One-Click Buy: December 2009 Silhouette Desire

by Susan Mallery

  She blinked. “Cat food. For rats?”

  “We keep barn cats to deal with the rat problem,” he explained. “But there aren’t quite enough mice and rats to keep the cats healthy, so we supplement.”

  “I like cats,” she said with a sigh and a smile. “Maybe we could adopt some stray ones when we get married.” She frowned. “Now that’s going to be a problem.”

  “Cats are?”

  “No. Where are we going to live?” she persisted. “My job is in San Antonio and yours is here. I know,” she said, brightening. “I’ll commute!”

  He laughed. She made him feel light inside. He finished his coffee. “Better work on getting the bridegroom first,” he pointed out.

  “Okay. What sort of flowers do you like, and when are we going on our first date?”

  He pursed his lips. She was outrageously forward, but behind that bluff personality, he saw something deeper and far more fragile. She was shy. She was like a storefront with piñatas and confetti that sold elegant silverware. She was disguising her real persona with an exaggerated one.

  He leaned back in his chair, feeling oddly arrogant at her interest in him. His eyes narrowed and he smiled. “I was thinking we might take in a movie at one of those big movie complexes in San Antonio. Friday night.”

  “Ooooooh,” she exclaimed, bright-eyed. “I like science fiction.”

  “So do I, and there’s a remake of a 1950’s film playing. I wouldn’t mind seeing it.”

  “Neither would I.”

  “I’ll pick you up at your motel about five. We’ll have dinner and take in the movie afterward. That suit you?”

  She was nodding furiously. “Should I go ahead and buy the rings?” she asked with an innocent expression.

  He chuckled. “I told you, I’m too tied up right now for weddings.”

  She snapped her fingers. “Darn!”

  “But we can see a movie.”

  “I like movies.”

  “Me, too.”

  They paid for their respective meals and walked out together, drawing interest from several of the café patrons. Harley hadn’t been taking any girls around with him lately, and here was this cute CSI lady from San Antonio having lunch with him. Speculation ran riot.

  “They’ll have us married by late afternoon,” he remarked, nodding toward the windows, where curious eyes were following their every move.

  “I’ll go back in and invite them all to the wedding, shall I?” she asked at once.

  “Kill the engine, dude,” he drawled in a perfect imitation of the sea turtle in his favorite cartoon movie.

  “You so totally rock, Squirt!” she drawled back.

  He laughed. “Sweet. You like cartoon movies, too?”

  “Crazy about them,” she replied. “My favorite right now is Wall-E, but it changes from season to season. They just get better all the time.”

  “I liked Wall-E, too,” he agreed. “Poignant story. Beautiful soundtrack.”

  “My sentiments, exactly. That’s nice. When we have kids, we’ll enjoy taking them to the theater to see the new cartoon movies.”

  He took off his hat and started fanning himself. “Don’t mention kids or I’ll faint!” he exclaimed. “I’m already having hot flashes, just considering the thought of marriage!”

  She glared at him. “Women have hot flashes when they enter menopause,” she said, emphasizing the first word.

  He lifted his eyebrows and grinned. “Maybe I’m a woman in disguise,” he whispered wickedly.

  She wrinkled her nose up and gave him a slow, interested scrutiny from his cowboy boots to his brown hair. “It’s a really good disguise,” she had to agree. She growled, low in her throat, and smiled. “Tell you what, after the movie, we can undress you and see how good a disguise it really is.”

  “Well, I never!” he exclaimed, gasping. “I’m not that kind of man, I’ll have you know! And if you keep talking like that, I’ll never marry you. A man has his principles. You’re just after my body!”

  Alice was bursting at the seams with laughter. Harley followed her eyes, turned around, and there was Kilraven, in uniform, staring at him.

