Nice & Naughty

Kinnison’s threats echoing through Diego’s mind, he debated for all of three seconds. Then, unable to do otherwise, he opted for the truth. “I can only guarantee one of the three, sir. I’ve got the highest close rate in the county. I’m a damn good cop.”

“But?”

“But I failed the course in tact, and have no idea what delicacy is when it comes to solving crimes.”

“Then we might have a problem. This case involves a number of women, all embarrassed over the violation of their privacy. You’re a stranger, a man, and a good-looking one at that. To solve this case, you’re going to have to get them to talk to you about their unmentionables.”

Diego grimaced.

Kinnison was probably laughing his ass off.

“I’ll work on the tact, sir.”

Applebaum’s bushy brows rose, but he didn’t mention delicacy again. He gave Diego a long, searching look. The same kind his uncle had always wielded, the kind that poked into the corners of a guy’s soul. Uncle Leon had always come up disgusted after his searches.

Diego wondered how he’d convince Kinnison that being kicked to the curb before he even started the case wasn’t the same as failing to solve it.

Before he could figure anything out, though, the mayor reached across his rosewood desk and lifted a thick file. Frowning, Diego took it without looking. His eyes were locked on the older man instead. What? No lecture? No warning about not causing trouble in his town?

“Well, then, let’s see what you can do. Here are my files. They’re probably a great deal more detailed than the ones you’ve seen. You go ahead and look through these, then we’ll get to work.”

We? Diego shifted. He didn’t do partners. Especially not ones who saw the townspeople as friends instead of potential suspects. Still, the sooner he started, the sooner he could get the hell out of here. Small towns made Diego claustrophobic. Punishment cases just pissed him off. Not a good long-term combination.

“I’m ready to get to work, but I have a request first.”

“You need a dictionary to look up the word delicate?”

Diego smirked. It was hard not to like a guy who’d honed his smart-ass mouth to such a sharp edge. “I realize this is your town, and your focus is on protecting your citizens. But I’d like permission to handle the case my way.”

Eyes narrowed, Applebaum leaned back in his chair and studied Diego over steepled fingers. “Your way. Which means what, exactly?”

“I’ll follow procedure, stick with the rules and regulations.” Even if it choked him. “But I prefer to work a case alone. It’s easier to form an unbiased opinion, to dig for and sift through information solo. I’m not asking you to stay completely out of it or to give me free rein. It’d just be easier if the victims, the townspeople, see me as the lead on the case.”

“You don’t want me breathing over your shoulder while you grill one of the ladies of my town about her underwear?”

Diego hesitated. Nothing said he had to let Applebaum ride shotgun. But edging him out could be seen as smudging that line the captain was crazy about.

Diego shoved a hand through his hair, noting that he’d forgotten Kinnison’s order to get it cut.

Before he could address the tact Applebaum had mentioned, the door flew open. Surprised, both men watched a plump woman in a red Rudolph sweater hurry in, a plate in one hand and a sticky note in the other.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt. I brought cookies, but they’re a little, well …” She set the red-and-white-striped plate on the desk so fast, at least a cookie’s worth of crumbs hit the floor. Ignoring them, the woman hurried around the desk to hand the mayor the sticky note. Since she looked like the kind who chased crumbs like they were minions of the devil, Diego figured that note was damn important.

The frown on Applebaum’s face confirmed it.

“Thank you, Clara,” he said. Brow furrowed, he gestured to Diego. “Clara, this is Detective Sandoval. Detective, my secretary, Clara Clancy.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Likewise,” she said with a quick smile before poking her finger at the note again. “You should go now. Jade can’t enter her house until you get there, and Persephone’s out.”

The mayor rose quickly. He grabbed a couple of cookie pieces off the plate and gestured Diego toward the door. “You can read the files this evening. For now, we have another theft.”

“Sir?” He did a quick replay of the conversation. “What’s the significance of this burglary? Who is in danger?”

As he always did before approaching a volatile crime scene, Diego did an automatic weapon check. Surprised at how quick the older man moved, Diego lengthened his stride.

“Jade Carson is our librarian,” the mayor said, hurrying around the back of the garage-slash-office. Diego was just about to point out that he preferred to use his own transportation and that his GPS was perfectly capable of finding the address.

