Nice & Naughty

by Tawny Weber

  “And this is someone with a panty fetish,” Beryl said, laying out the cookie press and accessories. “No big deal. It’s not like he’s keeping them and doing pervy things.”

  “That we know of,” Ruby snapped.

  Beryl’s chin lifted, her posture echoing Ruby’s angry one. Time to change the subject.

  “Let’s switch jobs for a while,” Jade suggested to Beryl, waving her hand toward the table full of deliciously tempting edible decorations. “I’ll press spritz cookies, you dress Santa.”

  “You sure?” Beryl said with a frown as she glanced from the cookie disks she’d spread across the counter to the decorations. “You’re usually so territorial about making the cookies look just right.”

  “Yep, I’m sure.” She glanced at Ruby, then asked, “We have two weeks until the open house. What else do you want to make today besides cookies?”

  While her sisters debated fudge or pumpkin rolls, she filled the press. She needed the distraction. Not because she was worried about a creep with a panty fetish. But all this talk about panties, dating and sexual droughts was making her crazy.

  If she wasn’t careful, she’d start eating to numb the sexual frustration. She’d done that after Eric had left, putting on twenty pounds as she tried to deal with the emotional blow. For a girl who topped out at five-four, that’d been a quick wake-up call in how fast things could get out of control if she wasn’t careful.

  Still, it was a better option than finding herself a real Horny-for-Hire.

  As Jade pressed out the first dozen starshaped cookies, she pretended they were flying across the sky and made a Christmas wish.

  Please, let a sexy, gorgeous man sweep into her life just long enough to fulfill her every sexual fantasy. Give her enough good loving to last until she’d sorted out the rest of her life, then scootch on out without any hard feelings, leaving things simple and complication free.

  And if she couldn’t have the latter two parts of the wish, she’d settle on having a few of those sexual fantasies come true.

  After all, she’d been a really good girl.

  Wasn’t it time she had a chance to be a little bad?

  3

  HER MIND FILLED with images of sexy guys all wrapped in bright red ribbons and nothing else, Jade strolled past the twinkling lights and animated Santa’s workshop scene in Diablo Glen’s version of winter wonderland, better known the rest of the year as Readers Park. One of the few perks of living in a small town was being able to walk everywhere. The library was only two blocks from her cottage, her mother’s house a block to the east and the shopping district—if a dozen buildings could be considered a district—a block to the west.

  The houses surrounding the park were dressed in their Christmas best, trees sparkling with festive decorations and eves strung with lights. Nobody did the holidays like people in a tight community.

  But tonight, the quaint appeal and homespun warmth couldn’t keep her attention. Jade couldn’t get her sister’s words out of her head. Was she only paying lip service to being empowered? Eighteen months was a really long time to go without sex. Well, it was if it was good sex. Maybe that was the problem. All the sex she’d had was pretty much mediocre. She scrunched her nose, remembering her ex-fiancé’s fumbling fiver, as she’d nicknamed his lovemaking style.

  She was only twenty-five. Too young to accept a sexless life. Not that she’d admit it to anyone—especially since it’d put a major dent in her tough, empowered image—but she wanted the kind of sex she read in those books so hot their covers were a blazing red. Just once, she wanted to experience that headlong rush of desire. To be overcome by passion. To need someone so badly, she could forget everything.

  But unless star cookies had the power to make Christmas wishes come true, all that passion was going to stay between the pages of a book.

  A little dejected and a lot frustrated, she crossed the street that ran between the park and her cottage. Left to her by her paternal grandmother, it was cozy, comfortable and cute. She’d just opened the latch on the white picket fence when a blur of black fur shot across her feet.

  Yelping, Jade jumped back. Her book bag hit the ground, paperbacks sliding across the sidewalk like a colorful rainbow. Heart racing, she pressed her hand to her chest and tried to catch a breath.

  “Persephone?” Jade’s confused gaze slid from the now-smug cat pushing her way into the book bag to the front door of the cottage. It was closed tight. Glancing right, then left at the multipaned windows, she noted the sheers were still, indicating the windows were closed, too.

  “How’d you get out?”

  Thanks to her habit of viewing the neighbors’ holiday decorations as enemies to be destroyed, Persephone was forced to be an indoor cat in December. Last week she’d escaped when Jade was hauling out the trash. Ten minutes later she’d found the cat batting foam presents at the tin soldiers on Mr. Turner’s front lawn.

  Kneeling to scoop books back into the cat-filled bag, Jade took a second to scratch Persephone’s purring head. Brow furrowed, she craned her neck to get a glimpse of the side of the house. There, from her open bedroom window, fluttered a sheer white curtain.

