A Bad Day for Sunshine (Sunshine Vicram #1) - Darynda Jones Page 0,65
sorority girl during rush week. He wasn’t expecting to be interrogated.”
“Was it rush week?”
“No. But he wasn’t the fraternity type. He had no idea.”
“And then, what? You could tell by his reaction he’d killed the girl?”
She let out a long, annoyed sigh. “Yes. I could tell by his reaction he’d killed the girl.”
“The next part gets a little murky. You hit him first or he hit you?”
“Dude, are you with IA?” That was the last thing she needed. A run-in with internal affairs.
“Please. They wish I was with IA. Who hit first?”
“He did. He panicked. Apparently, you were right. My poker face sucks. He figured out I knew he’d killed his classmate about a split second after I realized it myself. But what did he do?” She stood up and began pacing. “Did he slam the door and lock it? Did he run? No, he dragged me inside his dorm room to kill me, too.” She gaped at him. “I mean, who does that?”
Deleon laughed softly, then asked, “So, you got the upper hand—”
She sat back down. “Only because he’d been chopping vegetables and he’d just cut himself pretty bad, so he was already wounded.”
“—kicked his ass up one side and down the other—”
“Only because he just kept coming back for more. I would’ve stopped otherwise.”
“—and ended up handcuffing him to you and dragging him to the nearest police station.”
Sun thought back. “Yep. That pretty much covers it.”
“So, you dragged an unconscious man five blocks instead of taking him to campus PD?”
“I’d just been in a bar brawl, metaphorically speaking. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
He doubled over laughing. Sun watched him. Still annoyed.
“What did the desk sergeant say?”
“I don’t remember exactly, but he put in his report that we were both so bloody, we looked like we’d just stepped out of an ’80s horror film.”
“I bet,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I gotta ask. You know I have to ask.”
She raised a brow, waiting with bated breath.
He leaned closer to the desk and said, “What was the question?”
She crossed her arms. “I’m not sure you’re worthy.”
“Oh, I’m more than worthy. Would you like me to prove it? Maybe over drinks?”
Taken aback for the second time that evening, it was her turn to recline in her chair and give some thought to the situation at hand. But before she got too far, a knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” she said, straightening in her chair.
Agent Fields stepped inside, took one look at the marshal, and asked Sun, “Are you busy?”
“Nope. Join the party.”
He grinned. “Have you eaten?”
“I just had a burrito.”
“Good.” He walked in carrying a bottle of moonshine and two glasses. “You do not want to drink this on an empty stomach. I can get another glass, if you’re game,” he said to Deleon.
The man let out a long sigh, then said, “Nah. We’re helping with the search tomorrow, since we’re in town and our fugitive could be involved.” He turned to Sun. “See you then?”
“Sure. Sleep well.”
He started to leave, but just couldn’t do it. He turned back to her. “I gotta know.”
She grinned. “I looked past him and asked him if he didn’t know Sherry Berkley, why did he have her underwear hanging from his mirror.”
He chuckled, waved to Fields, and took off.
“That sounded interesting,” Fields said when Deleon was out of earshot.
“Not really.” She returned to the diary.
“Good job today.”
She stopped reading, this time to admire the sharp angles and steely gray eyes of the almost-silver fox in front of her.
He poured two fingers into each glass.
“Yeah,” Sun said, wary again, “no offense, but that stuff is 100 proof. If I drank that much, you’d have to carry me home.”
The humorous grin that spread across his face stopped her heart. For a few seconds, anyway. “That can be arranged.”
“And what did I do that was so special? Besides get run down by a Mercedes, that is. And get threatened by a mayor who hates me. And eat muffins I’m pretty sure were cursed.”
“Well, you found several pertinent clues in a missing persons case. You managed to figure out we are being toyed with by someone who knows what he’s doing, thus you came up with a basic profile of our suspect. And you believed a girl who wrote a letter predicting her own death when no one else would’ve given it a second thought, which either makes you a genius detective or just as loopy as the girl.”
“Since you put it that way.” She took the glass, clinked