CLIFF HARDIE WAS A COP, easily the toughest and most brutal on the force.
His undying hatred and his gun were pitted against the pushers of dope, the peddlers of degradation and despair. Then Cliff Hardie met Pat Carothers, who learned to love him. And Cliff Hardie was brutal enough and tough enough to see that he could use her to catch the big guy he wanted to kill.
“No, no,” she whispered, “you’re not going to-”
Her struggle lasted only a little while.
Then her hands found their way around his neck. She was a warm, resilient thing in his arms.
The pulses pounded in his head. Wrong girl, he thought dizzily. But his hand was at her waist, straddling the dome of her hip.
He turned her toward him. Her softness was all along him, and the pulses that pounded in the dark were hers or his-he couldn’t tell any more, and it didn’t seem to matter.
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