The Case of the Missing Secretary

by Diana Palmer

  Kit leaped out of bed without an argument. She could imagine the kind of photographs she might appear in if she left that door unlocked, even though she didn’t sleep naked.

  At breakfast the next morning, the kids were gathered around and snickering faintly as they looked from a hung over, very quiet Logan to a shy Kit.

  “I hid the screwdrivers, Kit, don’t worry,” Emmett said with a wicked glance toward her and then Logan. “You’re safe this morning. All the same, I wouldn’t lock myself in any more bathrooms with Logan around here, if I were you. They’ve got this Polaroid camera and a saw….”

  “What screwdriver?” Logan asked with restrained shock.

  “The one they were using to take the doorknob off Kit’s bathroom door,” Emmett said smoothly.

  Logan put down his fork. “My God!” he exclaimed, staring at the children.

  “He never tells us nothing!” Guy muttered, and when he scowled at Emmett, it was like looking at a miniature of the man.

  “Emmett, have you ever considered giving up rodeo for a season and raising your kids?” Logan asked curtly.

  Emmett glared at him. “They’re my kids and it’s my life. I don’t come up to Houston and try to tell you how to live, do I?”

  “Somebody ought to,” Tansy remarked pleasantly, “before he ruins it.”

  “Thank you very much,” Logan growled at his mother.

  She smiled vacantly. “Why, you’re welcome, dear. Emmett, wouldn’t you like to bring the kids and come and visit Logan? I’d love for you to meet his new fiancée…!”

  “I don’t have spare bedrooms,” Logan said abruptly.

  “You do so,” Tansy argued. “Three of them.”

  “They’re being remodeled.”

  “They are not,” she argued.

  “They will be by tomorrow,” he said under his breath. “Besides, Emmett’s riding in a rodeo out in Montana.”

  “In the snow?” Tansy exclaimed.

  “Arizona,” Emmett corrected lazily. He glared at Logan. “Some cousin you are. I offer you the hospitality of my home and loving family, and you don’t even want us to stay a night with you.”

  “Loving family?” Logan’s eyes widened. He looked at the kids. “Them?”

  “We’re loving,” Amy said, glaring at him.

  “All of us,” Guy seconded, scowling.

  “You better not say we ain’t loving, mister,” Polk added.

  “That’s my kids,” Emmett said smugly. “Listen up, you kids, how would you like Kit there for a mother?”

  “She ain’t pretty,” Guy said.

  “She’s nice, though,” Amy interrupted. “And she doesn’t have to fix her face every two minutes and paint her fingernails like that lady in the glittery dress that you brought home that night you thought we were asleep,” she reminded Emmett.

  Polk frowned as Emmett’s dark face flushed. “He sure took her away in a hurry when he saw us, didn’t he?”

  “Will you stop?” Emmett asked him.

  Kit chuckled to herself. She did like Emmett. But not enough to marry him.

  “You could marry that glittery lady,” Polk suggested. “She said she sure did like your money. She didn’t like us much, though. What was it she called us, Guy?”

  “Guy, shut up!” Emmett raged.

  “You were so married to our mama, weren’t you, Emmett?” Amy asked. She called her father by his given name, a habit he’d reluctantly gotten used to because he couldn’t seem to break it.

  “Yes, I was, Amy,” he said.

  “So that means we’re not—”

  “Amy, I’m warning you!” Emmett threatened.

  “Oh, very well, Emmett,” she said primly, dabbing at her mouth. “May we be excused?”

  “Why? Are you in a rush to hijack a truck or something?”

  They glared at him. “We’re helping Mrs. Gibbs bake a cake. She’s the foreman’s wife,” Amy explained to everyone. “She said we could.”

  “God help Mrs. Gibbs.”

  “Some father you are,” Logan muttered as the kids escaped out the backdoor, heading for the foreman’s house.

  “Mrs. Gibbs has nerves of steel and they listen to her,” he argued.

  “They ought to be listening to you,” Logan persisted.

