A Good Day for Chardonnay (Sunshine Vicram #2) by Darynda Jones

Wearing a pair of night-vision goggles that covered the upper half of his face, he dragged her around the cabin and yanked her behind yet another bush, before shushing her with an index finger over his mouth and pointing to his back porch.

“I didn’t say anything,” she whispered, slapping at his hand, annoyed at being yanked while having to navigate the rough terrain in heels.

“He’s there,” Quince said, his whisper much softer than hers. It was then that Sun realized he was wearing full tactical gear to go with the goggles and comm set. It took everything in her not to react, and she fought a strong urge to pinch the bridge of her nose again.

Instead, she looked through the foliage and saw nothing. “Where?”

“There.” He pointed toward the shadows of his back porch. “Somewhere. I heard him, but the coward is too afraid to show his face when I’m around.”

Sun frowned. Stakeouts were not a favorite pastime, and who knew how long it would be before the masked bandit emerged from the home he’d invaded. The same home he’d been invading repeatedly for weeks, according to the behemoth beside her.

Quincy’s small cabin sat on the banks of the Pecos River, and she let the sound of rushing water wash over her. She could even smell it. Fresh and clear. His cabin had previously been a rental for tourists and resembled four others just like it, but they were far enough apart to offer a nice bit of privacy thanks to some strategically placed vegetation.

Maroon paint, in bad need of a fresh coat, framed the exposed pine exterior and wraparound porch that ran the length of the abode. Sun loved little more than sitting on that porch with Quincy, sipping on a glass of chardonnay and watching the setting sun glisten over the Pecos like diamonds and ambers and amethysts. But the sun had set an hour earlier, hence the goggles.

When he handed her a pair along with a comm set and a quick, “Here,” Sun fought a giggle. He’d gone all out. For a raccoon. She took the equipment and feigned a fit of coughs to cover her amusement.

He didn’t buy it. He pressed his mouth together and ignored her as she struggled to untangle a blond lock of hair from a branch, then slipped the headset onto her head.

“Quince,” she said, letting her eyes adjust to the green glow behind the goggles to focus on figure after figure stalking through the forested area, “when I said to call everyone in, I didn’t mean, you know, everyone.”

“Well then, you shouldn’t have said everyone. Besides, I needed help from on high.”

“God?” she asked, fitting the earpiece he handed her into her left ear.

“No, sniper. Zee is on top of Mr. Chavez’s barn.”

A hushed female voice came over the radio. “You look great, boss.”

Then another. Deputy Tricia Salazar, a curvy twenty-something with doe eyes and chipmunk cheeks, was learning to be Zee’s spotter. “I agree. You should wear your civvies more often, boss.”

Sun turned and, even though she couldn’t actually see the deputies atop the rickety barn, flashed them her best supermodel smile. She could only imagine what that looked like with the alien tactical gear on her face. “Thank you, guys.” She tossed her hair over a shoulder. “At least someone noticed.”

“Oh, yeah,” Quincy said, keeping a weather eye on his back porch. “How’d the date go?”

“Well enough to justify a plea of temporary insanity when I kill my parents. Why are you risking my deputies’ lives for a rodent?”

He snorted. “They’ll be fine. Even if they fall, it’s not a tall barn. They’ll shake it off.”

“Like when you fell off your grandfather’s barn and cried for two hours?”

“I was six. What did this one do for a living?”

“You mean after my last blind date, the breatharian life coach?”

“Yeah.” He scratched his chin. “I wouldn’t have figured your mother as one to set you up with a man living out of his van. Clearly, you’re depreciating with age.”

“Clearly. Mom said he was still finding himself.”

“How old was he?”

“Early seventies. Thankfully, tonight’s victim was more age-appropriate. And he had a job! Pest control. Or at least I think it was pest control. I wasn’t really paying attention.” When he ripped off the goggles and turned to gape at her, his eyes glowing green through her lenses, she asked, “What?”

“Let me get this straight,” he said, ironically straightening to his full height of six feet, four inches, with shoulders spanning a similar distance. “You were on a date with a pest control guy when I called with a pest control issue, and you left him at the café?”

She stabbed him with the best glare in her arsenal, number 12.2—she’d recently upgraded—even though its genius was wasted behind the goggles. “Of course I left him at the café. Can you imagine what he would’ve charged for an after-hours emergency?”

“Budget issues?”

She snorted. “That’s an understatement. My left pinky is bigger than our budget.”

He gave her a surprised once-over. “As opposed to your right one?”

“I know right? I have weird fingers.”

“Please. You should see my toes.”

“I want to see them,” Zee said over the comm.