Devil in Texas(66)

Sadie turned her head away. She knew it wasn't her fault that Poppy had mistaken her strand of red hair for Randie's. Poppy had declared war on Miranda Reynolds long before Sadie had ever searched Baron's underwear drawer. Even so, it was hard to take satisfaction in solving a case that had closed so tragically.

When Sadie forced herself to look once more, she saw Cass squatting to clasp his weeping boss's shoulder. Jazi had wrapped her arms around Baron's neck. Randie, who was kneeling beside Cass, clutched the handsome young gunslinger's arm.

Pain lanced Sadie's heart. She drew a bolstering breath.

"You all right?" Rex demanded, darting a much too perceptive glance her way.

"Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, for one thing, you're bleeding."

"Yeah," she murmured, "on the inside."

"What?" Rex demanded.

She gave him a wan smile.

Suddenly, she felt tired. More tired than she'd ever felt in her life.

"Nothing. It's getting late. I have a report to write."

She turned on her heel and headed for her mare. Rex fell into step beside her.

Charcoal clouds boiled over a full moon. Thunder boomed a final warning. Before Sadie could untether her mare, the rain finally started pouring down.

* * *

In a special, morning edition of the Lampasas Dispatch, Poppy Westerfield was memorialized as a model citizen, a big-hearted philanthropist, a tireless devotee to women's rights, and a loving wife.

With mixed feelings, Sadie snipped the article and included it in her Pinkerton report, along with Bo Bodine's obituary, and a third clipping that announced the date of the legislative hearing to determine Baron's fate in the senate.

Sadie was sure Baron's attorneys would find some way of convincing the court that any illegal correspondence that had ever come from the senator's pen had been forged by his wife. Personally, Sadie couldn't believe that Baron didn't know something about Poppy's crimes. Just like Sadie couldn't believe that Pendleton hadn't worked to cover up her conspiracy with Hank. After all, Pendleton had faithfully served the Westerfields for two decades. He'd managed their business accounts. He'd lived in their house!

Then again, neither Pendleton nor Baron had ever guessed that Poppy was poisoning her husband.

Sadie sighed. It's all out of my hands now.

Shaking her head at the convoluted nightmare her investigation had uncovered, she pasted down the flap of her plain brown mailing envelope. She was glad to be done with Baron's case. She was in a hurry to get her package to the post office and her portmanteau to the train station before the whole household woke to learn she was leaving. Fortunately, the residents of Wilma's boardinghouse didn't begin stirring until noon.

"Are you sure you won't reconsider, chere?"

Wilma had joined her in the solarium, where they could bask in glorious streams of November sunshine. The madam was sipping a fragrant cup of chamomile tea, laced with anise, cloves, honey and—judging by the silver flask sitting by her elbow—a dollop of bourbon. Wilma looked especially refined in her gray-satin day dress, with its demure lace bodice and pinstriped skirt.

Sadie looked more like an underfed muleskinner. She sported a scruffy beard and a stringy, shoulder-length wig that could easily have served as a bird's nest. As for her clothes, she'd traded her sodbuster's sack suit for a miner's overalls.

"You saw the telegraph, Wilma. 'Agent missing.' Delta Belle hasn't wired headquarters for six days. And that's two days longer than a Code Red."

Like Sadie's own code name, Scarlet Diva, Delta Belle was an alias for a Pinkie. The agent's real name was Araminta "Minx" Merripen, a Saint-Louis native, who'd been assigned to a mission in Denver. The wire from headquarters hadn't revealed any additional details. All Sadie knew was she'd been summoned to the Denver office for a debriefing.

"Allan Pinkerton is a reasonable man, chere. You need several days to heal. Wire him about your black eye—"

Sadie snorted. She hadn't worked four years to earn the Agency Chief's respect, only to concede now that she was soft—too soft to do a job when the Master Detective had ordered her to report to Denver.

"I'm traveling as a man. The shiner will give me a brutish look. Nobody wants to quarrel with a brute. And that means I'll get plenty of sleep on the train."

Wilma was careful to keep her gaze on her toddy as she lowered the dainty, rose-patterned cup to her saucer. "Are you sure you're not running away?"

Sadie stiffened. "Are you sure you're not trying to piss me off?"

Wilma was never daunted by Sadie's temper. "Talk to Cass. Wouldn't you want the same courtesy?"

Sure. Talk to Coyote Cass. The man could make any lie, any absurdity, sound plausible.

Last night, after the doctor had announced Jazi would soon be feeling as good as new, Sadie had crept upstairs to visit the child. Approaching the sickroom's open door, she'd heard Cass's merry laughter; she'd spied him sitting on the bed, his golden head close to Jazi's cheek. The child had snuggled in her nightgown against his chest. Randie had perched on the mattress beside his knee. The threesome had looked like the perfect, wholesome family—the ideal portrait for Ladies Home Journal.

Sadie had wanted to cry.

"Cass needs his sleep," Sadie said briskly. "He's the worst patient ever, although I hear Collie ranks a close second."

Wilma tossed her one of her incredibly annoying, insightful glances. "I think you're making a mistake."

"The mistake would be to wait around here, wasting time. Cass is a Ranger now. He's confined to Texas. I've been called to Colorado."

"Did I mention that Mace is in Denver? And he recommended you for this mission?"

Ugh. Sadie wrinkled her nose. "Don't we have any other male operatives in the west?"

"Of course we do. But Mace pulled rank. Apparently, he's looking forward to working with you again."

"Right. Like he's looking forward to a toothache. Did he really request me for this assignment?"

"Apparently, he considers you the lesser of two evils."

"Now that's disappointing. Who's more evil than I am?"

"Pinkerton's mistress."

Sadie smirked. That actually made sense. Mace would have to tow the line with the Agency Chief's woman. "Then I'll consider that a compliment." She plunked her miner's hat on her head and tucked her envelope under her arm.

"What should I tell Rex?" Wilma demanded.

Sadie winced. She hated long good-byes. Mustering a devil-may-care grin and a breezy tone, she quipped: "Tell him I'll see him the next time I'm in Texas."

"And you think he'll be satisfied by that?"

"Honestly, Wilma." Sadie stooped to buss the Cajun's cheek. "It's not like he's my father."

With a cheerful wave, Sadie swept past potted palms and baskets of trailing poppymallow. She was so intent on getting to the door, she didn't bother to glance out the window. If she had, she might have noticed a tow-headed youth under the sill, whittling an image of his raccoon.

* * *

Feeling like a cotton pod had exploded in his brain, Cass dragged himself out of bed and splashed water on his face. He didn't like that he still felt groggy after his encounter with Poppy's stinger ring. No liquor of his acquaintance had ever packed that kind of wallop, and that was saying a lot, because he was pretty sure he'd cozied up to every liquor ever distilled from grapes, juniper berries, agaves, sugar cane, potatoes, corn, rye, and wheat. Hell, if spirits were distilled from turpentine, he'd probably drunk them too. And mostly in Dodge.