BAIT AND SWITCH Dorchester Love Spell October 2002 EXCERPT Lieutenant Harold Snow’s eyes were as cold as his surname as he ripped the badge from the breast pocket of Mitch’s police uniform. Mitch’s heart went with it. “Get this turncoat out of my sight,” the lieutenant bit out. Two police guards with Popeye-sized biceps hooked Mitch under the arms and pulled him toward a jail cell. His heels dragged on the cheap linoleum floor. “But I didn’t steal the money. All I did was try to help my brother,” Mitch protested as they threw him in the cell and locked it. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing on to the vertical bars. His brother leaned negligently against a nearby wall, watching. “Do something, Cary.”

“Can’t do anything, bro.” Cary shrugged carelessly. “You should have known better than to trust me.”

Alarm bells went off in Mitch’s brain. Alarm bells that had sounded far too late.

One of his eyes snapped open, then the other, and the prison cell disappeared. The alarm bells didn’t stop. Groaning, he reached out and hit the snooze button on the alarm clock. Still, the ringing persisted.

He tried to sit up, but rolled to the middle of the bed instead, feeling as though he were navigating the seas of insanity. As his head cleared, he realized he was stuck in the middle of Cary’s water bed and somebody was ringing Cary’s doorbell. Somebody who expected Cary to answer the door.

Except Cary was safely ensconced in Atlanta, thanks to Mitch’s grudging agreement to switch places with him and straighten out his mess. Cary didn’t seem to appreciate that Mitch was taking risks that involved his career as well as his kneecaps. One misstep, and he’d land in a jail cell. Then his career would surely be over.

Mitch needed to focus on the positive side of their agreement. As a concession, he’d gotten Cary to promise to stop gambling. Granted, he’d promised before. But this time he seemed to mean it. Besides, considering who could be on the other side of Cary’s door, Mitch would much rather take the gamble of opening it than Cary. He was a cop. He could take care of himself.

Mitch executed a log roll that took him to the edge of the waterbed. Then he stuck out a bare leg and foraged for dry ground. All the while, the doorbell kept buzzing. Then the pounding started.

What was it about him that encouraged others to wake him out of a sound sleep? First Cary had come playing La Cucaracha in Atlanta. Now this.

He pulled on jeans over his boxers and tucked a handgun at the small of his back. Then he walked into the hallway, only to catch his toe on the edge of a skinny oriental rug. He lost his balance and went sprawling, saving himself from falling by slamming into the wall with a tremendous thud.

“Son of a gun,” he shouted. He righted himself and thanked God the gun hadn’t gone off. Rubbing his sore shoulder, he stalked the rest of the way to the door and the infernal ringing.

He didn’t care if the person on the other side was there to bust his kneecaps. He aimed to give him a mouthful for waking him up so rudely. He flung open the door.

“You unreliable lout!”

The voice yelling insults didn’t belong to Mitch, because he was struck speechless. Standing on the doorstep of his brother’s fancy Tradd Street sublet was the most desirable woman he had ever seen.

Her eyes were a smidgen too close together, her nose a hair too long and her mouth centimeters too wide, but the net effect slammed into him with a sensual punch. Her short blond hair was cut in haphazard, fly-away layers that framed an oval face with the highest cheekbones he’d ever seen. The eyes that glared up at him were the color of coca-cola, which happened to be his favorite beverage.

He wasn’t quite through admiring her figure, which tended toward the very lushness he preferred, when she thumped him once in the chest. Hard enough to make him gasp.

“You are the biggest, most irresponsible jerk I have ever had the displeasure to meet.” He even liked her voice. If she sang, she’d be an alto. Maybe a tenor. “I can’t believe I was stupid enough to believe you.”

“Uh, I’m sure you’re not stupid,” Mitch stammered, unwilling to listen to this captivating creature belittle herself.

“How dare you disagree with me after what you did.”

“What did I do?” Mitch asked. Stupidly, he instantly realized. Her full mouth narrowed in a thin line, and her dark eyes flashed.

“Now you have the incredible gall to ask what you did. Why, oh why, did I ever get involved with you?”

“You’re involved with me?” Mitch gaped at her. For an instant, he felt as though he’d won the lottery. Cary teased him about his dearth of dates, but the reason was because he seldom ran across a woman he wanted to ask out. For this woman, though, he would have braved a minefield. Then the reality of what was happening crashed down on his sleep-addled mind.

This enchanting blonde wasn’t involved with him. She was involved with Cary . . .