A Good Day for Chardonnay (Sunshine Vicram #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,10
partaking in remarkably often since moving back to Del Sol.
“Okeydokey.” He gestured toward Big Red. “So, your guy was trying to stop the men who stabbed our victim. Apparently, those particular men didn’t want to be stopped.” He glanced back at the nightmare on Main Street. “Ravinder fought them but they managed to get into their vehicle and drive off. That was when the genius decided to pick a fight with”—he brought out his notepad—“a white Toyota Tundra with Texas plates.” He looked at the fire truck, indicating the surreal creature commonly known as Levi Ravinder hidden behind it. “And here I thought Ravinder was the smart one of the bunch. Seems he didn’t escape the worst of the Ravinder genes after all.”
She nodded absently, trying her best to use her X-ray vision to see through the emergency vehicle for a glimpse of the fairest Ravinder of them all before remembering she didn’t have X-ray vision. Damn her inability to see through solid objects.
“We had another ambulance en route, but Einstein over there is refusing to go to the hospital. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”
“Right. Sure. Okay, well, I’ll try.”
“Your confidence gives me hope,” he said, his voice full of humor. A laugh a minute, that one.
Sun rubbed her palms together and walked toward the fire truck. She steeled herself, lifted her chin, and cornered Big Red with a quiet resolve. A resolve that evaporated the minute her gaze landed on the dusty, bloodied figure of Levi Ravinder.
She gritted her teeth at the sight of him to keep herself from shouting his name in horror. Her lungs stopped working and she walked through tunnel vision toward him. She’d only had two sips of wine. All of this lightheadedness couldn’t have been the alcohol.
He sat on a step against the truck, clutching a baseball cap. His tan T-shirt, now dirty and soaked in blood, was ripped across the front showing just enough skin to make Sun’s pulse quicken despite everything. The knuckles on his large hands and his sinewy forearms were covered in scrapes, bruises, and patches of blood, and his swollen left eye showed early signs of blackening.
His uncle Clay hovered nearby, arms crossed over a barrel chest, a nasty scowl lining his puffy face, and Rojas stood at Levi’s side with questions of his own.
“JX?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Levi said, twisting the cap in his hands. “That’s all I got.”
One corner of Rojas’s mouth lifted. “You’re lucky you got that much. I’ve never been hit by a truck, but I don’t think I would’ve been trying to memorize the license plate while it was happening.”
Sun’s pride swelled just a little. She’d had a good feeling when she blackmailed Poetry Rojas into joining the team. She knew he’d make a great deputy, and so far he had yet to prove her wrong. He was observant, sharp, and good with people.
She unclasped her hands—thankful she wasn’t in uniform and tainting the professionalism of the station with her actions. She stepped close enough to notice the subconjunctival hemorrhage in his left eye, the blood trapped beneath the clear surface already spreading and encircling his whiskey-colored iris.
Alarm shot through her again. She cleared her throat and addressed the EMT. “He could have a concussion.”
All heads turned her direction, including his. He didn’t seem surprised to see her, which, why would he be? Then again, Levi had a perpetual poker face. He wasn’t the easiest person to read.
“Sheriff.” The EMT stood and offered his hand. “I’ve told him that very thing. I really think he should go in for a couple of X-rays.”
Levi looked up at her, studying her for a solid minute before dropping his gaze. “I’m fine,” he said, the sharpness in his tone impossible to miss. “If I weren’t, you, Sheriff Vicram, would be the first to know.”
Sun tried not to read too much into that statement. She failed. A million interpretations sprang to mind when he was obviously being sarcastic.
Rojas raised a questioning brow toward her.
“Thank you, Toby,” she said to the EMT. “They’re right, Levi. You need to be checked out by a doctor.”
He bit down, his stoic façade cracking. “I need to be on the road chasing down that fucking truck. And I would be”—he gave his uncle a lethal glare—“if someone hadn’t hidden my keys.”
Surprised, Sun offered the stocky brunette watching from the sidelines a look of bemusement. Clay Ravinder was the last of Levi’s uncles still in the area, and he was about as