The Case of the Missing Secretary
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“You don’t give Logan credit for having much sense, do you?” he asked gently.
She shrugged. “How can I? After all, he sacrificed three years of loyal, slavish devotion and adoration over a cup of spilled coffee, didn’t he?”
“He was an idiot there,” Dane had to agree. “I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough deal. Maybe this job will open new doors for you.”
She smiled. “Maybe it will. Do you know any more about this address besides its location?”
“Just that Tansy’s nephew is something of a hell-raiser. He and Tansy should get along just fine.”
“Another Chris,” she said, shaking her head.
“Well…not exactly,” he replied slowly. “Never mind, just go out there and find out. And, if you get in trouble or have any problems, any at all, just phone here and I’ll demand that you come right home to work on another case. Okay?”
That sounded very much as if he were keeping something from her. She wondered what. Her eyebrows lifted. “Now I’m intrigued.”
“You will be. That’s a promise.” He chuckled. “From what we ferreted out, intrigued is an understatement for what most people think when they meet Emmett.”
She put a hand on her hip. “Emmett?”
“Well, most people don’t call him that if they want to stay out of emergency rooms. Better make it Mr. Deverell until you know him.”
“Should I invest in one of those electrical devices…?”
“Doris will have your ticket.”
“Yes, sir.” She saluted and walked out. Sure enough, Doris was waving it at her when she approached. Adams was nearby, grinning.
“Don’t get involved with the natives,” Doris told her. “Those San Antonio men are tornadoes when you get them wound up.”
“I’ll try to remember that. See you when I can. Goodbye, Adams,” she added, waving at him and smiling.
Adams seemed to gain height and masculine beauty as he grinned back.
“Hands off,” Doris whispered. “He’s all mine.”
She said it just loud enough that Adams could hear it, which made his smile even broader. “Good luck,” she whispered back to Doris. And with a wave of her hand, she went to get the necessary things out of her desk before she left for her trip.
San Antonio was big. It boasted a million in population and some of the most interesting things to see and do in the country, including the Alamo and the Paseo Del Rio.
Before she went searching for the address and directions in her purse, she checked into the nearest hotel and took time to get a bite of lunch and rest.
Then she got into her rental car and set out for the address Dane had given her.
It was on the southeastern side of town, and not in a subdivision. In fact, the address was something of a ranch, complete with oil wells pumping in the pastures and white fences all around. Red-coated cattle grazed in thickets of mesquite, past flatland that had patches of prickly pear cactus to hallmark it.
She looked at the address a second time to be sure, but there it was. No one had ever said that the Deverells had a cattle-raising relative out here in Texas.
As she drove across the cattle grate and down the long, winding dirt driveway to the elegant two-story Victorian house in the distance, she was suddenly assailed by three war-painted buckskin-clad midgets with bows and arrows and chicken-feather warbonnets.
“Hold it right there, palefacette,” one of them drawled “You’re our captive.”
She shouldn’t have stopped, she supposed, but they’d looked so cute! Now they looked menacing and ferocious—if you could call grammar-school kids dangerous.
They all looked like boys, but one of them turned out to be a girl. They piled into the backseat and commanded Kit to drive.
“We’re the Deverell gang,” the spokesperson said. “I’m Guy. That’s Polk. She’s Amy.”
“Yes, we’re the reason our daddy can’t get married.” Polk piped up. “We’re savages, like our lus…illl…us…”
“Illustrious,” Amy said for him.
“Thanks! Illustrious ancestors, that is,” Polk continued.
“They were Comanches!” Amy whispered.
“One of them, Amy, only one,” Polk muttered, “and she was our three-times great-grandmother. For heaven’s sake…!”
“You said we were Indians,” Amy persisted. “That’s why we’re wearing these silly costumes!”
“It’s Thanksgiving in two days,” came the reply from the spokesman, Guy. “And we’re in a school play tomorrow, which is Monday, so we’re rehearsing.”
“We’re going to kidnap the principal, Mr. Deere, and hold him for ransom!”
I like these kids, Kit thought. They’re my kind of people. I wonder if they know anything about kidnapping financial experts?
“Stop here,” Guy said. “And don’t try anything funny, pilgrim.”
Amy leaned toward him. “Pilgrimette,” she corrected.
As John Wayne impersonations went, it left a lot to be desired, but it wasn’t too bad, considering. Smothering a laugh, Kit got out of the car and raised her hands as three ferocious Native Americans with bows raised herded her toward the porch and the front door.
“Knock!” Guy said.
She did. There was the muffled, quick and heavy sound of footsteps approaching and a deep voice asking some kind of question. The door opened, and Kit looked up, way up, to a muscular jean-clad body into the palest green eyes in the most unwelcoming darkly tanned face she’d ever seen in her life.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured thoughtfully, glancing at his brood. “Another captive! Bring her in, boys, and we’ll build a nice, warm fire.”
The last thing Kit saw before she hit the floor was the surprise that momentarily softened those fierce features.