have your own spotless reputation,” he said gently. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I guess you’re right.” She laughed. “Robin hired a limo for us, can you believe it?”
“I like Robin,” he said. “I just wish he had more guts.”
“Now, now, we can’t all be real-life death knights with great swords.”
“You and that game. You do need to get out more.” He pursed his lips. “Maybe we need to organize some things for the young, single members of our church.”
“All four of us?” she mused.
He rolled his eyes.
“I like my life,” she declared. “Maybe it lacks excitement, but I’m happy. That should count for something, Dad.”
He laughed softly. “Okay. I see your point.”
* * *
THE CHIEF WAS UNHAPPY. He didn’t come out and say so, but he was on a short fuse and it was difficult to get anything out of him past one-syllable words.
“Sir, what about the new patrolman’s gear?” she asked gently. “You were supposed to give me a purchase order for it, weren’t you?”
“New patrolman?” He frowned. “Oh, yes. Bartley. Okay. I’ll do that today.”
She bit her tongue so that she didn’t remind him that he’d said the same thing the day before.
He caught her expression and laughed hollowly. “I know. I’m preoccupied. Want to know why?” He shoved a newspaper across his desk. “Read the headline.”
It said, Matthew Helm to Fill Unexpired Term of U.S. Senator. She stared at Cash without understanding what he was upset about.
“There were three men in the running for the appointment,” he said. “One was found by police in San Antonio, on the street, doped up by an apparent drug habit that nobody knew he had. A tip,” he added. “The second withdrew from the nomination because his son was arrested for cocaine possession—a kid who’d never even used drugs, but apparently the glove compartment in his car was stuffed with the stuff. Another tip. The third contender, Helm, got the appointment.”
“You think the others were set up,” she began.
“Big-time,” he replied. He glared at the headline. “If he wins the special election in May, we’re in for some hard times in law enforcement. I can’t prove it, but the prevailing theory is that Mr. Helm is in bed with Charro Mendez. Remember him?”
She nodded. “The enforcer who worked for the late El Ladrón,” she said. “He was a cousin to the Fuentes brothers.”
“The very same ones who used to run the distribution hub. He’s now head of the drug cartel over the border in Cotillo. In fact, he’s the mayor of that lovely little drug center.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I really wish somebody had furnished Carson with more than three hand grenades,” he muttered.
“Shame!” she said.
He chuckled. “Okay. I’ll get the purchase order filled out.” He leaned forward. “Hell of a thing, to have a politician like this in Washington.”
“He’ll be a junior senator,” she pointed out. “He won’t have an important role in anything. He won’t chair any important committees and he won’t have powerful alliances.”
“Yet.”
“Surely, he won’t win the special election,” she ventured.
He looked at her. “Carlie, remember what I just told you about his rivals for the appointment?”
She whistled. “Oh, dear,” she said again.
“Exactly.”
The phone rang. She excused herself and went out to answer it.
* * *
CARSON WAS CONSPICUOUS by his absence for the next few days. Nobody said anything about him, but it was rumored that he was away on some job for Eb Scott. In the meantime, Carlie got her first look at the mysterious Rourke.
He stopped by her office during her lunch hour one day. He was wearing khakis with a sheepskin coat. He grinned at her where she sat at her desk eating hot soup out of a foam cup.
“Bad habit,” he said, with a trace of a South African accent. “Eating on the job. You should be having that out of fine china in some exotic restaurant.”
She was staring at the attractive man wearing an eye patch, with her spoon suspended halfway between the cup and her mouth. “Excuse me?” she faltered.
“An exotic restaurant,” he repeated.
“Listen, the only exotic restaurant I know of is the Chinese place over on Madison, and I think their cook is from New York.”
He chuckled. “It’s the sentiment, you know, that counts.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” She put down the cup. “How can I help you?”
“Is the boss in?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Sorry. He’s at the exotic local café having a thick hamburger and fries with a beautiful ex-motion picture star.”
“Ah, the lovely Tippy,” he chuckled. “Lucky man, to have a wife who’s both kind and beautiful. The combination is rare.”
“I’ll say.”
“So, okay if I leave a message?”
She pushed a pad and pen across the desk and smiled. “Be my guest.”
He scribbled a few words and signed with a flourish.
She glanced at it. “You’re Rourke?”
He nodded. His one pale brown eye twinkled. “I guess my reputation has preceded me?”
“Something like that,” she said with a grin.
“I hope you were told it by your boss and not Carson,” he said.
She shook her head. “Nobody told me. I overheard my dad talking about you on the telephone.”
“Your dad?”
She nodded. “Reverend Jake Blair.”
His face softened. “You’re his daughter, then.” He nodded. “It came as a shock to know he had a child, let me tell you. Not the sort of guy I ever associated with family.”
“Why?” she asked, all innocence.
He saw that innocence and his face closed up. “I spoke out of
