jacket, garners his attention. Her hair is coifed so perfectly, it doesn’t move. I imagine it is cemented in place with an entire can of hairspray. Her cleavage is prominent, and her makeup looks airbrushed and thick.

Chief Hayes, she says in a sultry voice.

She flashes a seductive smile at the chief. I understand this situation is unfolding; would you consider giving an interview later today for the five o’clock news?

He smiles brightly at her. Thank you, Natasha. Yes, this situation is unfolding. At this moment, I don’t have any details I can share with you. This will be an ongoing investigation. I will release the details as soon as I’m able to do so. You may call my office to plan for an interview.

His eyes sparkle. I’m not sure if his giddiness is caused by the glamorous reporter or just extra face time with the cameras. He refocuses on the whole room and gives them some parting words.

Even though I don’t have any details for you yet, I would like to thank everyone for remaining calm. I fight to keep from rolling my eyes again.

As I’ve said, our officers are expertly trained and were able to subdue the suspect without injury. I’m thankful none of you were hurt. We will send out press releases and schedule a press conference when we know more. Thank you all, and God bless America!

He does his royal wave and exits the room. I follow him.

In my office, now! he growls at the deputies and detectives hovering in the hallway just beyond the door.

I lean the posters against the wall to be collected and destroyed. I wonder idly how much money he spends on those stupid posters he creates for every single press conference. He acts more like a game show host than a chief of police most of the time. It’s embarrassing how thrilled he gets when he appears in front of a camera. I mean what kind of civil servant has a makeup artist on call? He argues he has to be on screen almost every day. This is true, though, usually, it’s his own doing when a case ends up on TV. He seems to need it like an addict needs a fix.

I grab my purse off my desk and head to the lady’s room. Made it just in time to avoid any stains on my coral skirt. Phew! I finish up my business and wash my hands.

I try to wrangle my hair a bit, which just makes it worse. I give up! I dab a bit of water under my tired twenty-three-year-old pale-blue eyes with a paper towel. I swipe on a bit of tinted lip balm and call it good enough. The door opens a crack.

Paige? Are you in here?

I sigh, take another deep breath, and answer,

Yeah, Colton, I’m on my way.

Please hurry, Shareef Assat is hollering like he’s about to have a meltdown.

I’m on it, and you better stop calling him that. Someone is going to figure out you’re just mispronouncing Sheriff Asshat, I murmur as I squeeze past his large chest.

Colton gifts me with a shit-eating grin and flutters his eyelashes at me before turning toward his cubicle. I fling my purse through my office door and onto my desk on my way by, then stand outside the chief’s office. The door is closed, and I can hear him yelling at the top of his lungs. He’s definitely near his boiling point.

His door flies open, and the deputies come charging out. They don’t meet my eyes and have stern looks on their faces. Their jaws are so tightly clenched I’m a little worried about their teeth. They leave the door ajar, so I stick my head in to find the chief looking out the window with his back to me.

He’s been the chief for six years. Before then, he was just Detective Carter Hayes. He was born and raised here in Oakdale. He was a football player at the local high school, a running back, I think. He served four years in the Army; his military record is unremarkable. He’s tall, overly tanned, and bald. He has a great fake smile, though he usually wears a scowl. I’m sorry for his wife and children. He has a son and a daughter.

On paper he fits an All-American profile of the perfect family unit, but in reality, his marriage is not a happy one. His wife has a haunted look to her, like she’s been a POW for years and can’t recover from the horrors she’s experienced. His children are teens now. I know for a fact the chief has been called to the station more than once to collect his son, Brandon, drunk or high after one of the deputies picked him up. His daughter, Brittany, hasn’t been picked up yet. Rumor has it she’s been working her way through the football team at her high school. Even in our post-Covid world, in a smallish town, everybody knows your business. Especially if your father is the chief of police. People can be so vicious whether the story is true or not, they shouldn’t judge the poor girl.

The chief senses my presence.

What do you think you were doing out there? I pull back my shoulders and raise my chin as he turns to look at me.

Sir, I saw a threat and reacted. It was instinct. I wanted to keep you and the public safe, sir. I gaze at him earnestly hoping he won’t chew me out, or worse.

Well, don’t ever do it again. Especially in front of the media! For God’s sake, no doubt they have you on film! How does that make me look? Like some little girl needs to take care of me? Fight my battles?