Then they reached the carport and his mouth was too busy drooling to get the words out.

“Climb in,” the older man said, sliding into the driver’s side of the cherry-red ‘66 Corvette. “And buckle up.”

Diego didn’t see it as capitulation to follow orders. It was more like expedience. And—he breathed deep the smell of rich leather—appreciation.

“Sir, is there a reason why the current victim being the librarian necessitates the rush?” Noting the sheepish look on the mayor’s face, why did he feel as if he was getting the runaround? In fine style, he acknowledged as the powerful roar of the engine kicked to life. But style or not, he didn’t go into a scene blind. It wasn’t a violent crime, the victim hadn’t entered the premises. So what was going on?

“We’re hurrying because, well, because of something that has nothing to do with the crime but a lot to do with keeping the peace.” Applebaum’s words were as tight and controlled as his hands on the steering wheel.

Diego sighed. Adrenaline, so high and intense a second ago, started dissipating. “Is this one of those small-town things?”

Applebaum gave him a look that was part warning, part amusement. “Jade’s cat got out. That’s how she knew someone had been in her house. The cat is likely causing trouble, so while you investigate, I’ll be rounding it up, assessing the damage and pacifying the neighbors.”

Applebaum parked the car, then gestured to the cozy-looking cottage. Slate-gray with soft pink trim, it looked like something out of a fairy tale. Diego’s gaze scanned the neighboring houses. A crowd had gathered across the street in front of one lit so bright, it dimmed the stars. Squinting, he could make out a pair of feet dangling from the roof. Part of the decorations?

“This is it,” Applebaum stated. “You go on in, do your job. I’ll send Jade in after a few minutes.”

Diego’s eyes followed when the mayor gestured to the crowd. Only one looked to be a woman. Older, plump and wrapped in a bright pink tracksuit. The librarian?

“I’d solve this as soon as possible, Detective,” the mayor said as they both exited the car. Frowning, he glanced at the crowd again. “People deserve to enjoy their holiday without this kind of thing hanging overhead.”

“I’ll do my best, sir. I’m hoping to have the case resolved before the weekend, and leave you and the town to your holiday celebrations in peace.”

Diego glanced at the crowd again and shook his head. Yep, the sooner he got himself back to the safe anonymity of a city, the sooner he could celebrate the holidays the way he always did—by ignoring them.

4

CROUCHED ON CARL’S SHINGLED ROOF, the heels of her favorite boots digging into her butt, Jade shoved a frustrated hand through her hair, pushing it from a sassy tousle to a freaked-out mess. Fitting. After all, she was on a damn roof.

“Mayor Applebaum,” she said to the man at the top of the ladder, trying to sound grateful instead of hysterical. “I appreciate your help, but I don’t think you should be climbing on a roof to get my cat. Persephone is my responsibility.”

And the mayor was pushing sixty. If one of them was going to fall two stories and land on Carl’s nativity scene with a splat, it should be her. Younger bones healed faster.

“You didn’t let her out, Jade. A burglar did, so nobody is going to blame you for her escape.” When Jade snorted, the mayor sighed. “I’ll deal with Carl. You go deal with the unfortunate reason the cat’s AWOL.”

Jade eyed the furious mountain of a man pacing the lawn below, his beefy arms waving in the air. In one hand was a headless, tutu-wearing teddy bear. In the other, a very large, very flat sheet of plastic that had once been a blow-up globe. Which was worse? Facing the devastation of her bedroom, or facing the fury that was Carl?

She glanced at the top of the roof where her bratty cat perched, a teddy-bear head still dangling from the black furry mouth. Maybe she’d just wait here for a while.

“Come on,” the mayor ordered. “Detective Sandoval is already on the scene.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“Nope. The detective would like to run this on his own. I’ll lure Persephone in with Clara’s sugar cookies. Then after I’ve pacified Carl, I’ll bring the cat and see how our fine detective is holding up.”

She followed him down the ladder, grateful when he planted himself between her and the still-shouting Carl. Avoiding her neighbor’s eyes, she gave a guilty wave and scampered across the street. As she approached her front door, she pressed one hand against her churning stomach. She really shouldn’t have taste-tested so many cookies.