  “I read this book,” Kilraven said after a minute, “about a Scot who disguised himself as a woman for three days after he stole an English payroll destined for the turncoat Scottish Lords of the Congregation who were going to try to depose Mary, Queen of Scots. The family that sheltered him was rewarded with compensation that was paid for centuries, even after his death, they say. He knew how to repay a debt.” He frowned. “But that was in the sixteenth century, and you don’t look a thing like Lord Bothwell.”

  “I should hope not,” Harley said. “He’s been dead for over four hundred years!”

  Alice moved close to him and bumped him with her hip. “Don’t talk like that. Some of my best friends are dead people.”

  Harley and Kilraven both groaned.

  “It was a joke,” Alice burst out, exasperated. “My goodness, don’t you people have a sense of humor?”

  “He doesn’t,” Harley said, indicating Kilraven.

  “I do so,” Kilraven shot back, glaring. “I have a good sense of humor.” He stepped closer. “And you’d better say that I do, because I’m armed.”

  “You have a great sense of humor,” Harley replied at once, and grinned.

  “What are you doing here?” Alice asked suddenly. “I thought you were supposed to be off today.”

  Kilraven shrugged. “One of our boys came down with flu and they needed somebody to fill in. Not much to do around here on a day off, so I volunteered,” he added.

  “There’s TV,” Alice said.

  He scoffed. “I don’t own a TV,” he said huffily. “I read books.”

  “European history?” Harley asked, recalling the mention of Bothwell.

  “Military history, mostly, but history is history. For instance,” he began, “did you know that Hannibal sealed poisonous snakes in clay urns and had his men throw them onto the decks of enemy ships as an offensive measure?”

  Harley was trying to keep a straight face.

  Alice didn’t even try. “You’re kidding!”

  “I am not. Look it up.”

  “I’d have gone right over the side into the ocean!” Alice exclaimed, shivering.

  “So did a lot of the enemy combatants.” Kilraven chuckled. “See what you learn when you read, instead of staying glued to a television set?”

  “How can you not have a television set?” Harley exclaimed. “You can’t watch the news…”

  “Don’t get me started,” Kilraven muttered. “Corporate news, exploiting private individuals with personal problems for the entertainment of the masses! Look at that murder victim who was killed back in the summer, and the family of the accused is still getting crucified nightly in case they had anything to do with it. You call that news? I call it bread and circuses, just like the arena in ancient Rome!”

  “Then how do you know what’s going on in the world?” Alice had to know.

  “I have a laptop computer with Internet access,” he said. “That’s where the real news is.”

  “A revolutionary,” Harley said.

  “An anarchist,” Alice corrected.

  “I am an upstanding member of law enforcement,” Kilraven retorted. He glanced at the big watch on his wrist. “And I’m going to be late getting back on duty if I don’t get lunch pretty soon.”

  Harley was looking at the watch and frowning. He knew the model. It was one frequently worn by mercs. “Blade or garrote?” he asked Kilraven, nodding at the watch.

  Kilraven was surprised, but he recovered quickly. “Blade,” he said. “How did you know?”

  “Micah Steele used to wear one just like it.”

  Kilraven leaned down. “Guess who I bought it from?” he asked. He grinned. With a wave, he sauntered into the café.

  “What were you talking about?” Alice asked curiously.

  “Trade secret,” Harley returned. “I have
to get going. I’ll see you Friday.”

  He turned away and then, just as suddenly turned back. “Wait a minute.” He pulled a small pad and pencil out of his shirt pocket and jotted down a number. He tore off the paper and handed it to her. “That’s my cell phone number. If anything comes up, and you can’t make it Friday, you can call me.”

  “Can I call you anyway?” she asked.

  He blinked. “What for?”

  “To talk. You know, if I have any deeply personal problems that just can’t wait until Friday?”

  He laughed. “Alice, it’s only two days away,” he said.

  “I could be traumatized by a snake or something.”

  He sighed. “Okay. But only then. It’s hard to pull a cell phone out of its holder when you’re knee-deep in mud trying to extract mired cattle.”

  She beamed. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She tucked the number in the pocket of her slacks. “I enjoyed lunch.”

