The Maverick / Magnate's Make-Believe Mistress

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.”

“I guess it would be rough,” he said.

She smiled. “You grew up with parents who were free thinkers, didn’t you?” she asked, curious.

He grimaced. He put her into the truck and got in beside her before he answered. “My father is an agnostic. He doesn’t believe in anything except the power of the almighty dollar. My mother is just like him. They wanted me to associate with the right people and help them do it. I stayed with a friend’s parents for a while and all but got adopted by them—he was a mechanic and they had a small ranch. I helped in the mechanic’s shop. Then I went into the service, came back and tried to work things out with my real parents, but it wasn’t possible. I ran away from home, fresh out of the Army Rangers.”

“You were overseas during the Bosnia conflict, weren’t you?” she asked.

He snapped his seat belt a little violently. “I was a desk clerk,” he said with disgust. “I washed out of combat training. I couldn’t make the grade. I ended up back in the regular Army doing clerical jobs. I never even saw combat. Not in the Army,” he added.

“Oh.”

“I left home, came down here to become a cowboy barely knowing a cow from a bull. The friends that I lived with had a small ranch, but I mostly stayed in town, working at the shop. We went out to the ranch on weekends, and I wasn’t keen on livestock back then. Mr. Parks took me on anyway. He knew all along that I had no experience, but he put me to work with an old veteran cowhand named Cal Lucas who taught me everything I know about cattle.”

She grinned. “It took guts to do that.”

He laughed. “I guess so. I bluffed a lot, although I am a good mechanic. Then I got in with this Sunday merc crew and went down to Africa with them one week on a so-called training mission. All we did was talk to some guys in a village about their problems with foreign relief shipments. But before we could do anything, we ran afoul of government troops and got sent home.” He sighed. “I bragged about how much I’d learned, what a great merc I was.” He glanced at her as they drove toward San Antonio, but she wasn’t reacting critically. Much the reverse. He relaxed a little. “Then one of the drug lords came storming up to Mr. Parks’s house with his men and I got a dose of reality—an automatic in my face. Mr. Parks jerked two combat knives out of his sleeves and threw them at the two men who were holding me. Put them both down in a heartbeat.” He shook his head, still breathless at the memory. “I never saw anything like it, before or since. I thought he was just a rancher. Turns out he went with Micah Steele and Eb Scott on real merc missions overseas. He listened to me brag and watched me strut, and never said a word. I’d never have known, if the drug dealers hadn’t attacked. We got in a firefight with them later.”

“We heard about that, even up in San Antonio,” she said.

He nodded. “It got around. Mr. Parks and Eb Scott and Micah Steele got together to take out a drug distribution center near Mr. Parks’s property. I swallowed my pride and asked to go along. They let me.” He sighed. “I grew up in the space of an hour. I saw men shot and killed, I had my life saved by Mr. Parks again in the process. Afterward, I never bragged or strutted again. Mr. Parks said he was proud of me.” He flushed a little. “If my father had been like him, I guess I’d still be at home. He’s a real man, Mr. Parks. I’ve never known a better one.”

“He likes you, too.”

He laughed self-consciously. “He does. He’s offered me a few acres of land and some cattle, if I’d like to start my own herd. I’m thinking about it. I love ranching. I think I’m getting good at it.”

“So we’d live on a cattle ranch.” She pursed her lips mischievously. “I guess I could learn to help with branding. I mean, we wouldn’t want our kids to think their mother was a sissy, would we?” she asked, laughing.

Harley gave her a sideways glance and grinned. She really was fun to be with. He thought he might take her by the ranch one day while she was still in Jacobsville and introduce her to Mr. Parks. He was sure Mr. Parks would like her.

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