I assume the questions are rhetorical, so I don’t respond. I’m holding my breath, hoping he’s done.

He looks down at me and orders, Get me a fresh cup of coffee and the Warren file.

Right away, sir.

I hustle to the coffee bar and thankfully someone has made a fresh pot. I quickly pour a cup and add his four sugars and cream. I don’t know how he drinks such a toxic blend. I snatch the fat Warren file off Detective Marlow’s desk and zip back to the chief. He’s sitting behind his desk now, glasses perched on his large, hooked nose, as he peruses his computer. I can tell he’s reading today’s news stories by the scrunched-up scowl on his face.

Motherfuckers! That is not what I said! He slams a drawer closed, knocking over an award on his desk with a loud clank as its head snaps off. He works at portraying himself for the best election advantage. He gets angry if anything doesn’t go as planned.

His political ambitions are a topic he bores me with regularly. He spins everything that happens in this department to publicly position himself for a win at the polls. He won’t get my vote.

I place the coffee next to him as quickly and carefully as I can, not wanting to draw his attention. Then I slide the file into the rack he has for files on the shelf behind his desk. I make my way toward the door, holding my breath.

The air rushes from my lungs as I breech the door frame. Whew!

I smile as I get to my office. I want to close my door and shut everyone out, I’ve been yelled at for that, so I just leave it open and plop into my chair. Okay, time to do some actual work. I hate early morning press conferences. They disrupt my whole day.

I come up for air when Colton steps into my office three hours later. We’ve been coworkers for over a year. He was here before me. When I got here, he was two years into his rookie career and was the office grunt. I’m pretty sure it’s my position now. I look him over. He has light-brown hair and his amber-brown eyes capture lots of female attention. His chest stretches his uniform in a very pleasant way. He’s a master of the proverbial panty-dropping smile. I mean he’s a good-looking guy, however, he’s also a huge flirt. He’s been in the office lately assisting with a double homicide investigation. He comes from a police family, so he desperately wants to move up to detective. With the case he’s working on, I think he has a real shot.

He shines his smile at me and asks, Hey, hero, you up for some lunch?

Let me finish this one thing, I’ll meet you outside in a minute, okay? I smile back at him. And don’t call me that! I holler as he walks away. I established on day one I don’t date at work. He still asks me every week to go out with him, and at this point, it’s just a joke between us. He practices his ridiculous lines on me, I refuse to go there. I’m a firm believer in the don’t shit where you eat philosophy. I’m also a follower of the don’t date the office manwhore theory. Colton is very sweet, although he gets around a lot.

I finish up and walk out the door. As I make my way through the parking lot, I hear a loud rumbling engine. It’s a stunning white Mustang. A Shelby GT with a black racing stripe up the hood and beyond. It has dark tinted windows, so I can’t see the driver, however, I like the car. When I arrive at Colton’s car, I see Deputy Perez has joined us. This will be a fun lunch, the two of them together are like Bevis and Butthead.

When we return, I thank Colton and Perez for a fun lunch and the ride. Honestly, if Colton didn’t make me go to lunch when he’s around I probably wouldn’t eat. Then maybe my skirt wouldn’t be this tight. I drop off what’s left of my lemonade at my desk, the rest is overflowing my bladder. As I pass near the chief’s office, I hear him laughing with a man who has a deep voice with a slight southern twang. It reminds me of Matthew McConaughey. I hum as I continue to the restroom.

When I exit the lady’s room, I catch a glimpse of a tall man with dark-blond hair and tan skin leaving the chief’s office. He’s in jeans, a golf shirt, and scuffed cowboy boots. I can’t see his face and find myself following him toward the lobby, watching his fine ass move in his jeans. Damn, I want to bite it. While I’m staring at his backside, I ponder my lack of love life. Lost in thought, I’m not looking where I’m going. I bump my elbow on the corner of the counter in the lobby. Smack!

Ow! Shit! I grab my arm and rub my elbow, sharp pain shoots down my arm burning my nerves. Funny bones are no joke. Damn, that hurts. When I look up to find the guy I was following, my eyes lock onto the most gorgeous blue eyes I’ve ever seen. A dark cerulean evokes images of the ocean. They rove over my face like a caress. My cheeks heat, and I give him an embarrassed smile.

