"Dude, I can't believe your luck with women."
"That's not luck, my friend. That's an abundance of charm,"
Detective Diego Sandoval offered with a wicked grin. "And
the simple fact that I love women."
And with a few painful exceptions, women loved him right back.
Something that came in handy when he was charming
information, and a cast-iron frying pan, out of a
three-hundred-pound mass of quivering fury.
"I've never seen anyone so pissed, though. When you arrested
her old man, I thought she was gonna knock you on your butt.
By the time you left, you had her ready to testify against
the dirtbag, handing over evidence and offering to make you
a bologna sandwich."
Diego shrugged. He was a cop. That was his job, his focus,
his entire life. He did whatever it took to break a case.
"Try chilling a woman down while she's aiming a sawed-off
shotgun at your goods."
"Suspect?"
"Date."
Following Diego up the steps of the large brick building
that housed the Central California Sheriff's Field
Operations Bureau, Chris Carson shook his head. In
admiration or in disdain, it didn't matter to Diego. He was
all about the job and he devoted 100 percent to it. He
didn't have time to worry about other people's opinions or
doing the buddy thing. That's what made him one of the best.
"Someday, Sandoval, you're gonna meet a challenge you can't
charm your way through," Chris said as they strode down the
hall toward the patrol and investigation offices.
Diego's grin slipped a notch.
"Someday" had happened at birth. Diego had heard tell over
the years about such a thing as motherly love, but he'd
never experienced it himself. Hell, his mother had barely
tolerated him. His learning to talk had been her breaking
point. At three, he'd begun the loser shuffle between the
rigid disapproval of his uncle Leon's house and the
dismissive foster home's revolving door. Every couple of
years, his mom would feel the guilt and haul him back. But
those dance breaks never lasted.
No matter. That was then. Diego only cared about now.
"Most women don't need weapons," he told the younger man,
leading the way through the bullpen. "Mother Nature made
sure they were born armed and dangerous."
Before they reached Diego's desk, one of the other cops
shouted his name.
"Captain called down a half hour ago, Sandoval. He wants to
see you."
"Yeah?" Diego tossed his leather jacket over the back of his
chair, then lifted the stack of file folders off the corner
of his desk to find one that Chris had been looking for
before they left earlier.
"Immediately."
The room chilled. Chris grimaced, glancing around for an
escape route.
Diego flipped through folders anyway. He wasn't oblivious to
the potential drama. He just didn't give a damn. The case
was what mattered and he was sure he had one that tied in
with the bust they'd just made. If Chris moved on it, they
could nail this drug dealer for twice as long.
"I can get the file later," Chris muttered. "Kinnison hates
waiting."
"He's waited a half hour. Two more minutes isn't going to
matter."
The chill in the room turned antsy, nervous.
Diego kept right on flipping files. For a bunch of seasoned
cops, these guys were way too intimidated by the new brass.
Captain Kinnison had been on the job for three months, but
it'd taken him only two weeks to institute a new order in
the station house. An order heavy on rules, regulations and
protocol. And politics. All things Diego didn't give a rat's
ass about.
Something that hadn't earned him any points with his new
boss. Despite that, though, word had come down two days
before that he was up for a coveted transfer to the San
Francisco Sheriff Department, complete with a promotion to
Homicide.
For the most part, Diego was the cocky, lone wolf his uncle
claimed him to be. One who didn't look for back pats, didn't
see the promotion as a big deal. But a little, rarely
acknowledged part of him was like a kid on Christmas who'd
just found his secretly dreamed-of present under the
treeproof that while he might not be the favorite,
Santa still thought he was on the right list.
The move to San Francisco was ideal. Fresno was getting
claustrophobic, like the small towns Diego had hated when he
was growing up. The promotion to Homicide validated
everything he'd done, everything he was. And he was up for
it because he was a damn good detective with the highest
close rate in Fresno County. Not because of ass kissing and
cronyism. Ironic that by insisting on doing things his way,
he'd garnered a file full of commendations and a fast-track
to big-deal promotion. He'd finally done something that
disproved his uncle's and uptight cousins' assertion that
he'd never amount to jack.
"Sandoval, in my office. Now."
The command was quiet. Intense. And seriously pissed.
"Good luck," Chris muttered, knocking a chair into Diego's
desk in his rush to get away.
"Hey," Diego called before he could get too far. The deputy
grimaced, shooting a quick glance over Diego's shoulder
before taking the file folder he held out.
Diego tossed the rest of the stack on his desk, ignoring its
precarious slide toward the edge. Then he turned to face the
captain's stony stare.
"On my way, sir."
Diego had a brief vision of walking the plank toward a very
large, very hungry shark. Then he shrugged it off. What was
the worst the guy could do? Take a bite out of his ass?
Diego stepped into the office. The captain, already seated
behind his large desk, inclined his head toward the door.
Shutting it behind him, Diego took a seat. Good. Ass bitings
were always better done in private.
His face as hard as the oak of his desk, Kinnison didn't
waste time with games.
"The D.A. has some issues with yet another of your cases,
Detective Sandoval. Since we've had similar chats so often
over the past few months, I'm sure you're aware of how much
I dislike hearing that you didn't follow procedure. Again.
By not playing by the rules, you've compromised the
prosecutor's chances of getting a conviction. Again."
A dozen arguments ran through Diego's mind, but he clenched
his jaw shut and waited.
