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

After almost leaving without her boots, she jammed her feet back into them, zipped them up, then sprinted out the door, forgetting her bra draped over the back of her sofa. Gawd, she was good at this sheriff thing.

Skidding her cruiser to a stop like a professional drifter three-point-five minutes later outside The Roadhouse Bar and Grill, she sent dirt flying over Quincy’s cruiser. And Quincy. The station received its fair share of calls pertaining to the rather seedy establishment, but never a stabbing. At least none that she knew of.

The way Sun understood it, the bar was owned by the Ravinder family as a whole, but mostly run by Levi’s uncle Clay and a couple of Ravinder cousins with Levi holding a controlling interest. Or so she’d been told. He seemed to have final say in how things were run. A good thing, since he and his sister were the only levelheaded ones out of the bunch.

Lights bounced off everything around Sun as she jumped out of her cruiser and ducked under a strip of yellow tape, something she’d seen used only one other time during her four-month stint as sheriff of the sleepy tourist town, and that involved a truck, a herd of chickens, and a pallet of warming lubricant.

An ambulance and a fire truck sat in the lot along with two of her deputies’ cars, lights blazing in the darkness from all four first-responder vehicles.

Salazar was already taking statements while Zee held off a small crowd of inebriated gawkers, several of whom were women who just wanted to make sure Levi was okay. Sun didn’t realize her former—and admittedly current—crush had such a dedicated following. Not that it surprised her.

She hurried past just as Quincy closed the door to the ambulance. He banged on it to give the go-ahead, then brushed himself off as it sped away.

Her heart sputtered and stumbled before restarting again. Her fingers tingled and she curled them into fists, pressing her nails into her palms. Apprehension had taken a stranglehold. She uncurled the fists. Slid her hands down her hips. Forced herself to calm.

“Is he okay?” she asked Quince, the thought of Levi seriously injured darkening the edges of her vision.

“Don’t know.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t look good.”

It took every ounce of strength she had to not run back to her cruiser and chase after the ambulance. She’d wanted to see him before they took him away. If it were really that bad, she might not get a chance to talk to him before the medical center had to airlift him to Albuquerque.

Even if she did go to see him at this juncture, she’d only be in the way. She needed to let the professionals do their jobs and, more importantly, she needed to do hers.

She compelled herself to take a beat, to fill her lungs before asking, “What happened here?”

Quincy pointed to another taped-off area between two vehicles. A taped-off area drowning in blood. Huge dark shadows pooled between the tires of the vehicles and streaks of it painted the light-colored cars like graffiti. She bit down so hard her jaw hurt and tears stung the backs of her eyes.

“From what we can tell,” Quince said, leading her closer, “three men jumped a Roadhouse patron and Ravinder came out to help.”

She closed her lids. Of course, he did. When she lifted them again, Quince had turned around and was gesturing toward the road.

“He paid the price, too. There’s security footage. We’ll know more once we get a good look, but from what we’ve learned so far, he’s damned lucky to be alive. According to the breakfast club over there,” he said, pointing to the witnesses, “that pickup hit him dead on.”

Sun stilled. “Pickup?”

“They backed up and tried to run him over again. Apparently, your guy has the reflexes of a mountain lion. Their words.”

“I …I thought it was a stabbing.”

“Right. The victim was beaten and stabbed multiple times. He also has some pretty serious defensive wounds.” He turned back to the blood-soaked crime scene.

“The victim?” she asked, now frowning in confusion.

Quincy frowned, too. Then realization dawned and a knowing grin emerged. He took her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “Your guy’s okay, Sunbeam. Toby has him by Big Red.”

Sun spun around so fast the world tilted. Big Red was the pet name for the only legit fire truck Del Sol had. Also, it was yellow. Not a speck of red paint on her anywhere.

She looked back at Quincy. “He wasn’t stabbed?”

“No.”

“You said he was stabbed.”

“No, I said there was a stabbing and Ravinder was injured.”

She gaped at him.

“Two separate statements.”

She continued to gape, a pastime she’d been partaking in remarkably often since moving back to Del Sol.

“Okeydokey.” He gestured toward Big Red. “So, your guy was trying to stop the men who stabbed our victim. Apparently, those particular men didn’t want to be stopped.” He glanced back at the nightmare on Main Street. “Ravinder fought them but they managed to get into their vehicle and drive off. That was when the genius decided to pick a fight with”—he brought out his notepad—“a white Toyota Tundra with Texas plates.” He looked at the fire truck, indicating the surreal creature commonly known as Levi Ravinder hidden behind it. “And here I thought Ravinder was the smart one of the bunch. Seems he didn’t escape the worst of the Ravinder genes after all.”