WHEW! SUMMER HEAT SAYS IT ALL! MY FIRST FORAY INTO THE EROTIC LANDED ME THE COVETED SPOT OF LEAD STORY IN THIS COLLECTION OF DELICIOUS NAUGHTY  EROTIC BITS. Written under Jenna M. Fox. This will be my only work under that name, so get it now and sell it on eBay later. CATCH THE HEAT AT MIDNIGHT SHOWCASE! EXCERPT LOSE MY MIND by Jenna M. Fox Chapter One Deputy Bobby Harlow stared, almost hypnotized, as his cup of water spun in the small microwave. This not sleeping was becoming a habit. Even after a hard, sweltering day of tracking meth labs through the woods he still needed his hot chocolate and lemon cookies. Leaving the spoon trapped in his firm mouth, he rubbed the dark hair along his chest absently as he waited. God, he wanted to bust that meth lab. Every day brought more word of some other kid getting involved with the deadly stuff. Suicides were on the rise in his county. It was an epidemic he wanted to stomp out, if only he could find the labs. His fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants as he waited for the light inside the microwave to go off. The bell had stopped working months ago. Maybe he’d buy a new one for his birthday. Being born on the Fourth of July had its perks. He liked the idea that the whole country celebrated his day and he was always guaranteed a day off. Bobby had grown up with a love for fireworks, and he was thinking of setting some up in his back yard, perhaps sending his poor old microwave into the great beyond, like an anvil shoot. He needed a new one, maybe a bigger one, so he could nuke his frozen dinners. He thought of the two he’d purchased the other day, fried chicken dinners. Those would serve as his birthday dinner. Taking up his midnight snack, he made it back to his big iron bed and slid in without spilling a drop. His police scanner was silent beside him. He kept it on scan to pick up surrounding counties as well as his own. Mark as well as the Sheriff would be on patrol tonight. His thoughts went to the day spent with Derek, Ron, Cass, and Vin following up on a lead that a meth lab was set up in the county. They had a scant location, but had found nothing, so had spread the search. He was glad the county had opted for horses instead of four-wheelers. He was the only one happy with that decision, he knew. But, he couldn’t see how hot-dogging on a four-wheeler was going to help them sneak up on anyone. He heard her voice. He settled back against his pillows as she spoke. He had never seen her, but the young female deputy from the next county had already fired his imagination as well as his blood. Lately he found he was listening for her voice and if pressed, could more than likely recite her patrol schedule. And she was on tonight. “Six-ten, six-hundred.” He knew six hundred was dispatch and waited for the officer on duty to respond. “Six-ten, go ahead.” He felt his body stir at the sound of her voice. “Down, boy,” he admonished his growing arousal. Apparently, he was on tonight, too. Her voice came over his scanner like Southern sugar. He loved the way she said the word ten like it had two syllables. So, she was Six-te-n tonight. He reached over and stopped his scanner from searching other signals. He had what he wanted now. He waited for the dispatcher to give her instructions. He pictured some Southern Pamela Anderson, sitting in her cruiser, waiting. “Six-ten, I have a possible Ten-Forty-nine. West Highway.” Bobby recognized the police code for a drunk driver.. “Ten-four, Six-hundred. Make and model? Direction of travel?” “Six-ten, All the complainant said was east bound, a. dark colored S-10 pickup.” “Ten- four.” “Shit,” Bobby muttered leaning back “Dark colored. Hell, that’s helpful. It is night time, you know.” He waited and the silence began to draw his nerves taut. He was actually worried about her. He sipped his hot chocolate and munched on a lemon cookie. And waited. “Six-ten, six-hundred.” “Go ahead, six-ten.” “I have the vehicle in front of me. Fentress County, RFC-745.” “Harold King,” Bobby said the name and plate he knew well. “Roger. RFC-745 comes back to a Harold King. Extensive record.” “Roger,” she replied. “He isn’t pulling over, so we can add resisting to that resume.” Bobby smiled in spite of the situation. He could hear her siren’s call over the scanner. He didn’t like her trying to pull King over. King was bad news. “Six-ten, Six-sixteen,” came the voice of the Fentress County Sheriff. “Six-ten,” she responded. “Six-ten, signal nine.” Bobby almost came off the bed board. “Back off?” “Six-ten, six-sixteen,” she responded.. “ Your radio is ten-one. Didn’t copy.” Bobby grinned at her audacity, pretending not to have heard her boss’ edict. “Six-ten! Ten-nine! Did you copy that, damnit?” the sheriff yelled. Bobby knew her adrenaline must be pumping through her body right now, and she was probably soaring with anger at her superior’s order. “Ten-four,” she retorted sourly. To Bobby it sounded as if she’d said, “F you.” Secretly, Bobby was relieved that she had been called off. He knew King. The last time he had pulled him over in his county they had scuffled and Bobby had barely managed to get the tall and lanky drug addict into cuffs. He hadn’t walked away unscathed either. His ribs had been tender for days afterwards. King was dangerous. AVAILABLE NOW AT MIDNIGHT SHOWCASE!