  “Yeah,” he said, smiling. “Me, too.”

  She watched him walk away with covetous eyes. He really did have a sensuous body, very masculine. She stood sighing over him until she realized that several pair of eyes were still watching her from inside the café. With a self-conscious grin in their direction, she went quickly to her van.

  The pattern in the tennis shoes was so common that Alice had serious doubts that they’d ever locate the seller, much less the owner. The car was going to be a much better lead. She went up to the crime lab while they were processing it. There was some trace evidence that was promising. She also had Sergeant Rick Marquez, who worked out of San Antonio P.D., get as much information as he could about the woman the murdered man had stolen the car from.

  The next morning in Jacobsville, on his way to work in San Antonio, Rick stopped by Alice’s motel room to give her the information he’d managed to obtain. “She’s been an employee of Senator Fowler for about two years,” Rick said, perching on the edge of the dresser in front of the bed while she paced. “She’s deeply religious. She goes to church on Sundays and Wednesdays. She’s involved in an outreach program for the homeless, and she gives away a good deal of her salary to people she considers more needy.” He shook his head. “You read about these people, but you rarely encounter them in real life. She hasn’t got a black mark on her record anywhere, unless you consider a detention in high school for being late three days in a row when her mother was in the hospital.”

  “Wow,” Alice exclaimed softly.

  “There’s more. She almost lost the job by lecturing the senator for hiring illegal workers and threatening them with deportation if they asked for higher wages.”

  “What a sweetheart,” Alice muttered.

  “From what we hear, the senator is the very devil to work for. They say his wife is almost as hard-nosed. She was a state supreme court judge before she went into the import/export business. She made millions at it. Finances a good part of the senator’s reelection campaigns.”

  “Is he honest?”

  “Is any politician?” Marquez asked cynically. “He sits on several powerful committees in Congress, and was once accused of taking kickbacks from a Mexican official.”

  “For what?”

  “He was asked to oppose any shoring up of border security. Word is that the senator and his contact have their fingers in some illegal pies, most notably drug trafficking. But there’s no proof. The last detective who tried to investigate the senator is now working traffic detail.”

  “A vengeful man.”

  “Very.”

  “I don’t suppose that detective would talk to me?” she wondered aloud.

  “She might,” he replied surprisingly. “She and I were trying to get the Kilraven family murder case reopened, if you recall, when pressure was put on us to stop. She turned her attention to the senator and got kicked out of the detective squad.” He grimaced. “She’s a good woman. Got an invalid kid to look after and an ex-husband who’s a pain in the butt, to put it nicely.”

  “We heard about the cold case being closed. You think the senator might have been responsible for it?” she wondered aloud.

  “We don’t know. He has a protégé who’s just been elected junior senator from Texas, and the protégé has some odd ties to people who aren’t exactly the crème of society. But we don’t dare mention that in public.” He smiled. “I don’t fancy being put on a motorcycle at my age and launched into traffic duty.”

  “Your friend isn’t having to do that, surely?” she asked.

  “No, she’s working two-car patrols on the night shift, but she’s a sergeant, so she gets a good bit of desk work.” He studied her. “What’s this I hear about you trying to marry Harley?”

  She grinned. “It’s early days. He’s shy, but I’m going to drown him in flowers and chocolate until he says yes.”

  “Good luck,” he said with a chuckle.

  “I won’t even need it. We’re going to a movie together Friday.”

  “Are you? What are you going to see?”

  “The remake of that fifties movie. We’re going to dinner first.”

  “You are a fast worker, Alice,” he said with respect. He checked his watch. “I’ve got to get back to the precinct.”

  She glanced at his watch curiously. “You don’t have a blade or a wire in that thing, do you?”

  “Not likely,” he assured her. “Those watches cost more than I make, and they’re used almost exclusively by mercs.”

  “Mercs?” She frowned.

  “Soldiers of fortune. They work for the highest bidder, although our local crowd had more honor than that.”

  Mercs. Now she understood Harley’s odd phrasing about “trade secrets.”

