A Good Day for Chardonnay (Sunshine Vicram #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,57
to her desk to cue-up the video, but Rojas stayed put.
“What else you got?” she asked him after looking closer at the printout.
“This may be nothing.”
She raised a brow. “That’s what the Duke of Wellington’s first officer said when he saw Napoleon coming.”
“Really?”
“No, but he might have. What’s going on?”
“There are some guys hanging out in town.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, this is a tourist town. People tour.”
He propped a hip onto his desk. “Yeah, but they’re just hanging. They’re not touring.”
“Interesting. Are they locals?”
“No.”
“You haven’t been in Del Sol long.”
“I know a local when I see one. And at least two of these men have been to prison.”
That got her attention. “You can tell that by looking at them?”
“I can.”
She didn’t doubt him for a microsecond. “What do you think they’re doing?”
“They’re waiting.”
“For?”
“Us.”
That surprised both her and Quincy, who didn’t seem to be questioning Rojas’s judgment in the matter, either.
“For us to do what?” he asked him.
Rojas pointed at him. “That’s the ten-million-dollar question.”
Sun whistled. “Ten million. Geez, prices have gone up. Can you get some pictures?”
“Of course, boss.”
“Thank you, and—”
Anita stuck her head into the bullpen. “The DA is on line two for you, boss. He sounds angry.”
“Great,” Sun said, embracing the adrenaline spike that shot needles into her heart. She’d need the extra boost to deal with the man. She looked at her deputies. “Wish me luck.”
“Luck,” Quincy said, knowing she didn’t get along with the DA.
Still, convincing the man to transport Wynn Ravinder across state lines would not be the hardest thing she’d done that day. She’d had the talk with her daughter, after all.
12
If it turns out you’re not an afternoon person, either, we can help!
—SIGN AT CAFFEINE-WAH
Sun hung up with the DA, scrubbed her face, then headed into the bullpen. “Rojas!” she shouted, even though he was only a few feet away from her. Her conversation with the surly DA had not gone well, but she finally convinced him to have Wynn Ravinder transported to Santa Fe. The fact that she had to resort to blackmail did not sit well with either of them, but the married father of two shouldn’t have asked her out last year.
Zee had cued up the Quick-Mart video showing the argument between their victim, Keith Seabright, and one of his assailants, but that could wait. She needed to know more about these men casing the town. And Zee wasn’t at her desk anyway.
Rojas jumped and turned to her, his burnished skin glowing healthily in the soft morning light. He looked good. Better than he had when she’d met him four months ago, before she sent him off to the police academy.
“Let’s grab a cup.”
He grinned, hopped up, and followed her to Del Sol’s latest and greatest coffee shop, Caffeine-Wah.
The owners, Richard and Ricky, two of her best friends from Santa Fe, opened the establishment when Sun found out she’d been elected sheriff. They’d wanted to put a shop in Del Sol for a long time. Her win gave them the perfect excuse, as they wanted to remain close to Auri. Sun understood. They’d helped raise her, after all. Which would explain Auri’s incredible taste in clothes. She sure didn’t get that from her mother.
However, neither of her friends were in. The girl behind the counter said they had to run to one of their Santa Fe stores that morning, but they’d be back soon. She and Rojas ordered, then sat at a bistro table near the front window.
He pushed a few buttons on his phone and handed it to her.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“The guys casing us.”
She looked up in surprise. “You got pictures of them already?”
“I did. Do you recognize any of them?”
She scrolled through the shots, about ten each of three different men. Rojas was right. They were literally just standing around. Window-shopping or reading a paper or sipping tea on the veranda of the Del Sol Diner. “How did you already get pictures of them?”
“You were busy with the DA. He really seems to like you.”
“Yeah,” she said with a soft chuckle. “He’s a peach. I don’t recognize any of them. Do you?”
“Nah. Sorry, boss.”
She noticed a couple had visible tattoos. “What about their ink?”
“That one,” he said, scrolling back until he came to the stocky one with the tattoo of a scorpion on his hand, “is La Cosa Nostra.”
She gaped at him. “Really?”
He laughed. “No.”
“Rojas,” she said, admonishing him while fighting to keep a straight face.