She’d seen how trashed her bedroom was through the window. Nobody else hit by the Panty Thief had mentioned their undies being tossed around. Was this an actual burglary instead? And why was the mayor worried about how the detective would hold up? Was he as bad as Mrs. Clancy thought he’d be?

Knowing she was stalling, she took a deep breath. For the first time in her life, Jade had to force herself to cross the threshold of the tiny cottage, her feet dragging across the polished wood floors. She could hear movement at the end of the hallway, indicating that the cop was already back there.

Maybe she could wait here for him? She could call her sisters over for moral—and housekeeping—support before she had to face the destruction of her bedroom. Her fingers inched toward the cell phone in her pocket. The temptation was so appealing. But so was the voice in her head, clucking like a chicken.

Get a grip, she ordered herself. Tossing her black leather duster over the back of a chair, Jade tugged her tunic smooth over her hips, rubbed a scuff off the toe of her boot, then headed down the hallway.

Chin high, she stepped into her bedroom. And for the second time that evening, froze solid.

Only this time the reason had nothing to do with fear.

Nope, this was lust. Pure, sticky lust.

It was like a million sweaty, hot dreams. The kind that woke her in the middle of the night, aching with need and frustration. He stood in front of her dresser, one hand filled with little scraps of nothings she called underwear.

Intense need swirled through her. Her legs were like jelly, her stomach clenched with an edgy sort of desire. The kind that made her thighs tremble and her nipples tighten against her silk bra.

A bra, she realized, that matched the hot-pink panties dangling from his index finger.

Her breath knotted in her throat, Jade tried to clear her head. Her home, her undies, had been violated. But her brain was busy stripping the man naked. And from the look of him, naked would suit him just fine.

He was gorgeous. At least, he was from the backside.

She took a visual inventory. Tall, an inch or so over six foot. Broad-shouldered and slim-hipped with a butt so tight and hard her mouth watered. Arrow-straight black hair covered his collar and invited her fingers to test the weight of those strands to see if they were as soft and silky as they looked.

Then he turned, just his head, and met her gaze.

Heat poured through Jade so fast, she swore she had a tiny orgasm standing there in front of a complete stranger with his hands in her panties.

His eyes were like midnight. Dark, intense and searching. As if he could see all the way into her deepest fantasies and clue in to her every secret. Nerves, the kind she’d never felt around a man before, assailed her. Jade bit her lip, trying to figure out what it was about him that was so enthralling.

“Can I help you?” he said. His voice was as sexy as the rest of him. Deep and throaty, with just a hint of a Hispanic accent. The kind of voice made for sexy pillow talk.

“Ma’am?” It wasn’t the verbal nudge that yanked her out of the sexual stupor. It was the amusement in his tone that told her that he was not only aware of her overwhelming interest, he thought it was funny.

Nothing like being laughed at to clear a girl’s head.

He turned to fully face her, offering the perfect view of his wide, sculpted chest hugged lovingly by a black T-shirt. Trying to ignore this new enticement, she kept her gaze on his amused face. Big mistake. Chiseled cheekbones, a full bottom lip made for nibbling and eyes so deep and dark she knew if she fell in she’d never climb back out. Her heart, already racing, tripped over itself.

“This is a crime scene. I’m going to have to ask you to leave until I speak with Miss Carson.” His smile was a grin now, just this side of mocking.

“I’m Jade Carson,” she said stiffly, stepping farther into the room. Her foot caught one of the pieces of fabric strewn over the floor, sending a black lace demibra across the hardwood, just inches from his motorcycle boot.

Her face burned as red as the silk panties dangling from her vanity mirror.

His smile faded. His gaze traveled from the small notepad in his hand to the black lace bra on his toe, then back to her.

“You’re Jade Carson? The owner of this house, and—” his finger swirled to indicate the room “—all of this lingerie?”

“Yes.” What? She might not have the overblown curves of a centerfold, but she looked damn good in her unmentionables. Maybe she could yank down her jeans and show him the dove-gray lace of her thong.

“You’re the librarian?” he asked slowly. His gaze took a slow stroll over her body, his expression making her tingle with both nerves and desire. Those dark eyes met hers again, the look in them hot and intense before he shuttered his gaze.

