Derek pulled Callie close and shoved his hands deep into the back pockets of her skintight, denim miniskirt.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. Overhead, a squadron of pelicans, in fighter jet formation, headed out to sea. Far off on the horizon, Callie watched a cruise ship heading south to Port Everglades, probably returning from the Bahamas.

"You see anything yet?" Derek asked, pulling her body closer. "Here's hoping the deal goes down soon."

Callie scanned the beach, taking a moment to ponder the information they'd received. The source alluded to the fact that there would be a drop here, but when? She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. They couldn't very well hang here forever.

"Phew! It's hot. No, I don't see anything, yet." Callie sniffed at the thick, humid air, and smiled up into Derek's face. "By the way, Derek, you smell pretty good for a change. That's nice considering we're all over each other. Nothing worse than working up close and personal with someone who stinks," she teased.

"Thanks for noticing. Actually took a shower this morning." He grinned, showing a set of perfect white teeth. "Can't think of a better way to spend my time than up close and personal with you." He accentuated his point by pressing their bodies closer together so she felt every contour of his lean, muscular body, one of which was getting more distinct.

"Watch it, buddy." Callie pressed a hand to Derek's chest and laughed as she pushed some distance between them. "Look, over there. I think it's going down."

Derek followed Callie's line of vision. "The two Hispanic men approaching Mister GQ over by the palm tree?"

"Yes."

They watched as the men walked toward a well-dressed Caucasian male about thirty-five years old who leaned casually against the tree. On the ground beside him sat a nondescript, black briefcase.

"Heads up, guys, it looks like we've got some action to the north," Callie said into the tiny microphone clipped inside her tank top. She adjusted her sunglasses and glanced toward the broad walk, easily picking out Stan and Trudy.

They sat at one of the outdoor tables of the Cafe Beachside. She watched Stan set his cup on the table and observe the scene play out. Trudy turned nonchalantly as if taking in the scenery.

"Hey, Stan? Is that our boy?" Callie spoke into her mic.

She glanced first at the men approaching from the south, then as unobtrusively as possible, allowed her gaze to drift to the man leaning against the palm. She noted that he also watched the men advance. The subject, Tony Maronetti, was a punk dealer who had somehow wormed his way into the Island's high society. He hung with the posh crowd of Olevia Island and was nothing but a low life wearing Armani suits who boasted a rap sheet at least a mile long. The word on the street whispered Maronetti had an ambitious nature and an agenda. For these reasons, the Captain thought him worthy of watching. Callie, however, wanted the big fish. She'd been working V.I.N., better known as Vice, Intelligence and Narcotics, for the last couple of years and still had no idea who kept Maronetti afloat.

"Yep, Callie, that would be our man," Stan's voice came through the tiny device in Callie's ear. "The buy should go down any minute."

"Is backup in place?" Callie asked into her mic. "Do we have unmarked and patrol off site and K9 at ready?"

"Affirmative," came over the wire in several different voices.

"Great, hold until we signal," Callie said.

"That's a 10-4," a deep voice confirmed.

"Looks like the gang-bangers won't be seeing this load, huh?" Derek commented as they watched the exchange play out.

"It's going down." Adrenalin raised the tone of Stan's voice a notch. "Let's go!"

Stan and Trudy advanced on the trio just when the money changed hands. Callie and Derek headed in from the other direction, drawing their guns on approach.

"Freeze, Maronetti! Police! Get on the ground. Now!" Derek yelled.

Maronetti took off running with Derek right behind him. Callie ran in the opposite direction, dodging people and property scattered about the beach. She circled around the cafe to the north, betting Maronetti would head for the service alley half a block north that ran between beachside businesses and emptied onto A1A, otherwise known as Ocean Drive.

Heart pounding in her chest and adrenalin racing through her veins, Callie's sneakered feet bit easily into the sand. This was the part of the job she loved best. The paperwork and reports could be tedious, even boring at times, but the chase was worth everything. It was electric. It got her juices flowing.

Once out of the sand, Callie hit the street in an all out sprint. Turning west, she cut up A1A toward the alley. At the mouth of the alley, she slammed herself against the building, back to the wall. Gun pointed to the ground and held securely in both hands, she peeked around the corner and quickly pulled her head back.

Nothing.

"Shit."

Silence.

Then she heard the echo of leather slapping asphalt from the opposite end of the alley. Maronetti.

Poised and ready, she gauged her timing before stepping into the mouth of the alley. Gun ready at shoulder height, legs spread apart, she yelled, "Hit the ground, asshole!"

Derek closed in from the other end; Maronetti had nowhere to go but down. He obliged.

"Place your hands, fingers locked, on top of your head," Callie said to the prone Maronetti.

"Good job, Callie," Derek said while he cuffed and frisked Maronetti. "Whew! Lookee here." He pulled a bulky legal-sized envelope from Maronetti's waistband. Derek let out a low whistle. "Wonder where this came from? Do you always travel with this much cash?"

Maronetti said nothing.

Callie laughed. "Hmm, I can't imagine. You got any ideas, Maronetti? Hey, Derek, maybe he just doesn't trust the banking system." Glancing at the suspect, she couldn't resist. "You're lucky you didn't lose that during your afternoon run."

The subject kept his silence.

Derek grasped the cuffs and pulled Maronetti to his feet. "Let's go."

"Stan, Trudy? Have you got the other two subjects and the briefcase?" she queried into the miniature mic.

"Under control," Trudy's voice confirmed. "You got Maronetti?"

"Affirmative. We're heading back."

Both men were handcuffed, sitting on the ground, and Trudy had possession of the briefcase when Callie and Derek returned with Maronetti. Stan called for the cars to move in to pick up the suspects.

By the time the vehicles arrived, a group of curious onlookers had gathered to gawk at the men as they were each loaded into different patrol cars to eliminate any chance of them talking to one another.

"All right everyone, get about your business! Show's over," Trudy called, shooing people back.

"Did anyone get that briefcase open?" Derek asked as he secured Maronetti in the waiting van.

"Yeah, I did a Valtox test and we've got pure powder," Trudy answered.

"Whooee, got us a nice bust here, eh? Not bad for a couple hours on the beach."

"Oh, yeah," Callie said. "Cap's going to be happy with this one."

"Guess we all meet back at the station and file reports. Paperwork, my fav!" Stan complained with an accentuated grunt.

"I hear ya," Derek chimed in.

"That's right, Stanley, make a good bust and you get punished with hours of filling out reports not to mention interrogating the subjects, huh?" Trudy grinned.

"C'mon you pathetic bunch of whiners. Let's go." Callie smiled moving toward her SUV.