Saturday, August 29, 2015

STRIKER by Patricia Green



STRIKER
 by Patricia Green

About the book: They've got to find a cruel serial killer, but their attraction might be deadlier. Detective Jase Striker doesn't want a partner on the job, and when he’s saddled with Angelica Piccolino—a rookie in the homicide division—he’s more than a little annoyed. But his irritation with his sexy new partner soon morphs into a blistering passion, and though he fears what mixing work with pleasure will do to his crime fighting abilities, she soon proves irresistible. Despite her diminutive size, Angelica is no stranger to the streets, and at twenty-six years old she’s tired of being treated like a kid. Yet somehow, when her attitude pushes Striker too far and he takes her over his knee for a bare bottom spanking, it merely leaves her desire for him burning even hotter. Forced to work together as a team, Striker and Piccolino must race against time to hunt down a serial killer whose only calling card is a white rose left with each victim. Can they bring the white rose murderer to justice before another victim turns up? 
Publisher’s Note: Striker is an erotic romance novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book. 


About the Author: 
Patricia Green is a full-time fiction writer specializing in erotic romance. She provides the reader with love stories that emphasize fun characters with quirky personalities. Patricia is the author of more than 30 published novels and novellas as well as an ever-growing collection of short stories. In her personal life, Patricia is married, and the mother of twins. When she’s not being the angel of domestic harmony and a semi-crazed creator of fictional friends, she loves to read, crochet, knit and watch hockey. 

You can reach Patricia Green in the following ways: 
Email: pig (at) patriciagreenbooks (dot) com 
Twitter: @PatriciaIGreen Google+: http://plus.google.com/+PatriciaGreen 

Excerpt #1 (453 words) G-rated: 
 I chucked the file and its fresh autopsy report onto my desk and turned away from my cubicle to head for the coffee machine. It was about time for a cup o’ joe and a look at the usual Monday doughnut selection. I realized I’d left my coffee cup on my desk and turned back. "Are you my daddy?" The voice came from behind me, so I swiveled, fully expecting that the female with the question was going to be some adolescent who'd mistaken me for another cop. What met my eyes was the last thing I expected: a honey blonde, maybe eighteen, nineteen, years old, far too old to be my daughter. And she was smirking at me. "What?" "I asked, 'Are you my daddy?' Didn't you hear me the first time? Are you deaf or just stupid?" "Listen, kid, I don't have time for this. You know I'm not your father. Get lost." The captain walked up, and patted the young woman on the back. "Play nice, Striker. This is your new partner, Angelica Piccolino from Vice." Laughing, she nearly doubled over with mirth. My face heated, not with embarrassment, but with blazing irritation. Who was this Angelica Piccolino, and how was I going get rid of her? “Cute,” I said. “You sent me a high school student to work on a homicide. Why would I ever think you were putting me on?” If my tone was gruff, I had a right. No one likes to be the butt of a joke. “Aw, keep your pants on, grandpa,” said the petite thorn in my side. “I’m fully qualified.” Okay, so I snorted. Probably not the most adult thing I could have done, but not as juvenile as laughing out loud. How could a pint-sized, snot-nosed girl be qualified to work on a homicide? “You’re from Vice?” This time, Captain Donati spoke up. “Don’t be such a hard-ass, Striker.” I thought about it during the three-second pause in the conversation. Donati was trustworthy, and a conversation about the suitability of my new partner should not take place in the cubicle farm. “Yeah. Just surprised, is all.” I gave the girl a steady stare, hoping for a little intimidation. “And that was not the best way to introduce yourself, Piccolino.” She had the nerve to shrug, grinning. “Gotcha good, though, didn’t I?” A corner of my mouth almost turned up, but I stopped the grin from coming on. “Yeah.” “You had the stupidest expression on your face, Striker. Priceless. You looked like a scorned cow.” I didn’t even address that caustic remark, and perhaps it was small of me, but I was rather proud of my ability not to bite her head off. 

