A Bad Day for Sunshine (Sunshine Vicram #1)
Darynda Jones
For my agent, Alexandra Machinist, because she is jet-fueled awesome and she loved this book from the moment I uttered my bizarre, seven-word pitch.
She gets me.
She really gets me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you, dear reader, for picking up this book! I’m so excited to share Sunshine’s story with you. And Auri’s. And the lovely, lovely Levi’s. Le sigh . . .
This book owes a lot of thanks to a lot of people, first and foremost those who believed in this book even before I did: my wonderful agent, Alexandra Machinist, and my incredible editors, Jennifer Enderlin and Alexandra Sehulster. Alex, let’s be honest, this book would have sucked without your incredible insight and genius-level storytelling abilities. I thank you. My family thanks you. My readers thank you. Because sucky books suck. Nobody needs sucky books in their lives.
Thank you to everyone at St. Martin’s Press, Macmillan Audio, and ICM Partners for all the work you do, even when a manuscript shows up a few days (ahem) late. A special shout-out to Marissa, Mara, Brandt, and Anne-Marie, who are like my gang if gangs drank wine and talked books.
But I also had a ton of help from professionals in law enforcement who made it look like I knew what I was doing (insert maniacal laughter), and I am forever grateful for their willingness to answer all my stupid questions because, yes, for the record, there are such things as stupid questions. But thanks guys, for not caring and answering them anyway. Ursula and Malin Parker, Donna Mowrer, Keith Thomas, and Wendy Johnson, I hope I done you proud. Thank you especially, to Uschi and Wendy for reading the book and giving me invaluable feedback.
And, as always, thank you to my ace-in-the-hole, the crazy-talented Trayce Layne, who puts the lime in the coconut and laughs inappropriately with me, because inappropriate laughter is the very best kind.
And thank you to the lurves of my life, Netters and Dana and Quentin, whose identities I stole for a little while to make this book that much more fun.
Last but not least, thank you to my family. You make every breath worthwhile.
1
Welcome to Del Sol,
a town full of sunshine,
fresh air, and friendly faces.
(Barring three or four old grouches.)
Sunshine Vicram pushed down the dread and sticky knot of angst in her chest and wondered, yet again, if she were ready to be sheriff of a town even the locals called the Psych Ward. Del Sol, New Mexico. The town she grew up in. The town she’d abandoned. The town that held more secrets than a politician’s wife.
Was she having second thoughts? Now? After all the hubbub and hoopla of winning an election she hadn’t even entered?
Hell yes, she was.
But after her night of debauchery—a.k.a. her last hurrah before the town became her responsibility—she thought she’d conquered her fears. Eviscerated them. Beaten and buried them in the dirt of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.
Either Jose Cuervo had lied to her last night and given her a false sense of security, or her morning cup of joe was affecting her more than she thought possible.
She eyed the cup suspiciously and took another sip before looking out the kitchen window toward the trees in the distance. The snow had stopped last night, but it had restarted with the first rays of dawn. Snowstorms weren’t uncommon in New Mexico, especially in the more mountainous regions, but Sun had been hoping for, well, sun her first day on the job. Still, snow or no snow, nothing could stop the brilliance that awaited her along the horizon.
Thick clouds soaked up the vibrant colors of daybreak and splashed them across the heavens like a manic artist who’d scored a new bottle of Adderall. Orange Crush and cotton candy collided and dovetailed, making the sky look like a watercolor that had been left out in the rain. The vibrant hues reflected off the fat flakes drifting down and powdering the landscape.
Sun was home. After almost fifteen years, she was home.
But for how long?
No. That wasn’t the right question. Somewhere between her karaoke rendition of “Who Let the Dogs Out?”—which bordered on genius—and her fifth shot of tequila, she and Jose had figured that out the night before as well.
This was the opportunity she’d been both anticipating and dreading. Since she had a job handed to her on a silver platter, she would stay until she found the man who’d abducted her when she was seventeen. She would stay until he was prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. She would stay until she could shed light on the darkest event of her life, and then she would put the town in her rearview for good.
The right question was not how long she would stay but how long it would take her to bring her worst nightmare—literally—to justice.
She tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear and appraised the guesthouse her parents had built, studying it for the umpteenth time that morning. The Tuscan two-bedroom felt bigger than it was thanks to the vaulted ceilings and large windows.
All things considered, it wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. It was shiny and new and warm. And the fact that it sat on her parents’ property, barely fifty feet from their back door, was surprisingly reassuring.
She’d worked some long hours as a detective. Surely, as a sheriff, that wouldn’t change. It might even get worse. It would be good to know that Auri, the effervescent fruit of her loins, would be safe.