  “Talk about soreheads!” Emmett said, making a clicking sound. “Frustration sure doesn’t sit well with you, does it? And you ought to be ashamed of yourself, making advances to Kit when you’re engaged to that Betsy woman. Something I would never do if you got engaged to me, Kit, my dear,” he added silkily.

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” Logan roared. He threw down his napkin and walked out of the room.

  His back was growing very familiar to Kit, who saw more of it lately than she ever had.

  “I really can’t marry you, Emmett. I’m sorry,” Kit said.

  “I’m persistent,” he remarked with a lazy smile. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  She smiled, but it wasn’t an encouraging smile.

  Two hours later, they said their goodbyes and Logan drove Kit and Tansy to the airport. Their seats were widely separated, and for that small mercy Kit was glad. It was good to go home and get away from the enforced intimacy with Logan. He barely spoke to her now, and she was equally glad to avoid him. After the explosive interlude they’d shared, she didn’t know how to behave with him. All she knew was that she didn’t want to end up in his bed because he was frustrated and she was weak. Going back to Houston and keeping out of his way seemed the only sensible thing to do.

  Logan was thinking the same thing. He’d just begun to realize what a horrible mistake he’d be making if he married Betsy. But admitting it was next to impossible. It would kill his pride.

  On the other hand, Kit’s well-meant interference had only made him dig his heels in deeper. All the way back home he did his best to convince himself that Kit was wrong and he was right about Betsy. But the doubts were beginning to outweigh the certainties in the relationship. He was at a crossroads and he honestly didn’t know which way to turn.

  Chapter Seven

  Dane was fascinated by the report Kit gave him when she got back to the office.

  “You’re kidding,” he remarked when she finished. “Nobody has children like that in real life. Are you sure you haven’t been reading fiction?”

  “Why don’t you go out there and see for yourself?” she suggested dryly.

  “No, thanks!” He shook his head. “What a family. Tansy went home with Logan, did she?”

  “Yes, but nobody knows how long she’ll stay. When Betsy walks through the door, I expect Tansy will vanish again,” she said dejectedly.

  “That means more business for us.” Dane chuckled.

  “I suppose.”

  Dane gave Kit a new case to work on, tracking down a bail jumper this time. But the man wasn’t a dangerous criminal; he was a forger who’d made “bush bond.”

  With a little help from the skip-tracing department, specifically from Doris, Kit latched onto an address downtown in the red-light district. There was only one way to get close to that address, and she didn’t find it at all amusing.

  The sacrifices I make for this job, she thought as she adjusted her skin-tight, green sequined miniskirt and black halter with matching black silk hose. She overapplied her makeup and saturated herself in sweet perfume. Then she drove to the address and started to walk, rather self-consciously, along the crowded sidewalk between two adult bookstores.

  “Hey, who are you? This is my spot! What do you think you’re doing, girl?”

  The questioner was the real thing, with bleached blond hair and good skin, of which most was on blatant display.

  Kit glanced around nervously and moved closer to the blonde. “I’m a detective,” she whispered. “I’m trying to find a bail jumper. Please don’t give me away.”

  The woman looked impressed. She pursed her lips and nodded. “A detective? For real?”

  “I’m afraid so.” She
eyed the other woman curiously. “I saw Pretty Woman. You aren’t…?”

  Delighted laughter met her query. “No. But I wouldn’t mind meeting somebody with an expensive car who brought me flowers. Now, in this job, that’s real fantasy!” She and Kit both laughed.

  “Who’s this dude you’re looking for?” the woman asked, glancing around. “Maybe I know him.”

  “This is a copy of his driver’s license photo,” Kit said, producing it. She didn’t mention how she’d managed to obtain it, and the hooker didn’t ask.

  “I’ve seen him!” the woman said. “He doesn’t have much time for us, but he passes here every night on his way to that adults-only video place at the corner. Matter of fact, he’ll be along about nine, if he follows his usual routine.”

  Kit glanced at her watch. “Mind if I stick with you?” she asked, nervous now that she was attracting attention from men and pimps alike.