Jade shivered a little, missing the heat and wondering what’d turned it off. And what it would take to turn it back on. After all, he’d already seen all her underwear.

“I’m Detective Sandoval,” he said, that whisky-smooth voice official and just a little stiff. Like he’d just swallowed a rule book. “I’m investigating the Panty Thief burglaries.”

Jade’s gaze swept the room before she gestured with her chin to his little cop notebook. “No kidding?”

His lips twitched. But he didn’t drop the official routine. Jade arched a brow. A man both sexy and disciplined? The mind boggled at the possibilities that combination inspired on a fantasy level. Throw in endurance and attention to detail and he was a dream come true. Or at least inspiration to come.

“Ma’am?” he prompted, frowning as if he was trying to figure out where her mind had wandered. She’d be glad to tell him. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.” Even though she doubted any of those questions would involve dinner, dancing or a bottle of wine, her stomach still swirled in anticipation.

“Given the state of the rest of your home, I figure it’s safe to assume your room didn’t look like this when you left it. Can you tell me what time you left the house today and how much of this disorder is due to the break-in?”

“Since I had to be at the library at ten, I left around nine so I had time to stop at my mother’s, then at the bakery to get pastries for the ladies’ club. They hold their meetings at the library and we like to provide a snack for them.”

And while she’d been out doing those regular-life things, someone had invaded her home and wreaked havoc.

Jade finally looked, really looked, at her bedroom. Her sanctuary.

Unlike rumors of the other thefts, which were simple cases of an underwear drawer being dumped on the floor and a pair of panties taken, Jade’s room was trashed. Lingerie strewn about like confetti after a drunken bachelor party, her possessions knocked over, books not only thrown from the shelves but ripped in half.

Who the hell ripped up books? Forgetting that she shouldn’t touch anything, she knelt down to gingerly lift the ravaged pages she immediately recognized as Madame Bovary.

This was a complete and utter nightmare. Swallowing hard as the full impact hit her, she straightened and pressed one hand against her churning gut, trying to see through the swirling black fogging her vision.

“It’s not that bad,” he said. He didn’t sound distant anymore. Instead, his voice was soothing and mellow, almost friendly. She wished he’d stuck with the uptight tone.

“Compared to what?” she asked, furious at the tears clogging her throat. She didn’t cry. Tears were useless, stupid. Even angry tears.

“Compared to what my place would look like if someone did this,” he said, his words teasing. “Car magazines ripped apart, boxers dangling from the lamp. A Speedo hanging in the window for all to see.”

His mock shudder made her laugh.

“Speedo?” Her now-clear gaze skimmed his body, from the T-shirt tight over hard, flat abs down his narrow hips. For just a second, she let her eyes rest on his zipper, imagining what he looked like in a teeny-tiny piece of spandex. She grinned, somehow sure he could make the fashion faux pas sexy.

“Really?”

“A gag gift from the guys at the station house. These thieves have no respect for quality, low or high.”

Her eyes soft with appreciation for how easily he’d pulled her back from the edge of hysteria, Jade nodded. Well, well. Looked like Hottie Cop was more than just a gorgeous face and rock-hard body. Which qualified him as the hottest fantasy material she’d ever encountered.

An empowered woman would go for it, right?

Nerves danced the cha-cha in her stomach. She wanted hot sex. She wanted a fling. And she was empowered, dammit. But could she actually chase a perfect stranger with the intention of getting him naked?

It was as if Santa had heard her wish, decided she’d been such a good girl that she deserved a chance to try her hand at being really, really bad. But only if she was brave enough to play.

She wanted to be brave. She really did. But as she told the girls in her workshops, some things you had to work up to. Small, consistent steps. She swallowed hard, looking around the mess. Maybe she should clean up her underwear first. Then she could work on being brave.

DIEGO’D FIGURED that life’s little ironies were what kept things interesting. Or provided the best torture. It was always a toss-up which was which. Letting his gaze cruise over the woman in the doorway, he figured this was proof yet again. Without the intense four-inch studded boots, maybe five feet and four inches could be measured between her toes and the top of her pale blond head. Mussed and a little wild, her hair looked as if she’d shoved her hands through it a few times, letting the bangs flop down in a long sweep over her eye and down to her shoulders. Sharp, angled features, huge green eyes and lips made to give a man sweaty dreams rounded out the fairylike looks.

