Undercover Bride (9781634094573)

by Brownley, Margaret

  She arched her eyebrows. “You can tell all that from a game of chess?”

  “Pretty amazing, huh?” He moved a piece across the board. “The goal is to force your opponent to yield.” He looked up. “I’d be happy to teach you, but only if you promise not to beat me at my own game.”

  “Since I always play to win, I’m afraid that’s a promise I can’t keep.”

  “Is that so?” His eyes clung to hers. “Actually, I like a woman who plays to win.”

  Had he known the game she was playing he might feel quite different.

  “Take a seat,” he said, pointing to the chair opposite him. “I want to get to know you one square at a time.”

  A warning voice whispered inside, but still she sat. “What do you hope to learn about me?” she asked, the thought as worrisome as it was intriguing.

  His eyes twinkled. “What do you want me to learn?”

  “That I’m a good loser.”

  His grin widened as he reached across the board for a red piece. “Did you know that chess was once a game of courtship?”

  “Really? I thought it was a game of war.”

  “Some would say there’s no difference between war and romance. Both require disarming the opponent and being aware of the dangers. I’ve even heard it said that love is a battlefield.”

  Her colleagues might well describe love that way. Maintaining a marriage or even a romance was almost impossible for a private investigator. Of necessity, secrets must be kept and an operative was always on the move.

  “Do you agree?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I’ve been on a battlefield, and there’s no comparison.” He moved the remaining pieces into place. “Some people are lucky in love, but never in chess. That’s because it’s a game of skill.”

  “And yet you say that chess was once a game of love.”

  “We have two queens on the same board as thirty men. How can love not flourish?”

  “I never thought of it that way,” she said, charmed by the idea.

  “Chess matches were once quite common between a woman and her suitor. The purpose of the game is to mate. Actually, the word checkmate comes from an Arabic word meaning ‘to submit.’” The intense look he gave her sent a shiver of awareness down her spine. “The king is the weakest piece and the queen the most powerful.”

  She smiled. “Just as it should be.”

  He smiled, too. “It wasn’t until the Middle Ages that the game changed. Rather than a social affair it became a competitive game. That’s when most women lost interest.”

  His expression held both a challenge and a promise, and she quivered with anticipation.

  “Chess is all about making the right moves,” he continued. “Just like life.” He put the last piece in place and sat back. “Ready?”

  She studied the chessboard. Chess had been described as the game of life, but nothing in life was as black and white as that chessboard. “Checkmate,” she said. It was the only chess term she knew.

  Garrett laughed. “Not yet, my dear. Not yet.”

  His term of endearment surprised her. More than that, it warmed her. Despite her best efforts to remain alert and on guard, she found herself relaxing.

  After he explained a few basic rules of play, they began. He described several possibilities for each move.

  He corrected her gently when she slid a bishop sideways instead of diagonally. She playfully accused him of cheating whenever he captured one of her men.

  He never lost patience and was quick to praise her on the rare occasion she did something right. “With a little practice, you’ll be a champ,” he said.

  She doubted it. “So what have you learned about me so far?” she asked.

  His mouth curved. “You’re smart and quick to learn. You refuse to back down when faced with trouble. Your fighting spirit won’t let you give up even when your plan goes awry. You simply change course and attack from another direction.” He folded his hands beneath his chin. “How am I doing so far?”

  She smiled. He just described the traits necessary for a detective. “Not bad,” she said.

  “So what have you learned about me?” he asked.

  “Hmm, let me think.” She tapped her chin with her finger. “You’re clever, focused, and never make a move without careful thought.” He was also handsome, charming, and fun to be with, but she thought it best not to mention such traits. “You’re also highly motivated and goal-oriented. Oh yes, and patient.”

  Never could she remember enjoying herself more and was completely taken by surprise when the clock chimed the hour of eleven.

  It was his turn to move, but after a moment he looked up and shook his head. “Stalemate,” he said.

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “It means,” he said, rearranging the pieces on the board, “that neither of us has to submit to the other.” His gaze held hers, and she felt herself sink into the dark depths of his eyes. “At least not tonight.”

  Chapter 18

  She woke the following morning with a smile on her face. The memory of the evening spent playing chess flashed through her mind. “Actually, the word checkmate comes from an Arabic word meaning ‘to submit.’”

  Never had she submitted or surrendered to a man. Her faith kept her virtue intact, and her job prevented her from becoming emotionally involved. Still, she had to admit the idea did capture her imagination. Her smile died abruptly, as did her thoughts. What was she thinking?

  Palms on her head she groaned. She had completely forgotten about Rikker’s plan.

  Oh, God, what is happening to me? I’ve never had trouble doing my job before. Why now, Lord? Why now?

  Chess was a game of skill, but so was the cat and mouse game she played. Remaining objective was essential. Impartiality was crucial to any investigation. Bias could prevent her from correctly weighing information and drawing accurate conclusions. A detective must never force the facts to fit a theory.

  Jumping out of bed, she hurried through her morning ablutions. She then woke Elise and helped her dress in the clothes laid out for her the night before.

