I got up and gave him a patronising pat on the shoulder as I made my way to Reception where somebody had tuned up the heat by a gazillion degrees. Rookie, I take it back. You were speechless and now I know why.

On the standard government issue linoleum floor stood an angel in a Crocodile Dundee wannabe outfit. Although her body language said, “I’m friendly and non-threatening”, the military style combat boots, khaki socks, just above the ankle said, “do you feel lucky? Punk?”. At least to me who is trained in observation and body language. However, the legs those combat boots are attached to were nothing short of godly on this six foot two, Olympic athlete body. Blond with her short, military style crew cut. I judged her to be around thirty. Tanned from head to toe and shining brighter than the sun.

The muscles under her long, shapely tanned legs rippled as she shifted her weight to the left and tilted her head a little. I had no idea if her faint smile reached her eyes behind those black rimmed, checkout special type sunglasses. But if her eyes compliment those voluptuous lips, high cheekbones and well-proportioned bust, then I think I’ve just found myself a cheerleader. She took off her glasses and I gasped internally. Dark on the outside, melting into an almost luminous green on the inside, gold speckled eyes locked with my plain hazel coloured and lust filled ones. I was in love even before her voluptuous lips twitched into a picture-perfect smile. And not a stitch of makeup. Just pure, natural beauty and a body that could strut her stuff on the most famous fashion runways in the world.

I stepped forward and was surprised that my knees felt wobbly. Then it hit me. Her perfume. A light Lily fragrance, with a touch of musk. Subtle. Not overly feminine but enough to arouse the attention of any hot-blooded creature nearby with a heartbeat. Even in this stuffy, fermented sweat and desperation smelling cesspit, she smelled like an early Spring morning, fresh and soul reviving.

I stepped forward and extended my hand. ‘Hi, I’m Officer Bradford Scott with the USPA. How may I help you ma’am?’

She widened her million-dollar smile and shook my hand firmly and said in the most harmonious, upper class, British accent: ‘Officer Scott, how do you do? My name is Jane and I have a --,’ she looked around as if searching for the most appropriate word. Finally, she threw her arms in the air and shouted. ‘I have an alien in my RV.”

Now, I hadn’t been long with the USPA but last I heard Area 51 keeps theirs in life sized test tubes in some liquid that bubbles. Unless she meant…

‘Ma’am, are you saying you have a person in your RV that has recently entered the United States of America illegally?’

She nodded.

‘OK, ma’am, where is the RV now?’

She twisted her upper body, her gaze still locked on me, and pointed to the sliding doors.

‘Outside,’ she said.

Rookie Gomez had since found his balls and shuffled in beside me. His eyes wide. Staring. Not with desire but with complete and utter awe as if about to drop to his knees and start worshipping her at any moment. Worst of all? I’d probably join him.

I turned to him, unable to hide my amatory smile. ‘Rookie Gomez, I will be stepping out with Jane over here to investigate a potential illegal. Please continue your good work and I’ll be back shortly.’