Fit To Be Frisked: Fit To Be Frisked / Mr. Cool Under Fire. Carol Finch

      FILLED WITH PURPOSE the next day, Vance climbed from his truck to approach his cousins who were waiting for him at Quint’s ranch. “You gotta help me out,” he said without preamble.

      “With what?” Wade asked as he draped his arms over the corral fence behind him.

      “I want one of you to haul Randi around in your pickup while we’re repairing fences this morning.”

      Quint’s lips pursed in amusement. “Why’s that? Does it have something to do with the fact that you borrowed my truck to swing by her apartment last night after the party?”

      “Did something happen we should know about?” Wade razzed him.

      Something had definitely happened and it had kept Vance tossing, turning and breaking out in a cold sweat all night.

      “Did she give you a birthday kiss that was too hot for you to handle? Could it be that the joker’s wild about the gorgeous cop and he’s running scared?” Quint quizzed him unmercifully.

      “Oh, shut up,” Vance said with a scowl.

      His cousins erupted in gales of laughter, made smacking noises with their lips, and then cackled again. Muttering under his breath, Vance wheeled toward the barn to gather barbwire and fence posts. By the time Randi showed up for work Vance intended to be ready to leave. He couldn’t take much more of his cousins’ teasing.

      And they called him the joker of the family? Well, there was nothing amusing about the intimate images of Randi that he’d been seeing the whole livelong night. She’d had the starring role in his hottest fantasies.

      He’d gone to his cousins in desperate need of help and they’d tormented him unmercifully.

      What he needed was a day away from temptation and it looked as if he wouldn’t get it. He’d have to sit on his hands to keep them off her, he decided grimly. Today was going to be the ultimate test of restraint and he’d better pass it. How? He had no idea. After last night wanting her had become a constant thing, a gnawing craving that wouldn’t go away.

      “It’s gonna be one hell of a day,” Vance growled as he tossed the fencing tools and supplies in the clunker truck.

      BRIGHT AND EARLY IN THE MORNING, Miranda approached her uncle’s home. “Uncle Tate, I need a favor,” she announced when Tate opened the door and motioned her inside.

      “What’s up, kiddo?” he asked curiously. “I have to be at headquarters in a few minutes, so make it snappy.”

      Miranda glanced around the tidy, compact home and hesitated in making brief eye contact. “I request some other form of reprimand for my involvement…I mean my unprofessional behavior for ticketing Vance and tossing him in jail.”

      Tate smiled as he appraised her rigid, military stance. She tried to relax but just couldn’t get it done.

      “Some assignments aren’t to our liking, you know. Difficult as this might be, it’s good exercise in self-restraint.”

      “Yes, sir, I understand, but I can’t have Vance in the squad car with me or ride with him in his pickup while commuting from one set of ranch duties to the next.”

      “Too close for comfort?” he asked perceptively.

      He didn’t know the half of it! Miranda could feel the heat streaming into her cheeks when flashbacks of her reckless behavior last night leaped out at her.

      Tate rocked back on his heels and clasped his hands behind his back. “As luck would have it, Vance will only be riding shotgun with you for one more night.”

      She nearly collapsed at his booted feet in relief. Thank you, God! “Thank you, chief, I—”

      “—because I’m making arrangements for a code 5 to investigate the possibility of drug trafficking,” he explained.

      “A stakeout?” she tweeted. “With Vance?”

      Tate nodded. “You’ll be keeping surveillance in a house that sits across the street from the suspected drop-off and pickup site. We believe we have an upstart drug ring trying to take root and we want to nip it in the bud. So far we’ve only noted activity at night, which will work out perfectly since you’re helping Vance during the day and you’ll both be available to keep surveillance at night.”

      “But, sir…Uncle Tate—” she tried in vain to protest.

      “I’ve given Mr. and Mrs. Preston, the elderly owners of the home, a rental car and an expense-paid vacation at the hotel of their choice until we can collect evidence,” Tate continued as he walked over to grab a suitcase that set on his couch. “Glad you dropped by. It’ll save me a trip.”

      He handed the luggage to her. “You’ll find several sets of clothes similar to the Prestons’ usual attire, plus some wigs, stage makeup and photographs so you can duplicate their appearance as best you can. It will help that you and Vance won’t be showing up at the house until almost dark so the neighbors and suspects will have difficulty distinguishing between you and the Prestons. I’ll drop off their car at your place so you can use it tomorrow night.”

      “A stakeout? Using a civilian?” she chirped. “Isn’t that irregular?”

      Tate shrugged nonchalantly as he scooped up his hat. “I’ve done it a few times before. We’re understaffed at the moment, since one of the officers is on vacation. This will work perfectly. You and Vance are already paired up and I need a couple to go undercover.”

      Like a doomed prisoner on her way to the gallows, Miranda walked from the house with a suitcase of disguises in hand. This could not be happening. She’d go crazy if she had to share the same house with Vance. She was already going crazy after that lip-sizzling, heart-stopping kiss that had left her half-naked and wanting him beyond bearing last night.

      VANCE MANAGED TO MAKE IT through the day with Randi helping him string wire and clip it to the new posts. He’d made the decision to suffer through evening patrol duty by pulling his hat over his eyes and pretending to catch a few z’s while Randi cruised around town.

      But curiosity got the best of him and he found himself monitoring Randi while she settled a domestic dispute between a middle-aged couple that resulted in the wife hurling her husband’s clothing onto the lawn. Vance also watched her deal compassionately with a four-year-old boy who’d gotten lost and needed a police chauffeur to take him safely home.

      An hour before they went off duty, Randi pulled over a rattletrap car with four male occupants. When she approached the vehicle Vance rolled down the window to monitor the conversation.

      To his frustration he heard wolf whistles as she halted by the driver’s window. He couldn’t hear what she said in response, but he did hear the male guffaws wafting in the breeze. That did it. She didn’t have to tolerate that kind of disrespect and he didn’t have to sit here and listen to it.

      Vance was out of the squad car in nothing flat. He bore down on the four juveniles who had their baseball caps turned backward on their heads and were leering at Randi whose shapely physique was spotlighted by the headlights of the squad car.

      He could tell right off that she resented his interference. Her head snapped up and she flashed him a get-your-butt-back-in-the-car stare. He disregarded the silent command because his protective instincts were in overdrive.

      “I believe I heard the officer ask for your license,” Vance growled. “Hand it over.”

      The boys lapsed into silence while Randi checked the license and wrote out a ticket for speeding and reckless driving. When the foursome cruised off Randi rounded on Vance like an attack Doberman. “I told you to stay in the car!” she all but yelled at him. “That was the deal. You ride along, not participate. I can do my job.”

      “Well, I can’t do mine,” Vance flared. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit by and watch those little creeps treat you with disrespect.”

      “It