CHAPTER ONE

It’s never a good day when your car is stolen right outside your house, and the thief leads the cops on a high-speed chase and then crashes said car into a septic truck. It’s even worse when your car is a county probation vehicle, and your boss doesn’t have a sense of humor.

My name is Riley Reynolds. I’ve worked at the San Luis Obispo (SLO) County Probation Department for four years. Currently, I’m assigned to the warrant apprehension unit. It’s my job to track down rogue probationers and drag them before the court so they can explain to a judge why they violated their terms of probation. Sounds easy enough, right? The thing is most wayward probationers don’t want to appear in court because they face having their probation status revoked and their prison sentence imposed. It can make for some tricky situations. Like the one I was currently in.

It was a gorgeous September day. There was barely a breeze and not a cloud in the sky. I’d stopped by my apartment for lunch when my on-again, off-again girlfriend, Tate Walker, a detective in the property crimes unit of the SLO Police Department, called. She was laughing.

Tate and I had been seeing each other for a couple of years. No promises had been made, we hadn’t moved in together, and there were no plans to rent a U-Haul. I’ll be honest with you, I’m the one holding things up. There were three reasons: first, I had been almost engaged to be married but ended up with a broken heart. Her name was Michelle. We’d lived together our senior year of college. I’d planned a romantic trip to the coast for spring break and planned to pop the question. I bought a ring and everything. On the Friday before the trip, I skipped class to pack and walked in on her screwing her best friend with a dildo. To add insult to injury, she’d always claimed she wasn’t into toys.

The second reason was kids; Tate wanted them, I didn’t. It’s not really an issue you can compromise on. It’s not that I didn’t like kids. They were fine as long as they were somebody else’s. My office partner, Patty, was expecting, and I was excited for her. I’d be happy to babysit and buy toys that made a lot of noise and would drive her crazy. But I’d be even happier to hand them back at the end of the day.

The third reason was my plan to become an FBI Special Agent. I’d missed the filing deadline twice. The first time because my father had a heart attack and needed open heart surgery. It hadn’t been a good time to pick up and move across the country. The following year I was so busy at work I forgot to submit my application. I was bound and determined to submit it this year.

But back to the story. I was standing in my kitchen making a Gouda and tomato sandwich, not just any Gouda, mind you, it was Irish Gouda. Yes, I’m a cheese snob. There isn’t any of that cheap processed shit in my refrigerator. To be honest, there isn’t much of anything in my refrigerator. I keep forgetting to go to the grocery store, so I end up eating takeout a lot. Anyway, just as I placed the second slice of tomato on my sandwich, the phone rang. Tate’s name appeared on the screen, and I pictured her naked body against mine in the shower that morning.

“Hi, babe, what’s up?” I could hear sirens in the distance, but I live near a busy street, so sirens aren’t unusual.

“Riles, please tell me you know where your probation car is right now.”

I took a bite out of my sandwich and walked to the window. “Yeah, it’s in front of…Oh, fuck, it’s gone.” I dropped the sandwich and ran for the door and down the stairs. “What the hell, Tate?” I scanned the street in both directions.

“Shit, Riles, did you lock it?”

“Of course, I locked it! I’m not an idiot.” I racked my brain, trying to remember if, in fact, I had locked it.

“I know you’re not, but half a dozen cops are chasing it down the highway.”

I knew by the sound of her voice she was shaking her head. This wasn’t the first time something ludicrous had happened to me.

“I’ll call you back when we have them in custody, hopefully before they wreck it,” she said, then hung up.

Crap, crap, crap. My boss was going to kill me. Luckily my Glock 9mm was attached to my hip and not locked in the trunk, and I hadn’t left any important files in the back seat. Dreading the conversation, I dialed his office. The phone rang one time.

“Stevenson,” he said without preamble.

I took a deep breath, hopefully not my last one as a probation officer. “Hi, Stan. I’ve got a problem.”

“Yeah? What now? Lost your keys? Dropped your pepper spray in the toilet?”

“That only happened once,” I protested. “And this is a little more serious than that.”

“Out with it, Reynolds. I don’t have all day.”

I could picture the stack of warrant files waiting to be assigned, at least two cold cups of coffee, and empty Snickers wrappers on his desk. He was fifty-five, rarely ate anything healthy, and was at least forty pounds overweight. He was a heart attack waiting to happen.

“I just got a call from SLO PD. My car’s been stolen, and they’re in pursuit,” I blurted out as fast as I could.

A second passed, then another. “When you say your car, you mean that blue piece of shit you drive, right?”

I stretched my neck from side to side. “I wish it were, Stan, I really wish it were. Unfortunately, the goddesses are not on my side today.”

I heard a loud thud and pictured Stan pounding the desk with the heel of his hand. “Goddamn it, Reynolds, how did this happen?”

Like an answer to a prayer, my personal phone rang, and Tate’s name popped up on the screen. “Stan, the police are on my other phone. I’ll call you back.” I hung up before he could get another word out.

“Tate, did they catch him?”

“Riles, I’ve got good news, and I’ve got bad news.”

“Shit, shit, shit.” I hated good news, bad news scenarios.

“You’re not far off.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Well, the good news is we stopped her.”

I rolled my eyes and looked at the ceiling. “Her?”

“Yeah, it was a chick with pink hair. But she got away.”

“Is that the bad news?”

“Well, there’s bad news, and then there’s bad, bad news.”

“Just tell me, I’m already up shit creek. How bad can it be?”

“There was a small accident, but no one was injured.”

“Okay. What’s the really bad news?”

“She ran into the back of a septic truck, and your car is covered in shit.” I could tell she was trying hard not to laugh. “So yeah, it’s shit creek.”