Her body was a series of slender lines and soft curves. Legs nice enough to make his mouth water were tucked into boots that had enough edge to assure him that, despite her sweet face, she and the plethora of seductive lingerie were, indeed, well suited.

“I know it’s difficult to tell, given the state of the room,” he said, trying to bring his focus back to the case instead of wondering how it’d feel to have her wrap those gorgeous legs of hers around his waist. Or better yet, over his shoulders. Diego closed his eyes for a second, trying to find control. Kinnison, he reminded himself, letting the name work like a cold shower. “But can you tell if anything’s missing?”

“Not without going through it all,” she said. She took a deep breath, her breasts pressing against the heavy weight of that purple sweater and making his palms itch. “Can I touch anything?”

A list of possibilities, all better fondled while naked, flashed through his mind. Diego blinked twice trying to clear the deliciously tempting images away.

“Yeah, sure. Just touch the fabric, though. I need to dust the hard surfaces for prints. But I’ll wait until you get your delicates picked up.”

Diego slid the black silk he’d picked up earlier between his fingers, luxuriating in the softness. He’d bet the blonde’s skin was even smoother, softer.

Suddenly the crappy assignment took on a tempting sort of appeal. The kind of appeal that was likely to get him in trouble. Because he was pretty sure charming a victim into bed was on the Don’t list in Kinnison’s rulebook.

Still …

“Nice panties,” Diego said with a smile as lethal as the weapon strapped to his side. “I’m impressed.”

“Yeah?” Kneeling on the floor to scoop up an armful, she gave him a teasing look from beneath lush lashes. “You’re impressed by my underwear?”

“The quantity is a little awe-inspiring,” he said, sidestepping the truth—and his interest—by keeping his words cool and distant.

A tiny frown creased her brow, as if she was disappointed he hadn’t taken the flirtation bait. Then she focused on her lingerie again. And growled. The sound was low and sexy. The kind of sound a woman might make during sex. Wild sex. Wild, mind-blowing, “do it two more times to see if it was really that good,” sex. Good thing this was a temp assignment and an easy case to wrap up. Because he was pretty sure this was a woman who could actually make him whimper.

“What kind of lowlife dirtbag treats silk this way?” the blonde muttered, cussing under her breath as she held a teeny-tiny pink leopard-print nightie. “What’s the deal? I thought this creep was all about stealing panties. Why would he mess with my nightgowns?”

Forcing his attention away from the curve of her ass as she bent over to scoop armfuls of cotton nighties and sleep shorts, Diego considered the question. It was a good one, the same he’d been wondering himself when she’d walked in.

“Were they in the same drawer?” Unless her drawer was the size of a closet, he already knew the answer was no.

“I keep my lingerie in the armoire, my nighties and pajamas are in the chest of drawers.”

Diego frowned, noting the two pieces of furniture she’d indicated were on separate walls. It’d be easy to assume the destruction was the result of frustration from not finding her panties right off. But it felt like more. This felt personal.

“We’re probably dealing with a kid or some perv with an underwear fetish,” he mused, rocking back on his heels. That’d been his—and the deputies’ who’d written the previous reports—assumption of the case. But he’d learned years ago to listen to his gut over assumptions, his or anyone else’s. “You don’t have much in common with the other victims, though.”

“You don’t think so?” Dumping her armload of delicates into a laundry basket at the foot of her bed, she gave him an amused look with those cat eyes. “I don’t know about that. We’re all female. We all live in the same town. We all wear underwear. Well, there is the rumor floating around this evening that Ben Zimmerman had his undies snatched, too. Now, Ben does have a habit of dressing up as Little Bo Peep for Halloween, and I avoid hoopskirts like the plague. But other than that, I’d say we all have quite a bit in common.”

Diego’d always had a hell of a time resisting a woman with a smart mouth. He eyed the white eyelet bedspread and collection of hardback books lining the shelves on either side of the curved iron bed. The shelf filled with family photos was untouched, other than a leopard-print bra dangling from one frame. Despite the abundance of sexy underwear, he hadn’t come across a single sex toy. And given the feel of the scene, if there’d been one to be found, the culprit would have tossed it in the mix.