A Bad Day for Sunshine (Sunshine Vicram #1)(8)

Sun pinched the bridge of her nose, wondering how she managed to debate the previous sheriff when she’d had no clue she was even in the running. “Someday you’re going to have to tell me how they did it.”

The grin he wielded like a rapier served two purposes: to disarm and to charm.

And here Sun thought herself immune to the charisma of Quincy Cooper. Well, okay, she was immune, but she could see the appeal. The allure of the chick magnet—his words—he’d become.

In high school, Quincy had been popular enough. Very well liked. But he’d never been what one would call a ladies’ man. Now, the chunky—his description—former sugar addict looked less like a huggable marshmallow and more like a boulder. His waist had narrowed and his shoulders had widened and his smile had grown into something girls of all ages longed to gaze upon every chance they got.

What did the women at her mother’s book club call him? Ah yes. Stupid hot.

She’d certainly give him that. But deep down, she still saw that sweet kid who fought back tears after skinning his knees on the playground.

And now, after almost fifteen years, the Dynamic Duo—a.k.a. Quincy and Sunshine—was finally back together. Sun could hardly believe the roller coaster of events that had led her here.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay with my being your boss?”

Her chief deputy snorted. “Like anything has changed. When haven’t you bossed me around?”

“Good point.” She hadn’t planned on bringing it up so soon, but she needed to know what awaited her. “All right, Q. Cards on the table. Is the mayor going to let this rest?”

Mayor Donna Lomas seemed to be the only one questioning the legitimacy of Sunshine’s win over Del Sol’s former sheriff. Well, besides said former sheriff. And Sunshine herself.

Quincy turned away from her, but she saw the muscles in his jaw flex as he worked it, a sure sign that not everything was popping up daisies in the Land of Enchantment.

“I don’t know, Sunny. She’s pretty worked up about the whole thing.”

“And she should be.” Sun collapsed against her cruiser. “I mean, isn’t there someone more qualified? You know, someone sheriffier?”

“Okay,” he said, joining her at the cruiser with arms folded across his chest, “let’s think about this. You have a master’s degree in law enforcement. You single-handedly solved one of the highest-profile cases the state has ever seen. And you were the youngest officer to make detective in New Mexico history.” He tilted his head. “I’m thinking no.”

Sun straightened, faced him, and adjusted his tie before replying, “First off, I have a master’s degree in criminal justice, not law enforcement.”

“Same dif.”

“Second, I was the third-youngest officer to make detective in New Mexico history. I was only the youngest in Santa Fe history.”

“Well, then, I take back everything I said.”

“And third, no case is ever solved single-handedly.” She patted his cheek. “You should know that by now, Chief Deputy Cooper.”

He let a calculating smile widen across his face. “Keep telling yourself that, peaches. I read the file.”

“Hmmm.” Refusing to argue the point, she returned her attention to the building.

“I’ll give you a minute,” he said, starting for the door. “Let you gather yourself. Make a grand entrance.”

“Great, thanks,” she said, neither grateful nor thankful.

After he disappeared, she drew in a deep breath and watched it fog in the air when she exhaled before grabbing a box of her personal effects and copies of all the open cases out of her back seat. Then she locked up the cruiser and went inside the pueblo building via a side door.

A hallway separated the station from a small jail that sat in back. From that point, her entrance involved two electronically coded doors in which her master key came in very handy. Once inside, she stopped to take in her surroundings.

The station was nice. More up to date than she’d imagined it would be. Drywall with a light beige paint made up the bulk of the surroundings, but the renovators had kept much of the older wood accents. Remnants of an earlier version of the establishment.

Desks took up most of the main room, and a glass wall separated the public entrance and the administration area up front.

Quincy, who was pretending to be hard at work, spotted her first. He turned in his chair, and the sound of typing and papers shuffling ceased immediately from the other deputies present.

“Hey, boss,” Quincy said, leaning back into a giant stretch. “Oh, I meant to ask, how’s the bean sprout?”

She nodded to the two other deputies present and the office manager, who doubled as dispatch. Anita Escobar—no relation—was a pretty woman in her early thirties with a wide smile and thick, blond-streaked hair she always wore in a ponytail. According to Sun’s ever-studious mother, Anita’d had her eyebrows tattooed on. So, there was that.

Turning back to Quince, Sun balanced her box on two stacks of files that took up half his desk and picked up a pen with a gold deputy’s badge on it. After clicking it open and shut several times, trying to decide if she should steal it or if blatant theft would set a bad example for the other law enforcement officers in the room, she said, “Everyone at school thinks she’s a narc.”