Undercover Bride (14 page)

Garrett looked terrible. He hadn’t shaved, and dark stubble shadowed his jaw and cheeks. His hair was mussed and his clothes wrinkled.

She was in no better condition. Her hair, usually so carefully coifed, fell down her back in tangled curls. But none of that mattered as they stood smiling at each other like a couple of children sharing a secret.

He reached for her hand. “Thank you,” he whispered. And just that quickly he pulled her into his arms.

Emotions spent, she clung to him, and he buried his face in her hair. A sob rumbled through him. “Thank you,” he said again. His heart pounded in her ear matching the fast rhythm of her own.

“For… for what?”

He lifted his head. “For being here. For being you. For caring. For giving me hope.”

For a moment—a brief and surprising moment—she saw a woman reflected in his eyes that she didn’t recognize. Garrett and his children brought out a part of her she hadn’t known existed; a nurturing, loving, and warm part far removed from the cool and relentless detective she had prided herself on being all these years.

She pulled out of his arms, but only because she feared losing herself completely to the woman—the stranger—she hardly recognized as herself. That woman could never do what had to be done. She could never lie to him, betray him, or plot against him.

No, the woman reflected in his eyes didn’t exist, but oh, how Maggie wished that she did.

E
lise’s illness had put a hold on the investigation, and now Maggie had to make up for lost time.

She’d just completed a rather sketchy report to headquarters when she heard a knock. Thinking it was Aunt Hetty, she quickly slid the report under a chair cushion, smoothed the bun at the nape of her neck, and hurried to the door.

“Howdy, ma’am. Have you got any rags for me today?”

“Rikker!” Garrett was at work and Toby at school, but just in case Elise woke from her nap, Maggie stepped onto the porch. She left the door ajar so she could hear Elise should she cry out.

“What are you doing here?”

He moved his burlap sack from one shoulder to the next and threw the question back at her. “What are
you
doing? Haven’t seen hide or hair of you for days. I wouldn’t have even known you were alive had I not heard in town that Elise was sick.”

She felt a surge of guilt. Her mind had been so occupied with concern for Elise, she’d hardly given her partner or the case more than a passing thought. That went against everything she’d been taught.

“Then you must know that Elise has been ill.” The child still had a slight cough but otherwise had made a fast recovery, though she had yet to regain her appetite.

Rikker dropped his persona. “Your purpose here is not to play nursemaid.”

“I know what my purpose is,” she snapped.

He reared back. “Oh my. Testy, aren’t we?” Eyes narrowed beneath his furrowed brow, he studied her like he would a suspect.

“You look terrible.”

“Thank you. I needed to hear that.” Even now that the crisis had passed, she’d hardly been able to sleep.

“What’s really going on?”

She blew out her breath. Drat! He always could read her like an open book. She rubbed her face with her hands. “I don’t think Garrett Thomas is our man.” It was the first time she admitted her doubts out loud.

His eyebrows shot up. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s just—” Rikker would expect her to think and act like a detective, but it was hard. So hard. She had come to know Garrett quite well these last few days as they watched over Elise. Could a man so kind, so gentle and loving, really be the coldhearted killer she was sent to investigate? Or were personal feelings getting in the way of good judgment?

“I haven’t found anything to substantiate his guilt.” For a man who stole that much money, Garrett lived a comfortable yet modest life.

“Need I remind you that a witness put him at the scene of the crime?”

“You know as well as I that witnesses aren’t always reliable.”

“This witness was quite credible. He described one of the men as having a scar, and his description fits Thomas to a T.” He ran his finger the length of his face to indicate. “In any case, how do you explain the money clip left behind with the initials GT?”

“He’s a tinker.” The principal’s orders were to follow the money clip, and that’s what they’d done. “He’s probably sold dozens of them. Anyone could have left it behind.”

“And the five large bills that showed up at the school fund-raiser? How do you account for that?”

“I can’t,” she admitted. “It’s just so odd. I mean, the money suddenly showing up like that.”

“Did it ever occur to you that Thomas was testing the waters to see if the money was marked? It’s not the first time something like that happened.”

She’d considered that possibility at length. “Garrett’s no fool. He must have known that five Lincolns would draw attention. Especially since banks are no longer issuing them.” The last legal tender banknotes in hundred-dollar denominations were issued in 1880, the year of the robbery. “All the other donations had been smaller bills, fives and tens.

“Maybe he thought enough time had passed. Or perhaps he was just pressing his luck. In any case, we can’t discount the clues.” Holding up his hand, he ticked them off on his fingers one at a time. “Money clip, witness, and five banknotes.”

