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      To my very own Persephone, who really does climb Christmas trees, but never tears the heads off teddy bears.

       1

      “DUDE, I CAN’T BELIEVE your luck with women.”

      “That’s not luck, my friend. That’s an abundance of charm,” Detective Diego Sandoval offered with a wicked grin. “And the simple fact that I love women.”

      And with a few painful exceptions, women loved him right back.

      Something that came in handy when he was charming information, and a cast-iron frying pan, out of a three-hundred-pound mass of quivering fury.

      “I’ve never seen anyone so pissed, though. When you arrested her old man, I thought she was gonna knock you on your butt. By the time you left, you had her ready to testify against the dirtbag, handing over evidence and offering to make you a bologna sandwich.”

      Diego shrugged. He was a cop. That was his job, his focus, his entire life. He did whatever it took to break a case. “Try chilling a woman down while she’s aiming a sawed-off shotgun at your goods.”

      “Suspect?”

      “Date.”

      Following Diego up the steps of the large brick building that housed the Central California Sheriff’s Field Operations Bureau, Chris Carson shook his head. In admiration or in disdain, it didn’t matter to Diego. He was all about the job and he devoted 100 percent to it. He didn’t have time to worry about other people’s opinions or doing the buddy thing. That’s what made him one of the best.

      “Someday, Sandoval, you’re gonna meet a challenge you can’t charm your way through,” Chris said as they strode down the hall toward the patrol and investigation offices.

      Diego’s grin slipped a notch.

      “Someday” had happened at birth. Diego had heard tell over the years about such a thing as motherly love, but he’d never experienced it himself. Hell, his mother had barely tolerated him. His learning to talk had been her breaking point. At three, he’d begun the loser shuffle between the rigid disapproval of his uncle Leon’s house and the dismissive foster home’s revolving door. Every couple of years, his mom would feel the guilt and haul him back. But those dance breaks never lasted.

      No matter. That was then. Diego only cared about now.

      “Most women don’t need weapons,” he told the younger man, leading the way through the bullpen. “Mother Nature made sure they were born armed and dangerous.”

      Before they reached Diego’s desk, one of the other cops shouted his name.

      “Captain called down a half hour ago, Sandoval. He wants to see you.”

      “Yeah?” Diego tossed his leather jacket over the back of his chair, then lifted the stack of file folders off the corner of his desk to find one that Chris had been looking for before they left earlier.

      “Immediately.”

      The room chilled. Chris grimaced, glancing around for an escape route.

      Diego flipped through folders anyway. He wasn’t oblivious to the potential drama. He just didn’t give a damn. The case was what mattered and he was sure he had one that tied in with the bust they’d just made. If Chris moved on it, they could nail this drug dealer for twice as long.

      “I can get the file later,” Chris muttered. “Kinnison hates waiting.”

      “He’s waited a half hour. Two more minutes isn’t going to matter.”

      The chill in the room turned antsy, nervous.

      Diego kept right on flipping files. For a bunch of seasoned cops, these guys were way too intimidated by the new brass. Captain Kinnison had been on the job for three months, but it’d taken him only two weeks to institute a new order in the station house. An order heavy on rules, regulations and protocol. And politics. All things Diego didn’t give a rat’s ass about.

      Something that hadn’t earned him any points with his new boss. Despite that, though, word had come down two days before that he was up for a coveted transfer to the San Francisco Sheriff Department, complete with a promotion to Homicide.

      For the most part, Diego was the cocky, lone wolf his uncle claimed him to be. One who didn’t look for back pats, didn’t see the promotion as a big deal. But a little, rarely acknowledged part of him was like a kid on Christmas who’d just found his secretly dreamed-of present under the tree—proof that while he might not be the favorite, Santa still thought he was on the right list.

      The move to San Francisco was ideal. Fresno was getting claustrophobic, like the small towns Diego had hated when he was growing up. The promotion to Homicide validated everything he’d done, everything he was. And he was up for it because he was a damn good detective with the highest close rate in Fresno County. Not because of ass kissing and cronyism. Ironic that by insisting on doing things his way, he’d garnered a file full of commendations and a fast-track to big-deal promotion. He’d finally done something that disproved his uncle’s and uptight cousins’ assertion that he’d never amount to jack.

      “Sandoval, in my office. Now.”

      The command was quiet. Intense.

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