LITMIR.BIZ

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was still gaping.

      “But my favorite is Alexander the Great. Of all the great military heroes, he was the most incredible strategist...”

      “I don’t believe it.” He perched himself on the edge of her desk. “I know South Africans who couldn’t tell you who de Wet was!”

      She shrugged. “I used to spend a lot of time in the library. They had these old newspapers from the turn of the twentieth century. They were full of the Boer Wars and that famous Boer General de Wet,” she laughed. “I almost missed class a couple of times because I was so entranced by the microfilm.”

      He laughed. “Actually, I’m distantly related to one of the de Wets, not really sure if it was Christiaan, though. My people have been in South Africa for three generations. They were originally Dutch, or so my mother said.”

      “Rourke is not really a Dutch name, is it?” she asked.

      He sighed. “No. Her name was Skipper, her maiden name.”

      “Was your father Irish?”

      His face closed up. That one brown eye looked glittery.

      “Sorry,” she said at once. “That was clumsy. I have things in my past that I don’t like to think about, either.”

      He was surprised at her perception. “I don’t speak of my father,” he said gently. “Didn’t mean to unsettle you.”

      “No problem,” she said, and smiled. “We’re sort of the sum total of the tragedies of our lives.”

      “Well put.” He nodded thoughtfully. “I might reconsider about that marriage thing...”

      “Sorry. My lunch hour’s over.”

      “Damn.”

      She laughed.

      He studied her with real interest. “There’s this do, called a Valentine’s Day dance, I think. If you need a partner...?”

      “Thanks, but I have a date,” she said.

      “Just my luck, being at the end of the line, and all,” he chuckled.

      “If you go, I’ll dance with you,” she promised.

      “Will you, now? In that case, I’ll dust off my tux.”

      “Just one dance, though,” she added. “I mean, we wouldn’t want to get you gossiped about or anything.”

      “Got it.” He winked and got to his feet. “If you’ll pass that note along to the chief, I’ll be grateful. See you around, I expect.”

      “I expect so,” she replied.

      * * *

      WHAT A VERY strange man, she thought. He was charming. But she really didn’t want to complicate her life. In his way, he seemed far more risky than even Carson, in a romantic sense.

      When she got home, she mentioned his visit to her father.

      “So now you know who Rourke is,” he chuckled.

      “He’s very nice,” she said. “But he’s a sad sort of person.”

      “Rourke?” he asked, and seemed almost shocked.

      “Yes. I mean, it doesn’t show so much. But you can tell.”

      “Pumpkin, you really are perceptive.”

      “He said he’d take me to the Valentine’s dance. That was after he reconsidered the wedding, but I told him my lunch hour was over...”

      “What?” he blurted out.

      “Nothing to worry about, he said he wasn’t free today anyway.”

      “Listen here, you can’t marry Rourke,” he said firmly.

      “Well, not today, at least,” she began.

      “Not any day,” came an angry voice from the general direction of the front door. Carson came in, scowling. “And what did I tell you about keeping that cell phone with you?” he added, pulling it out of his pocket. “You left it on your desk at work!”

      She grimaced. “I didn’t notice.”

      “Too busy flirting with Rourke, were you?” Carson added harshly.

      “That is none of your business,” she said pertly.

      “It really isn’t,” her father interjected, staring at Carson until he backed down. “What’s going on?” he added, changing the subject.

      Carson looked worn. “Dead ends. Lots of them.”

      “Were you at least able to ascertain if it was poison?”

      He nodded. “A particularly nasty one that took three days to do its work.” He glanced at Carlie, who looked pale. “Should you be listening to this?” he asked.

      “I work for the police,” she pointed out. She swallowed. “Photos of dead people, killed in various ways, are part of the files I have to keep for court appearances by our men and women.”

      Carson frowned. He hadn’t considered that her job would involve things like that. “I thought you just typed reports.”

      She drew in a breath. “I type reports, I file investigative material, photos, I keep track of court appearances, call people to remind them of meetings, and from time to time I function as a shoulder for people who have to deal with unthinkable things.”

      Carson knew what she was talking about. His best friend, years ago, had been a reservation policeman. He’d gone with the man on runs a time or two during college vacation. In the service, overseas, he’d seen worse things. He was surprised that Carlie, the innocent, was able to deal with that aspect of police work.

      “It’s a good job,” she added. “And I have the best boss around.”

      “I have to agree,” her father said with a gentle smile. “For a hard case, he does extremely well as a police chief.” He sighed. “I do miss seeing Judd Dunn around.”

      “Who’s Judd Dunn?” Carson asked.

      “He was a Texas Ranger who served on the force with Cash,” Jake said. “He quit to be assistant chief here when he and Christabel had twins. But he was offered a job as police chief over in Centerville. It’s still Jacobs County, just several miles away. He took it for the benefits package. And, maybe, to compete with Cash,” he chuckled.

      “They tell a lot of stories about the chief,” Carlie said.

      “Most of them are true,” Reverend Blair replied. “The man has had a phenomenal life. I don’t think there’s much he hasn’t done.”

      Carson put Carlie’s phone on the table beside her and glanced at his watch with a grimace. “I have to get going. I’m still checking on the other thing,” he added to Reverend Blair. “But I... Sorry.”

      Carson paused to take a call. “Yes, I know, I’m running late.” He paused and smiled, gave Carlie a smug look. “It will be worth the wait. I like you in pink. Okay. See you in about thirty minutes. We’ll make the curtain, I promise. Sure.” He hung up. “I’m taking Lanette to see The Firebird in San Antonio. I have to go.”

      “Lanette?” Reverend Blair asked.

      “She’s a stewardess. I met her on the plane coming down with Dalton Kirk a few weeks ago.” He paused. “There’s still the matter of who sent a driver for him, you know. A man was holding a sign with his name on it. I tried to trace him, but I couldn’t get any information.”

      “I’ll mention it to Hayes,” Reverend Blair said. “He’s still hoping to find Joey’s computer.” Joey was the computer technician who’d been killed trying to recover files from Hayes’s computer. The computer itself had disappeared, leading Hayes to reset all the department’s

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