The Maverick: The Maverick / Magnate’s Make-Believe Mistress

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.”