He smirks at me and asks, Are you okay there, darlin’?

Oh, yeah. I’m fine, happens all the time. I offer a brave smile and try to act like I’m not the most embarrassed I’ve ever been. He looks me up and down shamelessly. My cheeks continue to heat.

He gives me an approving smirk and says, You may want to invest in some elbow pads if that’s the case.

You might be right about that, I reply and giggle like an idiot. I can’t stop staring at his beautiful eyes and handsome face. He has a strong jaw and a perfectly symmetrical nose and cheekbones. He has a goatee and smiles with a mouthful of bright white teeth. His smile pops out a dimple on one cheek. He has an air about him, an innate swagger, and damn is it enticing. I hope I don’t swoon and embarrass myself further. I realize I’ve been standing here ogling him for far too long. Now I can feel the blush traveling down to my chest. I hate being so fair-skinned, there’s no way he can’t see my shame. My stomach is fluttering with butterflies. He’s been staring at me too, his flaming gaze touches down to my core. He kind of shakes his head a bit and meets my eyes again.

What’s your name, darlin’?

I’m Paige. Patterson. Investigator Patterson. I stumble through my response and roll my eyes at myself.

Well, Investigator Paige Patterson, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Rhett Baker, entrepreneur, hoping not to be investigated. His smirk returns.

Well, Rhett Baker, entrepreneur, if you haven’t committed computer fraud or internet theft, you’re probably safe from me.

Let’s not go too far, I wouldn’t mind getting to know you in a noninvestigative way, Turner. He offers me his bright smile again. I tilt my head confused; did he call me Turner?

Glancing at his watch he says, Unfortunately, I’ve got an appointment now, I hope to see you again. He bops me on the nose and turns toward the open elevator, and before I can point out his mistake, the door closes. I stand there with my mouth hanging open and my heart pounding in my chest. From my perch at a third-floor window, I watch him exit the building and head to the white Mustang. The rumble of it coming to life snaps me out of my stupor.

As I head for my office, I touch my nose and wonder if that just happened.

As soon as my ass hits the chair, there’s a shout, Patterson! Get in here!

Will this day ever end? How is it only Wednesday?

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Relieved to be home, I kick off my heels and rip off my jacket. Nacho comes running and rubs against my legs, meowing loudly. I head to the kitchen and open a can of cat food. Bingo comes running and meows louder than Nacho. I put their dishes on the floor and go change into workout clothes. After filling a bottle of water, I head back out the door and go for a run. As my playlist blares in my ears, my mind drifts back to a stunning smile with a pop of a dimple and amazing blue eyes. I run farther than I intended, I need exercise and the endorphins, so it’s a happy accident. I need to focus so I don’t fall on my face or get run over. My clumsiness is inherited from both of my parents, I didn’t have a chance. As I get near my house, I see Mrs. Gestwicki’s front door is open. Knocking, I lean in and call out to her.

Mrs. Gestwicki? It’s Paige, is everything okay? I yell because she is almost deaf. She doesn’t answer so I step inside the door and bang on it louder while yelling out to her. There’s a noise coming from the back of the house and soon she’s shuffling toward me. Her face lights up as she recognizes me. She doesn’t see too well either. I notice her robe is on backward, but I don’t say anything because who cares?

Hello, dear! I didn’t hear you knocking, I was doing my exercises. How are you?

I’m good, Mrs. Gestwicki. I just saw your door open and wanted to make sure everything was all right.

How many times have I asked you to call me Nova, dear?

"Sorry, Nova. So, everything is okay?"

Yes, yes, of course. I was just trying to air the place out. I was rolling my glaucoma medication earlier and it stinks. You would think a skunk was hiding in here.

Okaaay, well I’m just returning from a run, and I need a shower, I say as I rapidly fan out the bottom of my shirt to cool myself down. At this point, I’m struggling not to laugh. She’s such a funny old bird. Her hair is white and long, she wears it in a braid down her back. Her face is wrinkled and tan, and she has murky brown eyes. I have no clue how old she is, but she’s a trip. She’s also very sweet. I was so happy to rent the other half of her duplex. My last landlord was a total dick. He might have also been a pervert, though I never caught him in the act. I kept losing underwear when I lived there. Not sure if he was taking it from the laundry room or entering my apartment, either way, it was creepy. Nova touches my arm and brings me back to the present.

"You go