  The hooker chuckled. “This isn’t your scene at all, is it, honey?”

  “Well, no.”

  The other woman smiled at Kit—really smiled at her. “You haven’t looked down your nose at me once.”

  “I don’t think any of us are so good that we can look down on anybody else,” Kit replied with a shrug, then shivered a little in the cold. “How do you keep warm?”

  “The street people have fires in barrels down the alley. We usually take a break and go stand down there. They don’t mind us. Society’s cast-offs stick together.”

  Kit felt a surge of sympathy for the woman, who looked to be in her thirties. But she had a worn-out look in her eyes. “Don’t you worry about, well, about diseases?”

  “All the time,” she was told. “I had a friend who died of AIDS last month.” She shook her head. “We’re all careful now. Real careful.”

  “Why do you do this?”

  “It’s all I know how to do. Even this was better than home, when I was thirteen,” she said with a haunted look in her eyes. She shivered a little, and suddenly looked so fragile and pathetic that Kit could have cried for her. “Well, would you look at that hunk?” she said suddenly, nodding toward an approaching crowd. “He sure isn’t down here for a pickup, I’ll bet.”

  Kit followed her gaze and caught her breath. No, she thought. No, I can’t be seeing this.

  But she was. It was Logan, breathing fire in a figurative sense. And not only did he see Kit, but he obviously knew she was here.

  “Doris told me,” he said without preamble. “Dane must be out of his mind to let you come down here alone at night! What’s the matter with you, are you daft? Don’t you know what kind of people these are?”

  Kit was offended. She glared at him. “Yes, I know,” she said. “But do you? Don’t insult my friend!”

  The hooker looked as shocked as Logan did.

  “You could be out here if circumstances hadn’t made you rich,” Kit said. “Anyone could. Look around you! These people didn’t wake up one morning and decide to wander around the back streets of the city!”

  Logan hesitated. He glanced at the blonde, who was gaping at Kit.

  “You know her, I guess?” the hooker asked.

  “She works for me. At least, she did before I fired her.”

  “If you fired her, you’re pretty stupid for a handsome, rich man,” the hooker said, but she smiled. So did Logan.

  “Hey, look, there he is!” the hooker said urgently, pointing to a small, dark man in a camouflage jacket.

  “Glory be!”

  Kit was running before the other two could say a word. When the man realized that he was being chased, he took off. Kit followed him. The high heels were hampering her. She stopped just long enough to strip them off and kept running, panting for breath as the small man dodged cars to cross the street, with Kit in hot pursuit.

  “Stop!” she yelled after him.

  He looked over his shoulder when she yelled and lost his footing. He went down with muttered curses, tripping other people on the way.

  Kit ran to him, dragging out the handcuffs she’d brought from the office. She flipped him over, linked a cuff over one wrist, crossed it over the other and cuffed that one, too.

  She laughed, her senses heightened with success, still panting for breath as she dragged the small man upright and held on to him. Her feet were freezing.

  “You’re a damned cop, I guess?” the man grumbled.

  “No. I’m a private detective,” she told him.

  He made a sound and glared at her.

  Logan and the hooker caught up, both laughing when they saw Kit with her prize in cuffs.

  “Hey, a cop couldn’t have done any better!” she said enthusiastically. “That looks like fun!”

  “It is.” Kit grinned. She held out her hand and the hooker shook it. “Thanks.”

  The hooker left and Logan propelled Kit to his car, one big hand wrapped completely around her arm while she held on to her bail jumper.

  “Who’s got who in custody here?” the little man asked.

  “I’ve got you and he’s got me, I guess.” Kit sighed. “Just my luck. I can’t even go on a stakeout on main street without ex-bosses popping out like measles.”

  “You mean you used to work for him?” the little man asked. “What a lucky escape you had!”

  Logan scowled over his shoulder at the bail jumper. “Watch your mouth.”

  “Oh, aren’t we in a nasty temper tonight,” the prisoner mumbled.

  “There’s a policeman,” Logan remarked, having spotted one.