  She found Garrett sitting at the kitchen table with his coffee and newspaper. “Morning.” The magnetism of his smile almost made her forget her resolve.

  Turning abruptly toward the stove, she murmured, “Morning.” She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat opposite him. Elise and Toby were outside feeding the animals, so she had his full attention.

  He folded the paper and laid it on the table. “I hope I didn’t keep you up too late last night playing chess.”

  “Not at all.” She kept her attention focused on the cup. Actually, the game was only half the problem. Recalling how she had shamefully returned his flirtatious glances, she felt her cheeks redden. Such nonsense must stop. She had a job to do, and like it or not, she intended to do it. Bracing herself with a sip of coffee, she set her cup down.

  “I do have a problem, though.” She moistened her lips. “I should have mentioned it before, but… I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone our wedding.”

  His brow furrowed. “Why?” He reached across the table for her hand, but she quickly pulled away and pretended to fumble in her sleeve for a handkerchief.

  His jaw tensed. “You aren’t having second thoughts, are you? Have I done something to upset you?”

  She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. Oddly enough, the single tear that rolled down her cheek was not faked. “You haven’t upset me—”

  “Is it Arizona?” He tilted his head. “Don’t you like it here?”

  “I like it here just fine,” she replied, surprised to find herself speaking the truth. Maybe it was the wide-open spaces or the desert warmth. Perhaps it was the adobe house—the closest thing to a home she’d ever known. She didn’t want to think what else it could be.

  “It’s my f—family,” she stammered. She’d written about her make-believe family in her letters to him, and she hoped he’d remember enough so she didn
’t have to go into detail. She dropped her hands to her lap and fought to hide her inner turmoil with an outer calm. “They’re unable to pay the taxes on the farm and have asked for my help.”

  The lie felt like acid on her tongue, and it was all she could do to continue. “I can’t do that from here. I’m afraid I must go home.”

  He rubbed his hand across his chin. “How much do they owe?”

  She’d considered the amount of money to ask for at great length. Asking for too much might cause suspicion. But if she asked for too little, he might not have to draw from the stolen cache.

  “Five hundred dollars.”

  He let out a low whistle. “That’s quite a bit of money.”

  It was hardly the kind of response she would expect from a man who supposedly had so freely donated that very same amount to the school. She kept her features composed so as not to give away her thoughts, and nodded in agreement.

  “Yes, it is a lot of money,” she said. “I’m not sure how I can help, but I have to try.”

  He studied her for a moment before pushing back his chair. “Wait here.” He stood and walked out of the kitchen.

  Her stomach clenched, and she clasped her hands together in a silent prayer. Would this be the moment the case was finally solved? It’s what she wanted, what she had worked for all these months. So where was the jubilation normally felt whenever she came close to solving a case? Where was the joy?

  Instead she felt torn by conflicting emotions. The children—oh, dear God, the children. They would hate her, just as she had hated the United States marshal who had arrested her father. Years passed before she realized how misdirected her anger had been.

  How can I do this to Toby and Elise? God, will You tell me that? But it wasn’t just them. It was—oh, how she hated admitting it—Garrett himself.

  Some criminals were pure evil, but not all. Some were good family members and were even active in church. But never had she met one with more basic goodness than Garrett.

  Or maybe she was just too close to the family to see the truth. That was her greatest fear.

  Hearing Garrett’s footsteps advance down the hall toward the kitchen, she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed.

  Chapter 19

  Maggie hesitated at the entry to the hotel dining room and scanned the tables. The breakfast rush was over and only two diners remained, including Rikker, who sat at a corner table reading a newspaper. She gnashed her teeth. How like him to look perfectly relaxed while she was an emotional wreck.

  She stormed toward him.

  He looked up surprised, and no wonder; when two operatives worked a case it was imperative that they not be seen together, but this assignment wasn’t like most.

  She slammed her hand on the table.

  He folded the paper and set it aside. “I trust things didn’t go as planned.” She moved her hand, and he stared at what she left behind. “What’s that?”

  She pulled out a chair and sat. “That is a check for five hundred dollars drawn on Garrett Thomas’s business account.”

  Rikker’s eyebrows shot up. “He gave you a check?” He thumped the table with a fist, rattling his cup and saucer. “Blast it! The man’s as sly as a fox.”

  “Or he doesn’t have the money.” She was convinced of it.

  “Just because he gave you a check doesn’t mean he’s not our man. You should have asked for more. Then he would have had to reach into his stash.”

  The waiter came over to the table. “Can I get you something, ma’am?”

  “No, thank you,” she said without looking at him. “I’m not staying.”

  The waiter left, and she leaned forward. “Why write a check for me but not for the school building fund? It makes no sense.”

  “Unless he suspects something.”

  A cold chill settled in the pit of her stomach. Had she given Garrett a reason not to trust her? Had she slipped up somewhere? Had all that talk about playing games been a veiled warning?

  She sat back. “Do you think that’s why he wrote a check? Because he suspects something?”

