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Friday, February 16, 2007

Deceiving Derek by Cindy Procter-King

Deceiving Derek by Cindy Procter-King
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A lingerie designer named Lacey, a meddlesome twin sister, and a wiener dog with an underwear fetish team up to give police detective Derek McAllister a major headache in DECEIVING DEREK.

Lingerie designer Lacey DeMarco attempts to liven up her life by hoodwinking an unsuspecting police detective to a funky bridal shower, thereby fulfilling the "cop" requirement on a scavenger hunt list. However, little does Lacey realize that she and Derek are *both* being deceived--in the name of love.

Author: Cindy Procter-King
Editor: Catherine Chant
Artist: Rebecca Pack
Proofreader: Tammy Xanthakis
Length: Short Story (5,000 to 10,000 words)
Genre: Romance
Category: Humor
Rating: General audience (Suitable for all ages.)


"Somebody is stealing my underwear! And I want you to find out who it is."

Detective Derek McAllister arched a skeptical eyebrow and raised his gaze from the sports section of the Seattle area newspaper. Hello. A svelte, Cameron Diaz look-alike poured into a blazing red dress stood on the other side of his desk. Indignation radiated from her blue eyes as she dangled a scarlet G-string mere inches from his nose. Her hand jerked, and the titillating scrap of silk and elastic indecency flipped off her crimson-polished fingertip to puddle onto the latest Mariner's baseball scores.

Derek shot a glance to the front counter of the small suburban precinct. Both Biggs, the balding desk sergeant, and Hardy, a uniformed patrol officer who routinely shadowed Biggs like a starved-for-attention sidekick, looked back at them and chortled. Biggs twirled a finger near one cauliflower ear and mouthed with wide-eyed exaggeration, Crrrrrazy.

Like he needed Biggs to tell him. Thanks a lot, boneheads. Sending me the kook again, are you?

"Well?" the slim blonde asked. "Are you going to shuffle me off like they did-" she pointed back at Biggs and Hardy "-or take me seriously?" Her shiny, golden hair shimmered beneath the bright precinct lights in feathery layers.

Hell, why not? Derek hunched forward in his swivel chair. As Thursday evenings went, this one was a colossal bore. He needed something to keep him awake until his shift ended at midnight. Besides, he could sense the woman's frazzled nerves beneath her righteous ire. On the chance she really was a kook-job, he'd rather pacify her and escort her safely home than send her out to roam the streets in her current state of agitation.

Taking his time about it-no sense in making her even more edgy-he calmly eyeballed the G-string. He slipped the tip of a pen beneath a lace-covered strap and lifted the breeze of nothingness off the newspaper as carefully as if he were handling a piece of forensic evidence.

© Cindy Procter-King
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