  “I can’t…!” Kit protested, but it was already too late. Logan dragged her, and thereby the bail jumper, off to confront the officer.

  “This man is a bail jumper,” Logan said, propelling Kit and the man forward. “Can you tell me where to take him?”

  “You aren’t taking him anywhere…he belongs to me!” Kit raged.

  “I do not,” the bail jumper said indignantly. “You attacked me! Officer, this hooker attacked me and put me in handcuffs! I demand that you arrest her for assault!”

  “I am not a hooker, I’m a private detective! Look, I have my ID right here…uh-oh.”

  She didn’t. It was on her dresser at home, where she’d left it. She looked at the policeman, whose eyes were narrowing as he considered action. She looked at the bail jumper, who had a smug I’ll-get-you-now look on his face. She glanced at Logan, who was obviously not concerned with trying to save her.

  “Nice night,” she remarked. “Well, toodle-ooh!”

  She turned and took off, bare feet and all. There was a whistle and several shouts, but she kept running.

  “Quick, in here!”

  She followed the voice, and the hooker that she’d met earlier jerked her into the shadows of the alley.

  “Now I’m in real trouble,” Kit wailed. “I’m on the lam!”

  “No. You’re hiding from the heat.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Listen, go around the block and down the next alley, but go careful, you hear? I’ll scout out the hunk and tell him where to find you.”

  “Thanks!” Kit said fervently.

  “No problem. Run!”

  She waved and darted through the alley.

  Ten minutes later, Logan picked her up at the corner, the policeman having long since given up and taken the handcuffed man to headquarters to have his story checked. That wouldn’t work to the agency’s advantage, because Kit couldn’t now claim that she’d collared him. But the client would have his money back just the same, and maybe Dane wouldn’t fire her.

  “Of all the harebrained, stupid stunts!” Logan shouted the minute he had her in the car. He turned the heater on full blast and pulled out into traffic. “You’ll probably have pneumonia!”

  “Go ahead, rub it in!” she muttered.

  “I intend to, good and hard,” he returned. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you could have found out there?”

  “Of course I do, but it goes with the job,” she replied. “Besides, I’m tough.”
She spoiled the pose with a loud sneeze, and wrapped her arms close around her shivering body.

  “Tough, my elbow,” he said heavily. “You’re turning my hair gray.”

  “I’m not your problem,” she reminded him, exasperated. “For heaven’s sake, I don’t even work for you!”

  “My mother considers that you do. So does my brother.”

  “They don’t count.”

  “They all blame me because you left.”

  “And you don’t think they should!” she exclaimed.

  He made an uncomfortable sound. “I must have been out of my mind to fire you,” he said under his breath. “Nothing’s been the same since. I can’t find files, I can’t get letters out the same day I dictate them, half my clients have quit because they think I’m running a brothel….”

  “A what?”

  “The one who can spell tried to seduce the last three men who came into the office,” he said icily. “I fired her!”

  “Good for you. Who’s doing the spelling now?”

  “Cousin Melody. The smoker with acute bronchitis is now in the hospital. She says she won’t come back.”

  “I don’t blame her.”

  He glared in her direction. “You can keep quiet. One way or another, you’ve cost me plenty since you left.”

  “Since you fired me,” she corrected.

  He dragged a big hand through his thick hair. “Damn it, Kit, you know I never meant you to take it seriously! You never did before! My God, I fired you every other week, but you never actually left!”

  “That was before Betsy came along and made vanilla pudding out of your brain,” she replied stiffly.

  “She didn’t do anything except make me ache.”

  “While trying to pick your pockets,” she said through her teeth.

  “She isn’t like that!” he raged, despite the fact that he was seeing Betsy with new eyes since he’d come back from San Antonio. In fact, he was discovering for himself that Kit was right and Betsy was exactly “like that.” He wasn’t admitting it, though. No, sir!

  “The devil she isn’t like that!” Kit shot back, turning in the seat. Her dark hair was damp and her mascara had run. Her hose had runs in them. She looked like a third-rate clown.