"I did send him away, cher, but—"
"You didn't stop to think he might sneak back? To flap his jaw?"
"Cass is a braggart," Wilma conceded. "But he's not malicious. He won't break a pact just to cause pain."
"That's easy for you to say."
"Non, cher. In truth, it is not. Cass discovered a long time ago I am not what I pretend to be. He has kept his silence on my account with great nobility."
Sadie frowned. Wilma was talking about her Octoroon ancestry, right?
"Dammit!" Rex said. "I wanted to tell her in my own time. In my own way."
"And so you shall, cher. Sadie's not the type to fume in silence. Don't you think she would have confronted you by now?"
Wait a minute. They're talking about me?
"Wilma!" Sadie bellowed, proving her old friend right about the fuming part. "What are you two yammering about?"
Dead silence came from the hallway.
Sadie stormed to the door and grabbed the handle.
It wouldn't budge.
She frowned. She tugged. She twisted the lock. Her mind flashed back to that horrific night in Galveston, and panic welled inside her. She half expected a bomb to crash through the window at any moment.
"Rex!" She started pounding on the door. "I can't get out!"
She heard the rumble of masculine ire. Then came the jingle of spurs. Someone jiggled the handle—to no avail.
"The lock is jammed. Looks like it was broken. From the outside."
Sadie sputtered an oath at Rex's assessment. This time the vision flashing through her mind was of one thoroughly dead Coyote.
"Cass did it!" She kicked the brass housing of the keyhole. "On purpose!"
"Why would Cassidy lock her inside?" Rex murmured.
"Love games," Wilma answered breezily. "The chirens are always playing dungeon prisoner and pleasure slave—"
"I am not playing, dammit!" Sadie was banging both fists on the door now. "Let me out! So I can kill him!"
"No one's killing anybody," Rex snapped. "You got a screwdriver?" he asked Wilma.
"I have many things for screwing, but—"
"Why do I get the feeling you're stalling?"
Wilma made an exasperated sound. "Must you read treachery into every single—"
"And now you're hiding something."
"Impossible man! Don't you have a killer to hunt? Not to mention a rogue Ranger? Cotton is perfectly capable of removing a door from its hinges—"
"So am I."
A Colt cylinder clicked. Sadie bit her lip. She'd suddenly remembered why Wilma had cautioned her to keep out of Rex's sight.
"Don't you dare put a dent in my brass!" Wilma flared. "I just polished—"
"Are you clear, Sadie?" Rex demanded in gravelly tones.
She cursed herself. Maybe if her shiner had hurt worse, she wouldn't have forgotten about it!
"Wilma's right," she said sheepishly. "You should be hunting Hank. And Cass is probably playing Halloween drinking games with Collie... "
"Step back," Rex commanded. "Now."
Sadie gulped. Desperately glad she wasn't the target of Rex's bullets, she fled to the corner, covering her ears. Sparks spit through the keyhole. A heartbeat later, he was kicking in the door. She glimpsed Wilma behind his shoulder, shaking her head in exasperation. Sadie actually considered diving under the bed.
Instead, she somehow managed to straighten her spine. She mustered the courage to face the man who'd been like a father to her for four years. Wintry-gray eyes raked her for damage, but they didn't have to look far.
The icy hellbroth darkening that gaze made Cass's outrage seem tame.
"It wasn't Cass!" she blurted. "It was Baron!"
Rex's chest heaved at this news.
"Come into the light."
The thread of iron underlying that deceptively calm voice would not be disobeyed. Sadie dragged her feet a few steps. She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes.
"Sadie," he said in a soft, grim tone. "We have a great deal to discuss. Not the least of which is..." He gestured toward her cheek. "I should never have allowed you to masquerade as my lover."
"No!" Sadie hurried toward him then, afraid of what he might do. "Bruises heal. I knew the risks. I took them anyway. For God's sake, Rex, don't do anything rash! I could never forgive myself if harm came to you or Cass because of some stupid shiner! I'm a Pinkerton! I was doing my job."
His jaw hardened. "And I'm a Ranger. It's time I did mine."
He released her from that vise-like stare. Nodding curtly, he turned on his heel, his spurs chinking as he headed down the hall. The glance he tossed at Wilma was raw with accusation.
The Cajun's dark eyes grew bright with tears.
Burning with remorse, Sadie joined her friend in the hall. "I'm sorry, Wilma. I was so upset about the lock, I didn't stop to think."
"You're more like him than you know, chere." Wilma's lips curved wistfully as she watched her lover's brawny shoulders descend out of sight. "Now we must trust our men to do their jobs, so we can do ours."
Sadie frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Boo was playing hide-and-seek with Gator this afternoon, and no one has seen her since. Was she in the bedroom with you?"
"No." Sadie's face heated to think what an eyeful Jazi would have gotten if she'd been hiding under the bed. "Thank heaven for small miracles, eh?"
But Wilma didn't look amused. In fact, she looked downright disturbed. "It is strange, non? Just last night, the child couldn't stop talking about trick-or-treating and singing for soul cakes. She pestered the devil out of me to help her stitch a Mambo headdress and apron. Now the time has come for apple-bobbing and candlestick-jumping, but she cannot be found."
"Did you search the cave? If I were Jazi, I'd be hiding in your contraband and playing pirate-princess."
Wilma sighed. "Mira has turned this house upside-down. But I shall search myself. Perhaps Boo has fallen asleep in a wardrobe."
"Where is Mira?"
"Questioning the cook." Wilma shot Sadie a suspicious glance. "Why?"
"No reason."
"Bien." Wilma didn't look fooled. "Just to be clear: you are forbidden to scratch out any eyes or bite off any ears until further notice."
"You really know how to take all the fun out of a full moon," Sadie said dryly.
"Coming?" Wilma was walking to the staircase.
"Sure. Just as soon as I find a suitably ghoulish mask to cover what's left of my face."
"Bottom drawer of the chiffonier," Wilma called as her head descended out of sight.
Sadie waited until the creaking of the stairs faded into the buzz of gruff male voices and husky female laughter in the parlor, below. Then she hurried to the far end of the hall and lowered the staircase to the attic.
Time to see if Miranda Reynolds sent me that basket of poison.
The more Sadie thought about Randie's presence in Lampasas, the more she thought it was suspicious. Why was the bawd hiding in the brothel's attic? Why wasn't she earning her keep like the rest of Wilma's girls? Surely there was more to the mystery than Jazi's childhood innocence.
Sadie thought back to all the investigative reports she'd read about the Galveston blaze: Mace's, the fire marshal's, the police chief's, the insurance adjuster's. An important fact stood out in her mind: in every document, Baron had vouched for Randie's character. So just how well did Baron and Randie know each other?
To answer that question, Sadie began to search through the meager belongings Randie and Jazi had shoved into carpetbags for their trip to Lampasas. Despite Randie's claim she had brought her daughter to convalesce in the baths, Sadie could find no bathing gown anywhere in the cramped and stifling quarters.