"You threatened Geoffrey Leeds with" the captain made
a show of looking at the paper in front of him, even though
they both knew he didn't need to "an offer to wrap his
large intestine around his throat and choke him with it."
"Offer being the operative word, sir," Diego
pointed out.
"I didn't threaten. I offered."
"And the difference is?"
"He could have said no. He didn't have to tell me the
details of the porn ring he and his buddies were running in
the high school gymnasium."
Captain Kinnison's stare could have made a polar bear
shiver. Before the older man hauled out his lecture on
semanticsagainDiego inclined his head toward the
file.
"Didn't the D.A. read the letter Leeds signed, stating that
he was volunteering the information of his own free will?"
"He read it. But he feels, as do I, that the defendant might
have signed under duress," Kinnison said, a small, tight
smile puckering his thin lips. "Which puts yet another
open-and-shut case in question, thanks to your methods,
Detective."
Kinnison had no interest in hearing a defense, so Diego kept
his mouth closed and waited.
The captain didn't make him wait long. He set the file down,
then held up a letter. With the morning sun shining through
the window behind Kinnison, the logo of the San Francisco
Sheriff's Department was visible through the thin paper.
Diego tensed.
He'd seen enough of them to recognize a job assessment form.
"Detective Sandoval, you're up for a promotion and transfer."
Damn. Diego tried to tell himself that not getting the
promotion wasn't a big deal. He wasn't looking for a ladder
to climb. His ego didn't ride on outside kudos.
But, he acknowledged with an inner grimace, he wanted that
job. Wanted the challenge of working Homicide. Wanted,
intensely, to get the hell out from under Kinni-son's watch.
Wanted it all so bad he could taste the bitter
disappointment as he watched it slide out of his grasp.
"You have a strong record with the department," Kinnison
mused, running the letter through his manicured fingers in
contemplation. "Your peers respect you. The commissioner
feels that your close rate is high enough to offset the
cases lost by your roughshod style and disregard for
regulations. Captain Ferris in SF Homicide is willing to
consider your promotion based on my recommendation."
"But?" There was always a but.
"But there are some issues. The first being that you're not
a team player. Add to that your lack of respect for
protocol, your inability to follow orders and the way you
blithely dance all over procedure. I can't, in good
conscience, give you a positive evaluation."
Fury and frustration churned in Diego's gut. It was one
thing to lose a promotion because he wasn't good enough,
wasn't smart enough or just didn't have what it took. But to
lose out because he didn't dot his freaking i's and put tidy
crosses on his t's? Screw that.
"So you're going to, what? Withhold recommendation?" The
mental image of Diego's uncle, wearing the same smug,
arrogant expression as the captain, flashed through his
head. The old man had always said that Diego's rebellious
attitude would be his downfall. Maybe he should drop him a
note, let him know he was still right.
"No. Denying you recommendation might be appropriate in this
situation, but it wouldn't serve me in the long term."
In other words, while Kinnison would love to screw him out
of the promotion as a punishment, he'd given up on making
Diego toe the line. So he'd rather get him out from under
his command. He just wanted to mess with him before he did.
"Then what's the deal?" Diego asked, wondering how the guy
was going to reconcile the two.
"You're going on special assignment."
And there it was. His punishment. And his last chance. That
promotion was close enough to taste. And it tasted mighty
sweet. But even more appealing was the chance to work under
a different captain.
"What assignment, sir?"
"You'll be reporting to the mayor of Diablo Glen in the
morning to investigate their little crime wave."
Diablo Glen. Tiny town, nestled in the foothills of Sequoia
National Park. Too small to have its own police force, towns
like that usually rented out a deputy now and then or had a
low enough crime rate that they could rely on the occasional
sheriff patrol.
"I don't do small towns," Diego stated, his throat tight.
The truth was, he hated small towns. Close-knit, judgmental
and unyielding. "My skills are better suited to cities.
There isn't a whole lot of vice in the boonies."
"Oh, you'd be surprised." His smile about as friendly as a
shark's, the Captain leaned forward to hand a file across
the desk. Smelling a trap, Diego hesitated for a second
before taking it.
"Diablo Glen has need of your services, Detective. This
crime is right up your alley. It seems they have a series of
rather odd burglaries."
"My specialty is vice, not burglary."
"The line is blurry in this case." The captain inclined his
head again, this time toward the file.
Trapped, Diego opened it. Thirty seconds later, he shook his
head. "No way. Absolutely not."
"You're refusing a direct order from a commanding officer,
Detective?"
The older man didn't have to voice the threat. It hung there
over their heads like a swinging blade, glinting right over
Diego's neck. As much as he wanted Diego out from under his
command, the guy would veto the promotion if he didn't get
his way. Fury and frustration battled for supremacy in
Diego's belly as he glared.
"I have no choice at all?"
"None," the captain verified with a smile as wide and
satisfied as a cat in a fully stocked mouse house. "You are
now assigned to the tiny little town of Diablo Glen until
their mayor is satisfied that you've solved this case. And
you will solve it by the book. No hotdogging, no skirting
the system. To do so, you'll have to play nice with the
locals. And you'll have to show the utmost respect for the
department's rules and procedure."
Diego's jaw ached from the effort to hold back the furious
rant. Finally, when he was sure he wouldn't spew swearwords
and abuse, he inclined his head. "I'm going out on a limb
here and guessing that my closing this case, your way, is
mandatory if you're going to sign off on my promotion."
"Exactly, Detective. You want your promotion, you need to
catch a panty thief."