  “Where did you see a watch like that?” he asked.

  She looked innocent. “I heard about one from Harley. I just wondered what they were used for.”

  “Oh. Well, I guess if you were in a tight spot, it might save your life to have one of those,” he agreed, distracted.

  “Before you go, can you give me the name and address of that detective in San Antonio?” she asked.

  He hesitated. “Better let me funnel the questions to her, Alice,” he said with a smile. “She doesn’t want anything to slip out about her follow-ups on that case. She’s still working it, without permission.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “So are you, unless I miss my guess. Does Kilraven know?”

  He shook his head. Then he hesitated. “Well, I don’t think he does. He and Jon Blackhawk still don’t want us nosing around. They’re afraid the media will pick up the story and it will become the nightly news for a year or so.” He shook his head. “Pitiful, how the networks don’t go out and get any real news anymore. They just create it by harping on private families mixed up in tragedies, like living soap operas.”

  “That’s how corporate media works,” she told him. “If you want real news, buy a local weekly newspaper.”

  He laughed. “You’re absolutely right. Take care, Alice.”

  “You, too. Thanks for the help.”

  “Anytime.” He paused at the door and grinned at her. “If Harley doesn’t work out, you could always pursue me,” he invited. “I’m young and dashing and I even have long hair.” He indicated his ponytail. “I played semiprofessional soccer when I was in college, and I have a lovely singing voice.”

  She chuckled. “I’ve heard about your singing voice, Marquez. Weren’t you asked, very politely, to stay out of the church choir?”

  “I wanted to meet women,” he said. “The choir was full of unattached ones. But I can sing,” he added belligerently. “Some people don’t appreciate real talent.”

  She wasn’t touching that line with a pole. “I’ll keep you in mind.”

  “You do that.” He laughed as he closed the door.

  Alice turned back to her notes, spread out on the desk in the motel room. There was something nagging at her about the piece of paper they’d recovered from the murder victim. She wondered why it bothered her
.

  Harley picked her up punctually at five on Friday night for their date. He wasn’t overdressed, but he had on slacks and a spotless sports shirt with a dark blue jacket. He wasn’t wearing his cowboy hat, either.

  “You look nice,” she said, smiling.

  His eyes went to her neat blue sweater with embroidery around the rounded neckline and the black slacks she was wearing with slingbacks. She draped a black coat with fur collar over one arm and picked up her purse.

  “Thanks,” he said. “You look pretty good yourself, Alice.”

  She joined him at the door. “Ooops. Just a minute. I forgot my cell phone. I was charging it.”

  She unplugged it and tucked it into her pocket. It rang immediately. She grimaced. “Just a minute, okay?” she asked Harley.

  She answered the phone. She listened. She grimaced. “Not tonight,” she groaned. “Listen, I have plans. I never do, but I really have plans tonight. Can’t Clancy cover for me, just this once? Please? Pretty please? I’ll do the same for her. I’ll even work Christmas Eve…okay? Thanks!” She beamed. “Thanks a million!”

  She hung up.

  “A case?” he asked curiously.

  “Yes, but I traded out with another investigator.” She shook her head as she joined him again at the door. “It’s been so slow lately that I forgot how hectic my life usually is.”

  “You have to work Christmas Eve?” he asked, surprised.

  “Well, I usually volunteer,” she confessed. “I don’t have much of a social life. Besides, I think parents should be with children on holidays. I don’t have any, but all my coworkers do.”

  He paused at the door of his pickup truck and looked down at her. “I like kids,” he said.

  “So do I,” she replied seriously, and without joking. “I’ve just never had the opportunity to become a parent.”

  “You don’t have to be married to have kids,” he pointed out.

  She gave him a harsh glare. “I am the product of generations of Baptist ministers,” she told him. “My father was the only one of five brothers who went into business instead. You try having a modern attitude with a mother who taught Sunday School and uncles who spent their lives counseling young women whose lives were destroyed by unexpected pregnancies.”