She did a mental count of her own. Garrett was thoughtful, gentle, and kind, but such traits would hardly hold up in a court of law. “I’ve searched this house from stem to stern and found nothing.”

Rikker blew out his breath. “Found nothing at his shop, either. Nor is there a safe box at the bank belonging to him.” He shrugged in frustration. “I also checked the banks in Yuma and Phoenix. Nothing.”

She arched a brow. “You’ve been busy.”

“One of us has to keep the investigation going.” He shifted his bag of rags. “It’s got to be here at the house somewhere.”

“Or maybe there isn’t any money. Maybe Garrett is exactly what he seems, a hardworking man and loving father.”

Rikker’s gaze sharpened. “Has it ever occurred to you that the real reason he sent away for a mail-order bride is because he plans to leave town? Maybe he just wants someone to care for his children while he disappears and lives high on the hog somewhere else.”

It was a shocking thought, but not all that far-fetched. Many outlaws had left the country to do exactly that. Some had to learn the hard way that no place on earth was out of Pinkerton’s reach. Recently an operative had crossed the Atlantic in an attempt to catch a jewel thief, cornering him in Rome.

“I don’t know—”

The door opened, and Elise stood in the entryway rubbing her eyes.

“Oh, there you are pumpkin.” Maggie smoothed the hair away from Elise’s face. She still looked pale with none of her usual sparkle. “Wait for me in the kitchen, and I’ll fix you something to eat.”

Elise vanished inside the house, and Rikker waited until she was out of earshot.

“I have a plan.”

“You always have a plan,” Maggie said. “What is it this time?”

“Thomas is growing careless. He’s already spent five bills that we know of. It’s possible he’s spent more that we haven’t caught.”

“We don’t know the money came from him,” she said stubbornly.

“No, we don’t, but I think I know how we can find out. If the school donation came from your fiancé’s stash, then we might safely assume he has a weakness for a good cause.”

She eyed him warily. “So what’s your plan?”

“You, my dear, will tell him that the wedding is off. Your
family
is about to lose their farm and are in desperate need of money.” He thought for a moment. “So what do you think? Brilliant, huh?”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Your brilliance is second only to your modesty.

“You’ll change your tune once you see how well this works. Tell Thomas you have to leave to help save the family farm. I’m willing to wager he’ll give you money on the spot to wire home.” He smiled. “What do you say to that?”

“It’s a good plan,” she said, reluctantly. It wasn’t as elaborate as most of his plans, but the simple plans were always the ones that worked best. If only the idea of setting a trap for Garrett didn’t make her feel so downright miserable.

Rikker was too busy congratulating himself on this latest scheme to notice her depressed state of mind. “Unless I miss my guess,” he all but crowed, “Thomas Garrett isn’t about to let his bride-to-be out of his sight. He’ll give you the money to save the farm. Mark my words.”

Later that night, Maggie tucked Elise in bed and listened to her prayers. Earlier Garrett had raced through the house with his daughter on his back. It did Maggie a world of good to hear Elise’s childish giggles.

The doctor said she could return to school Monday, and that was a relief. Maybe things could go back to normal—or as normal as circumstances allowed.

She thought about Rikker’s plan. It was a good one, easy, uncomplicated. She had nothing to lose if Garrett didn’t fall for it and everything to gain if he did. So why was she so reluctant to put it into action?

“Sleep tight,” she whispered. Dropping a kiss on Elise’s forehead, she walked out of the room.

The door to Garrett’s room stood wide open. Toby sat on the floor, building some sort of contraption from scraps of metal from his father’s shop.

He was too engrossed in his project to notice her. She watched him for a moment, unseen. Being the daughter of an outlaw had been difficult, but how much harder might it be for a son? Sighing, she moved away from the bedroom door.

She found Garrett in the parlor bent over the chessboard. Elbows on his lap, his hands were folded beneath his chin. Earlier he and Toby had played a game. For such a young child, Toby was able to hold his own, and the game ended in a draw.

Garrett glanced up as she neared, an easy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You play?”

“’Fraid not,” she said.

He considered her answer for a moment. “I learned to play chess while in the rebel prison. We drew a board in the dirt and used stones for chess pieces. Playing chess helped keep our minds sharp.”

“Staring at stones did that?” she teased.

He chuckled. “Sounds crazy, I know. But there’s actually a lot of mental work that goes into the game. It was also a great way to know my fellow prisoners. Know who to trust. Who was motivated. Honest. Know who was most likely to rob me.”

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.