  “You know him better than I do.” He watched her over his cup as he sipped his coffee. “Would you have asked for the money had you thought him guilty?”

  She frowned. “What kind of question is that?”

  “A necessary one.” He set his cup on the saucer. “You know the dangers of getting personally involved.”

  “I don’t need a lecture.”

  “And I don’t need a partner with her head in the clouds.”

  They glared across the table at each other, neither wanting to give an inch.

  Finally he picked up the newspaper and tucked it under his arm. Tossing two coins on the table he stood. “All I can say is that you better watch your step. Or should I say heart?” With that he walked away.

  On the way home, Maggie spotted the paperboy Linc walking into a small adobe house at the end of town. She steered the buckboard to the side of the road and set the brake.

  The house was run-down. Not only was the front window boarded up, but the weathered fence leaned to one side and the gate hung from a single hinge. Tumbleweeds vied for space in the small enclosed yard, along with a broken water pump, wagon wheel, and other trash.

  The old woman who answered Maggie’s knock was dressed in a tattered housecoat. Unfocused eyes stared from a thin, deeply lined face. Her hair fell to her shoulders in a matted white mass.

  Maggie was just about to introduce herself as a friend of Linc’s when the woman’s face lit up. “Come in, come in,” she said as if she’d been expecting her. She waited for Maggie to enter the house before closing the door. The one unbroken window provided some light, but not much. The air smelled of decay.

  “Carolyn, how nice of you to visit. Where’s the baby?”

  It took a moment for Maggie’s eyes to adjust to the dim light. “I’m not Carolyn. My name is—”

  But the woman ignored her protests. “Don’t look at the place,” she said as she removed clothes and dishes from tables and chairs. She tossed the clothes into a corner and carried the dirty dishes into the kitchen, talking all the while. “It’s seems like forever since I’ve seen you. Is the baby sleeping through the night yet?” she called from the kitchen. “I hope he doesn’t take after his mother. You didn’t sleep through the night until you were six months old.”

  “Like I said, I’m not—”

  The woman returned to the room. “Would you care for some tea?”

  “No, thank you,” Maggie said. It was hot and she would have preferred something cool, but she didn’t want to put her host to any trouble, especially in her confused state.

  “I came to see Linc.”

  The woman gasped. “You think I have your baby?”

  She looked so alarmed that Maggie reached out to pat her thin arm. “No, of course not. How silly of me.”

  Just then Linc walked into the room. He glanced at Maggie and quickly hid his hands behind his back, but not quick enough to hide the half-eaten apple, which no doubt he’d stolen.

  His grandmother regarded him as if he were little more than an acquaintance. “Carolyn is my daughter,” she said. “And she has a darling baby named Lincoln.”

  Linc didn’t look the least bit surprised by his grandmother’s confusion. “How come you’re here?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with suspicion.

  “I came to see you,” Maggie replied.

  “I ain’t going to no school.”

  His grandmother’s gaze darted around the room as if she was trying to make sense of her surroundings. “What are you talking about, boy? You can’t go to school. It’s time for my meal.”

  Linc backed toward the kitchen. “I’ll fix you something to eat.”

  “Fix Carolyn something, too,” his grandmother called after him.

  “No, that’s all right,” Maggie said. “I’m not staying.”

  “Oh, but you must. I so seldom see you since you had the baby.”

  The woman wou
ldn’t take no for an answer, and finally Maggie relented. “Very well. Why don’t you sit down and rest, and I’ll see if… he needs help.”

  “That would be very nice.” The old woman slumped into a chair as if it took all her energy to do so.

  Maggie stepped into the kitchen and was appalled by the filth. The counter, table, and even the stove were piled high with dirty dishes, and flies swarmed everywhere.

  “How long has your grandmother been like this?” she asked.

  Linc set two pieces of bread on the grimy table. “She’s been old for a long time,” he said. “Since before I was born.”

  “I’m not talking about her age. How long has she been so forgetful?”

  He put some moldy-looking cheese onto the bread. “Sometimes she’s not forgetful. Sometimes she even knows I’m Linc.” He glared at her. “She’s not crazy. She’s not. And I’m not letting her go nowhere with you. So you can leave.”

  Maggie realized that the boy wasn’t just defiant; he was scared. “I’m not here to take your grandmother away,” she said gently.

  Wariness replaced the suspicion in his eyes. “You’re not gonna put her in an asylum?”

  “No, of course not. Why would you think such a thing?”

  “Some people want to.”

  “Who?”

  “The woman from the Orphans Society.”

  “Oh, Linc.” He was the age that many criminals first turned to illegal activities. Some began stealing as a matter of survival. Others knew no other way of life. Linc was at a crossroads, and if something wasn’t done to help him, he might one day end up on Pinkerton’s mostwanted list.

  “Don’t you have any other family who can help you?” If only life could be played like chess. If only it were possible to protect someone from temptation as one might protect a king.

  “It’s just me and Granny, and I ain’t letting ’em take her away.” With that he ran from the room.

  No sooner had he departed when his grandmother walked into the kitchen shaking her head. “That boy will be the death of me yet.”