Excerpt #2 (497 words) PG-13 Rated (language): 
 Donati and I both sat. “What’s this about, Striker? Problems with the case already?” “Not exactly, sir. More like with the partner you’ve given me. I’ve been operating pretty well since Smitty retired. I don’t need a wet-behind-the-ears rookie to babysit.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at me, his eyes inscrutable. Perhaps five seconds passed. I began to think I was supposed to say something else, but finally, he spoke. “Piccolino is qualified, Striker, or I never would have assigned her to you. She was one of the best detectives on the Vice Squad, an undercover operative who pulled in the bad guys like nobody’s business. But she became a known quantity on the street. Crooks had a habit of getting put away when she was around, and it seemed wiser to give her a different assignment where she could be herself.” “She looks like a teenager, sir. She even dresses like a teenager. Since when does a pink hoodie and a miniskirt qualify as professional clothes? How does that reflect on the department?” “Yeah, I already talked to her about that. She’ll be more business-like in the future.” I had my doubts, but kept them to myself. “How old is she? Twenty? How’d she get promoted so fast? Was she that hot with Vice?” “She’s twenty-six, but you could have asked her yourself. Piccolino just looks like a teenager. It’s gotten her pretty far, but she’s done her time on the team. I think you’ll find her knowledgeable. The only thing is…” Oh, great. There was a but in there. “Yeah?” “She’s a little bit of a hotshot. Takes chances when maybe she shouldn’t. When she was out on the streets with punks on her case, she had to be sharp and steady working on her own. It got her used to risky police work.” Honest to God, I tried not to grit my teeth. My dentist would have caught me, but Donati didn’t. “So, I’m supposed to keep her in line, while training her for the Homicide Division, and solving crimes. Piece of cake,” I said, scowling. “Damn it, Striker. Stop whining and get to work. You have a partner. She’s talented. You have experience and will be perfect for showing her the ropes. Now, get outta here.” Maybe I was whining. The thing is, I enjoyed working on my own. When my partner retired, it was like I’d been freed from lock down. I could handle the cases the way I wanted to, following a logical progression, rather than following hunches and guesses. Sure, sometimes a hunch can lead you to an answer, but just as often they waste your time. Maybe Piccolino was meticulous, too. I wouldn’t know if I didn’t give her a chance. “Okay,” I said as I rose and turned toward the door. “Oh, and Striker—” “Yeah?” “Don’t fuck it up.” What could I say to that? I twisted the doorknob and made my silent exit. 

Excerpt #3 (610 words) R-Rated (language and concepts): 
 The next morning, I realized it had been a huge mistake to allow my partner to drive the police vehicle to the scene of the latest murder. She was reckless and completely unconcerned about other cars. Sure, we had our flasher in the window and the siren on, but we were in an unmarked car. People were slower to get out of the way than they would be for a marked police car. “Geez, slow the fuck down!” She grinned at me and slewed the car on the wet road. A moment later, she was back in control, but her grin was a little false. I gripped the oh shit bar above the window and held on for dear life. Even a seat belt and air bags wouldn’t be enough if she lost control at this speed. “God damn it, Piccolino! I said slow down!” “Grow some balls, Striker!” “I mean it. You’re going to kill us both. Now cut it out!” “Or what?” she mocked. “You’re going to spank me?” Where she’d gotten that, almost reading my mind, kind of threw me for a loop. But if a person ever deserved a spanking more than Piccolino, I couldn’t think of one. Rain started again, pelting the windshield with big, drooling drops. She flicked the wipers on, but didn’t slow down in the least. We rounded a corner and fishtailed, but once again, she got control after a heart-stopping moment. “You sure as hell need a spanking, you little brat.” “Good luck with that. I know karate.” “Not that it would do you any good.” We swerved and I saw my life flash before my eyes. “You are out of control, woman!” “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” The car screeched to a halt, well, almost to a halt, just as it sideswiped a parked vehicle a block away from our destination. Piccolino’s mouth opened and shut a few times, and then she squeaked, “Oops.” “Your ass is grass, Piccolino,” I told her. “Get out of the car.” My door was pinned closed against the crunched driver’s side door of the BMW she’d hit. Silently, her face pale, Piccolino got out of the car, and I awkwardly moved across the seats and got out behind her. There were no pedestrians and few moving cars along the street, probably due to the rainy weather. That was fortunate for my partner, because it was going to be bad enough reporting this MVA to Donati. Accidents happened when pursuing criminals, but we hadn’t been in pursuit, so there was no excuse for it this time. I straightened my fedora and stared down at her, my brows drawn together. “I’m sorry.” I remained silent. “Really. I’m sorry. I should have listened to you. I’ve just never been so excited. Rolling to the scene of a homicide. I felt like I was in the big time, you know, like… I don’t know…” “Starsky and Hutch.” “Who?” “Never mind. You crossed the line. This was no little fender-bender.” I pointed to the Beamer. “That guy’s paint job alone is going to cost a thousand bucks.” “Do we have to say it was my fault?” “It was your fault.” “Well, kinda. And kinda not.” “You want me to lie?” “Lie? No. Just… don’t say anything about how fast I was going. If you don’t say anything, Donati will never know this was more than an unfortunate skid and crunch due to the weather.” “I’ve had it about up to here with your attitude, Piccolino,” I told her, gesturing to the top of my head. “You deserve whatever you get from Donati.” She bit her lower lip. “Do I deserve…maybe…a spanking?”    

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