  “Uh-oh.”

  Her heart pounded so loud that her head throbbed with every beat. Forgetting the bag, the cat and books, Jade reached for her purse instead. Straightening slowly, she sucked in a shaky breath, telling herself there was nothing to be scared of. Yes, the town had experienced a rash of break-ins. But they were petty thefts. Not assaults. Despite Ruby’s paranoia, there was nothing to be afraid of.

  Still, she’d watched too many horror movies to be stupid enough to walk in there alone. With fingers that were only trembling a little bit, she fished her phone out of her purse.

  It took her three tries to dial the mayor’s office. It took the phone seven rings to go to voice mail.

  “This is Jade Carson, and I think I’ve had a break-in. Can someone call me right back, please.”

  Applebaum was a hands-on kind of mayor, proud of always being available to the townspeople. His voice mail would forward to both his and his secretary’s cell phones. Sure she’d hear back within five minutes, Jade took a deep breath and debated. She couldn’t go inside. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t look around. Sweeping the books into her bag, she set it on the porch steps, but kept her purse—and cell phone—with her.

  Careful not to step in the flower beds, she leaned forward to press her face to the living room window. Everything looked normal. Nothing to worry about, she assured herself as she continued around the side of the cottage. Her fingers curled around the windowpane, she shifted to the tiptoes of her four-inch-high boots. Squinting through the dusk-shadowed sheers, she peered into her bedroom.

  And wanted to cry.

  “Holy shit.”

  Jade would be the first to admit that she had a lingerie addiction. But seeing every piece she owned thrown around the room, tossed over the bed, dresser, floor and even the curtain rods, she wondered if she should look for a 12-step program.

  Just as she was imagining herself standing in front of a bunch of strangers declaring her name Jade and confessing her love of tiny pieces of silk and lace, her phone rang.

  “H’lo,” she answered morosely.

  “Jade, dear, this is Mrs. Clancy,” greeted the mayor’s secretary. “Are you okay? You think someone broke into your home?”

  “Either that, or the Victoria’s Secret Fairy had a tantrum in my bedroom.”

  “Oh, dear. The Panty Thief got you, too. Poor thing. You didn’t go into the house, did you? You’re not supposed to.”

  “No, ma’am. I’m looking through my bedroom window.”

  “Good, good. Mr. Applebaum is meeting that detective the sheriff sent. He’s due anytime now. Not that I have much faith that he’s any good. I overheard the ma
yor talking to the person in the county office. It sounded like the detective has some issues. And to be sent out here, on a case like this? Clearly that means he’s bad at his job, right?”

  Such a comforting thing to say to the most recent victim of the crime that the said detective had been sent to solve.

  “Mrs. Clancy,” Jade interrupted, leaning her forehead against the cool wood of the windowsill. She closed her eyes, but couldn’t block out the image of her ransacked room.

  “Did you hear they found another pair of underpants this evening? Sheer, red with little pink roses sewn around the sides. Imagine that, sheer undies. I’ll bet they were ordered from one of those catalogs. Not sure who they belong to, since the news hasn’t traveled much yet. But someone will step forward, I’m sure. Panties like those didn’t come cheap.”

  “Mrs. Clancy—”

  “Not to worry, though. With a detective on the job, even if he’s not a good one, I’ll bet this is solved before your undies are left out in public somewhere. He should be here soon, too. I was making up a plate of cookies to take over. I imagine the young man is hungry after his long drive. And as he’ll be staying at Mary Beck’s bed-and-breakfast, you know he’s not going to find anything good to eat there.”

  “Mrs. Clancy,” Jade interrupted, louder this time. She blinked hard to clear the frustrated tears from her eyes, but couldn’t push the feeling of angry embarrassment away as easily. “Please. Can you let the mayor know about my break-in now? It’s getting chilly out, and Persephone is on the loose.”

  There was a loud gasp, then the sound of cookies tumbling and crumbling onto a plate. “There we go. Sugar cookies are just as good in pieces. I’ll run this over right now, and the mayor will be there within ten minutes. You go catch that cat, Jade. If she gets into Carl’s train one more time, he’s going to be furious.”

  “Only if she eats the head off his teddy-bear ballerina again,” Jade muttered to the dead phone. A new layer of nerves danced through her tummy. Thanks to some creep, her favorite pink silk thong was dangling off her vanity mirror. And now a strange, possibly incompetent cop was going to paw through her stuff.

  And her cat, the scourge of Christmas decorations everywhere, was on the loose.

