“Shoot,” I said, as I continued to saw at the rope.
“How did you know I was here? Who are you? Where are you from? Why are you helping me? Why can’t you tell me your name? Who was that man who jumped me this afternoon? And any idea what he planned on doing with me? Oh, and are you married?”
“You need to know if I’m married?”
“I do, actually,” he said.
“Not married.”
“Wonderful. Now I feel free to say you have the finest gray eyes I’ve ever seen in my life,” he said. “Storm clouds and silver. Try to blink less. It’s like closing a curtain across theMona Lisa.”
“Thank you,” I said, unblinking.
“Better,” he said. “My other questions?”
My eyes started to dry out, so I blinked.
“I knew you were here because I’d been told where to find you. The guy who grabbed you was trying to stop you from solving this case,” I said, which was vague but true enough. X was trying to stop Duke from solving this case and, knowing X, every other case forever and ever. “I can’t tell you who I am, but I’m from Fort Meriwether, Oregon, and don’t worry if you’ve never heard of it. Almost nobody’s heard of it. I want you to solve this case, so I’m helping you. Wait, what was the other question?”
“What was Old Smokey planning on doing with me?” he repeated.
“He wants to stop your work,” I said as I got Duke’s right hand free.
“So he means to kill me?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” And I wouldn’t. X could be coming back any minute to finish the job.
“If I had a dime…” Duke sighed.
As I kept working on the rope, Duke reached his free hand down for his hat. I assumed he meant to shoo Koshka out of it and dust it off, but he didn’t. He petted Koshka between the ears. I’m not sure if that’s the moment I started to fall in love with him, but I think it’s safe to say that’s the moment my cat did.
Finally, I freed Duke’s other hand. “There.”
He got to his feet and, instead of rubbing his abraded wrists, he simply straightened his jacket, vest, and tie, then ran a hand through his hair. “How do I look? Shipshape and Bristol fashion?”
“You make James Bond look like a hippie.”
“I have no idea who or what any of that means,” he said, “but from the adoring look in those storm cloud eyes of yours, I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“It was.”
I held out his knife to him, but instead of taking it, he took my hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed the back of it. His own beautiful eyes—chocolate brown and delicious—peered deeply into mine.
When his lips touched my skin, I felt lightning surging through my entire body.
“Thank you, darling,” he said. “I owe you my life and anything else you’d like to request.”
“Rainy,” I said suddenly.
“Is it?” he asked, still holding my hand. “Well, that’s spring in Chicago for you. If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes—”
“No, my name. My name is Rainy March. I’m not supposed to tell you that, but I wanted you to know it.”
“Rainy,” he said, musing, “my favorite kind of long morning in bed.”
The man could charm the pants off a statue.
Chapter Three
