Warrant for Love [Englisch] [Taschenbuch]

Sheryl Browne grew up in Birmingham, UK, where she studied Art & Design. She wears many hats: a partner in her own business, a mother, and a foster parent to disabled dogs. Creative in spirit, Sheryl has always had a passion for writing. She has previously been published in the US and writes Rom Com because, as she puts it, "life is just too short to be miserable."

Chapter One ‘OhmiGod!’ Leanne had that familiar blood-freezing feeling. The same kind of feeling she had when she accused her son of misplacing the TV remote, only to find it hidden on the sofa, under her bum. She closed her eyes as creeping dread turned to certainty. Not a great idea in the fast lane of the motorway. In retrospect, it hadn’t been a great idea to rest the file on the car roof while she threw her hardhat and Wellingtons inside, either. Gone were the client details, scattered to the four winds. How on earth was she supposed to sell the property without the property specifications? ‘Damn!’ She slammed a frustrated hand against the steering wheel, then flashed her hazard lights, hoping the white-van man glued to her bumper might get the message. No chance. He had his reputation to consider, after all. ‘Typical,’ she muttered, glancing in her mirror and locking eyes with the driver. Flinty eyes, she noticed. Which meant his ego was under threat and his white van was about to take on the horsepower of a Ferrari. The games people play. Lee sighed as he nudged up to overtake her, again, stuck out her tongue, and pulled over. Ah, well. She tried to look on the bright side, feeling marginally better now she’d at least found the street she was supposed to be on. Being a simple soul from Worcestershire, where roads actually led somewhere, Lee couldn’t fathom why Birmingham city planners had designed them to go one-way, round in circles. It was beyond her, it really… ‘Yesss!’ she whooped, finally, finally, arriving at her destination. She’d found it. And without the assistance of satnav, which Lee had demoted from the dash to the back seat after her last navigational disaster. At the island, take the first exit, the narrator had demanded dementedly for the third successive time, and then huffily commanded her to make a U-turn. On a motorway? Geographically-challenged obviously, unlike Lee. Giving herself a mental pat on the back, she wove her car through the car park, expertly avoiding potholes and workmen, and clunked to a halt in front of a building under conversion. Right, here we go. Positive thinking, Lee, she reminded herself. She could manage without the file. She’d seen one city condo, she’d seen them all. They were all similar, after all. He was in the market for buying. She was selling, and she would make a sale today. He’s buying. You are selling. He’s buying… She repeated her mantra, and climbed out of the car with gritty determination to improvise. **** Police Constable Paul Davis leaned against his patrol car, arms folded and one eye on the queue at McDonald’s. He checked his watch, then raked a despairing hand through his hair, which wasn’t the short, short and short it should be. The five o’clock shadow wasn’t desirable either, his Detective Inspector had pulled him up earlier to point out. Perhaps he should’ve popped into the hair salon whilst Mike was queuing for brunch, a must between breakfast and lunch, and the patrol car was parked on double yellows. ‘So, we can actually go on duty now, can we?’ he asked when his partner finally emerged from McDonalds. ‘You have everything you need, do you?’ Mike held tight to his cheeseburger and groped about his person with his free hand. ‘Handcuffs, truncheon, walkie-talkie’. ‘Mr Bassets?’ Paul enquired, smiling despite his morose mood. Mike patted his trouser pocket, looking panicky. ‘Yep.’ He grinned, having located his liquorice allsorts. ‘All set.’ ‘Thanks for that.’ Paul climbed behind the wheel. ‘Belt?’ he suggested, waiting for Mike to loosen his waistband. ‘That’s better,’ Mike said, clearly relieved. ‘We off then, or what?’ ‘Pillock.’ Paul laughed. ‘You’ll need to go up a size if you don’t watch it.’ ‘Paul, I’m a close-to-retirement copper who’s missed sergeant — again — not a bloody supermodel. Anyway,’ Mike sucked his belly in a bit, ‘the wife likes something to get hold of in bed, doesn’t she?’ ‘Yeah, right,’ Paul muttered, and tried not to think of his own wife, and who she liked to get hold of in bed. ‘Why deny yourself life’s little luxuries?’ Mike went on, oblivious. ‘You only live once. And you could use a little fattening up yourself. You’re looking a bit gaunt, mate.’ He looked Paul over. ‘Take my advice, son. Leave the past where it is and get on with your life. You’re only thirty-nine…’ ‘Forty,’ Paul reminded him, glancing in the rear view mirror. Gaunt was an understatement. He looked like death. He made a mental note to cut out the booze. And then maybe, God and the idiot who lived above Paul willing, he’d get some much-needed sleep. ‘Well, there you go. Life’s just beginning, isn’t it? Forget about your problems and grab it by the goolies, I say, while you still…’ ‘Life, Mike, is a bitch,’ Paul cut in. ‘And then you die.’ ‘You know, you’re right. Dunno why we bother.’ Mike shook his head. ‘I’ll just finish my cheeseburger, then I’ll shoot myself.’ ‘But try not to make a mess in the car, hey? I just cleaned it.’ Paul smiled, and pulled out. Right in front of an oncoming bus. **** She’d been right, Lee thought, wearily, at the other end of what had turned out to be an abysmal day. Without the file for reference, she hadn’t known her Villeroy and Boch bathroom furniture from her beech floors. She’d do better tomorrow. She’d have to if she was going to keep her son in clothes befitting an emotionally-charged punk rocker. ‘Evening, Mumsie-wumsie.’ Drew, looking remarkably like Johnny Depp… in his pale Scissorhands days… detached himself from his Play Station to greet her as she drooped through the front door. ‘Have a good day?’ ‘Doorstep! Down!’ Lee attempted to fend off the dog, who bowled through the back door to launch herself at Lee’s tights from fifty paces. ‘God, give me strength!’ She failed. ‘That good, then,’ Drew observed, sloping to the living room, Reebok laces trailing flatly behind him. Lee sighed, heading for the kitchen, to find a button-less pair of Richard’s tennis shorts strategically placed on the table. Cheek! After hours on her feet showing properties to perusers, he thought she was going to metamorphose into a cross between Mary Poppins and St. Michael? No way. He could sew his own buttons on, and if he was expecting haute cuisine tonight, he could learn to cook, because she had about as much panache in the kitchen as she’d had in the blooming Villeroy and Boch bathroom earlier. And if it was him ringing, she’d tell him so, too, after he’d had the nerve to stand her up last night. She kicked off her shoes and pattered to the phone. ‘Richard, I’m glad you’ve rung,’ she started determinedly, having noted his number on the caller display. ‘I see you stopped by today and… Flowers? What… ?’ She glanced at the sink, in which were indeed flowers. ‘Ah, um, yes they’re… Sorry? You want to go out? Well…’ Lee was a bit taken aback, spontaneity not being something Richard did without being prompted. ‘Oh, all right, then. The beef bourguignon will keep till tomorrow,’ she lied, lest he think her totally at a loose end without him. ‘Half an hour? Okay, no problem.’ Lee signed off, checked her watch, then her face in the hall mirror. No problem at all. A head transplant should do it. Why on earth had she agreed to be ready in half an hour, when it might take major surgery to make her look even half decent? Why hadn’t she told him to un-book the table and rebook it for later? Because she loved him, she supposed, despite the button-less shorts. Because she wanted him to see her as an effortless beauty, hah, hah, like his ex, and be madly in love with her — Leanne Curtis — too. She was halfway up the stairs in search of a miracle or, failing that, Elizabeth Arden’s entire make-up range, when the phone rang again. ‘Mum, it’s Nicky. She wants to know if you’re in,’ Drew bawled, despite Lee’s frantic hand gesturing that she was out. ‘No, Drew, I’m not, obviously.’ Lee said, with a roll of her eyes. ‘Mum says she’s...