  With a grimace and one more pained glance through the window, Jade turned, calling, “Persephone?”

  So frustrated she was ready to cry, Jade made her way to her postage-stamp-size front porch, still calling for her pet. Usually the cat responded instantly. But Persephone wasn’t stupid. She knew the minute she got within grabbing distance, Jade would lock her in the house.

  Then she saw her across the street. Right on top of Carl’s six-foot inflatable Santa snow globe. Jade squinted, then moaned. Yep. That was a teddy-bear head dangling from the black furry mouth.

  * * *

  DOUBLE-CHECKING the address, Diego parked his Harley in front of a two-story house that looked as if it’d been puked on by Christmas. Santa waved from a sleigh on the roof, danced with an elf on the lawn and flashed in lights, Vegas style, from the front porch.

  This was the mayor’s house? Why couldn’t they have met at his office? This was so...small-town. Diego sighed. He wrenched his helmet off and scanned the view with a grimace. A tree glittered holiday cheer from the front bay window, and a beribboned pail of candy canes hung off the mailbox, inviting people to share one.

  But it wasn’t the effusive ode to holiday cheer that had him massaging his temple.

  It was the man, probably in his sixties, romping around on the lawn while three kids clung to his back as if he was a bucking bronco. Or—Diego squinted at the brown sticks tied to the guy’s head—maybe a flying reindeer?

  Kinnison really knew how to twist the knife, shipping Diego off to a modern-day Mayberry. Small towns were worse than a gang-run ghetto when it came to trying to solve a crime. The residents banded together like glue, protecting their own. And while the ghettos had drugs, guns and prostitution, small towns had closed minds, uptight attitudes and suspicion of outsiders. And mayors who saw their citizens as beloved children to be protected.

  It took all Diego’s resolve to swing his leg over the bike and step onto the sidewalk. His tension didn’t shift any when the older guy pulled out a friendly smile instead of a gun.

  “Well, hello, there,” the man said from his prone position, looking none the worse for wear as a fourth kid came barreling around the corner to latch onto the guy’s neck like a demented squirrel monkey. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Mayor Applebaum.”

  “That’d be me.”

  Of course it would. Diego didn’t bother to sigh.

  “Sir, I’m Detective Sandoval with the Central California Sheriff’s Department.”

  “Ah.” The mayor nodded, then with a few tickles, a hug or two and a direction to head on home for cookies, he dispersed the children and got to his feet. He watched them scurry over his lawn and up the steps of the house next door before giving Diego his full attention.

  As long and lanky as he was graying, the man towered over Diego’s own six feet. Brushing grass off his ancient corduroys, he came forward and offered his hand.

  “Welcome to Diablo Glen.” He gestured toward the matching detached garage next to the house, just as nauseatingly decorated as the house. “My office is in the town hall, of course, but I seem to get more work done here at home. Less interruptions, I suppose. Come in, we’ll talk.”

  On edge, Diego followed.

  “Kinnison sent you, then?” the mayor asked, opening the unlocked door. Following him in, Diego felt his shoulders relax for the first time since he’d got his new orders that afternoon.

  Despite once being a garage, and the outside decor, this place was all business. The desk might be polished oak and the law books on the shelves leather, but it wasn’t intimidating. Diego grinned at the life-size oil painting of the Three Stooges as he took the seat the older man indicated.

  “Nice office,” he said. This wasn’t going to be so bad, he decided. He hadn’t been looking forward to dealing with another micromanaging tightass like Kinnison, but this old guy seemed pretty chill.

  Eyes twinkling, the mayor nodded his thanks as he took his own seat behind the large desk. As if just realizing he had it on, he pulled the reindeer-antler hat off and tossed it on the desk.

  “I didn’t get word who Kinnison was sending until an hour ago, which means all I have to go on is his assessment and a cursory check of your record.” Before Diego could do more than frown, the mayor continued. “Kinnison would see a case like ours as an irritant. So I figure this goes one of two ways. Either you have a lot of potential, but somehow got on his bad side so he sent you here as a warning. Or you’re too good to fire, but you regularly piss him off and he’s trying to break you.”

  “You know the captain pretty well?” Diego sidestepped.

  “We’ve served on a few of the same boards.”

  It didn’t take years as a detective to read his tone and realize the mayor wasn’t a fan of the new captain. Score one for the old guy’s good taste.

  All traces of teddy bear gone now, Applebaum tapped a finger on the stack of files on the corner of his desk. “Punishment, lesson or hand slap aside, I don’t care that this sounds like a joke of a case. I expect it to be handled with tact, delicacy and a tenacious resolve for justice.”

  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.”