Nice & Naughty. Tawny Weber

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      But the pretty little blonde was looking at him as if he had a superhero cape tucked under his leather bomber jacket. Diego was a good cop. A damn good one. But no one had ever considered him a hero.

      It was weird. And very appealing.

      And probably his downfall, since he couldn’t resist leaning closer and reassuring her.

      “Babe, I guarantee it.”

       5

      THREE HOURS AFTER he’d made that promise to Jade, Diego tossed his gym bag onto a creaky bed in a cramped room and sighed. His stomach ached from cookie overload. His head hurt from holding back his investigative instincts and trying to follow Kinnison’s damn rules.

      He would bet his Harley that Kinnison didn’t realize how badly he’d screwed over his recalcitrant detective. Dumping him in a town so small, they didn’t even have a cheap motel. Instead, he was stuck holing up in some old guy’s spare room. Because, apparently, as much as the ladies of the town might like the safety of having a man around their home for a few days, it wasn’t proper.

      So now, he eyed the twin bed with its threadbare Speed Racer comforter and stingy pillow. It looked as if he’d have a backache to round it all out.

      And what did he have to show for it?

      Five interviews with four victims and one interested party—namely, a grizzled old woman by the name of Mary Green. Two tins of cookies, one of fudge and a questionable fruitcake—again from Mrs. Green. And a lecture on the lost art of saying please and thank-you.

      What he didn’t have to show was any more information. None of the women had been home during the thefts. None had recently been involved in any sort of conflict, either alone or with each other. They didn’t wear the same brand underwear, do laundry at the same place or shop together.

      Other than living in the same small town, and as Jade had pointed out, all wearing feminine underthings—which had been painful for all parties to learn during his interview with Ben Zimmerman—there was no common thread.

      Not even the type of underwear stolen. Everything from white cotton to something named after spankings—which neither he nor the mayor had been willing to ask about. If the selection left behind at Jade’s was anything to go by, the thief had added supersexy to the collection.

      Jade.

      Diego dropped to the bed, wincing as springs that were likely as old as he was creaked loudly. It all came back to her. Every victim he’d talked to, he’d thought of her. Of how devastated she’d been when she’d seen the destructive mess in her bedroom. The other burglaries had been obvious, all with an open dresser drawer, rumpled contents.