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 semantics—again—Diego 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 Kinnison’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.”
2
“WHAT DO YOU THINK of a sheer peekaboo red nightie with white fur trim paired with over-the-knee patent boots?”
Cringing, Jade Carson shook her head so hard she almost dumped a whole spoonful of red sugar on cookie Santa’s jolly face.
“I think those are three things that should never go together, Beryl,” Jade told her younger sister decisively. “It’s like mixing beer, chocolate truffles and mashed potatoes. They’re all fine on their own, but together they’re every kind of wrong.”
“Ew,” her eldest