Nice & Naughty. Tawny Weber

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СКАЧАТЬ his secretly dreamed-of present under the tree—proof 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 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 СКАЧАТЬ