*violence

Disclaimer: This story is an original work of literary art by me, myself and nobody else but me. I don’t actually own the characters, but Golden Press should be flattered that I’m using them because, after all, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

 

The Deal

by Lori C.

 

Chapter One

"Drat," Trixie muttered. She pulled on her blond curls as she frowned at the paper in front of her, letting her breath out in a huff of frustration.

"What’s the matter?" asked Jim, coming up behind her in the silence of the office.

With a startled cry, Trixie whirled around, almost falling out of her desk chair. "Jim!" she cried in relieved surprise as she beheld the grinning face of her sometime-boyfriend. "You scared the living daylights out of me!"

Jim grinned mischievously. "Some detective," he insulted good-naturedly. "Aren’t you supposed to be aware of things that go bump in the night?"

"Only if they actually go bump in the night," she retorted. "Not if they sneak up behind me wearing Nikes."

Jim laughed and perched on the edge of her desk, swinging one sneaker-clad foot. "So, what has you so absorbed tonight?"

Trixie groaned and leaned back in her chair. "This case," she ground out. "It’s driving me nuts."

"What is it?"

"Missing child," she said soberly.

"Oh, no," Jim said, his humor slipping away. "Any leads?"

"Well, it looks like a parent abduction," Trixie told him, wheeling her chair back toward the desk and ruffling through her papers. "The mother sent the child away for a three-week vacation with the father. The day they were supposed to come back, there was nothing. It’s been two months, and she hasn’t heard anything."

"That’s awful," Jim frowned. "At least it must be some consolation for the mother that she knows who the child is with. It can’t be quite as bad as a stranger abduction."

"You’d think so, but you haven’t heard the whole deal yet," Trixie informed him grimly. "Daddy dearest here is a convicted felon. He served a two year sentence for ‘accidental’ manslaughter."

Jim frowned. "Accidental?" he repeated, hearing the catch in her voice.

"Hunting accident," Trixie said briefly. "He claims that his gun went off by mistake and killed his friend. There were a lot of suspicious things about this accident though."

"Such as?" prompted Jim.

"Well, the widow of the man who was killed claimed that the killer had owed her husband thousands of dollars. Strangely enough, though, after his death the notes on that loan seemed to have gone missing. Our suspect here – name of Al Piers – claimed he had repaid the money. There were several things like that."

"But he wasn’t convicted of murder?"

"Not enough evidence," Trixie sighed. "The divorce had gone through about three months before the accident happened. The child – Erica – was two years old at the time. The reasons for the divorce listed in the court records are 'mental cruelty and incompatibility'."

"But you think there’s more?"

Trixie nodded. "The mother is just too scared about her daughter’s physical safety. I think she knows something about her ex-husband that makes her terrified about her daughter’s well-being."

"What do you have so far?" Jim asked, intently watching her.

"Not much," Trixie admitted. "Al got out of jail almost three years ago. When he first got out, he had limited, supervised, visits with Erica for almost a year. Then it expanded to weekends. This trip was his longest visit with her, and he seems to have blown it," she finished wryly. "The mother – Eileen – is worried sick."

"No wonder," Jim said soberly. His face was troubled – he loved kids, and hated to hear about any child who was hurt or endangered in any way. He’d had a rough upbringing himself until the time he had been adopted by the Wheelers. Jim’s concern was more than just a mental exercise, though. Over three years earlier, he had opened up a school for disadvantaged children on the grounds of Ten Acres, the estate left to him by his late uncle. Originally he had intended the school to be for boys, but Trixie had pointed out to him that there were plenty of disadvantaged girls who could use a place like Ten Acres Academy. Currently, the school was home to over thirty children, and was Jim’s – and the rest of the Bob-Whites – pride and joy.

Trixie nodded. "They were supposed to have gone to visit his parents, in some little town in Texas. I’ve called his mother and his half-brother, but they both swear that he never showed up, never even arranged a visit."

"Do you believe them?"

"There’s no record of anyone by his name buying airline tickets," Trixie hedged. "But no, I don’t believe them." She sighed. "It looks like they’re hiding something in Tumbleweed, Texas."

"Tumbleweed?" Jim repeated incredulously. "There’s a place in Texas named Tumbleweed?"

Trixie laughed. "I know, it’s awfully cliched, isn’t it? Actually, though, there’re two. One is an old west tourist town, the other is a functional town."

"So, what’s the next step?" Jim asked.

Trixie shrugged and stood up. "I’ll have to drop in on the town of Tumbleweed. After all, Ma Piers says her boy never visits her. It’s about time someone did, don’t you think?" she grinned.

"You’re going to go to Tumbleweed?" Jim repeated slowly, the frown returning to his face.

"Yup," Trixie said nonchalantly. "I’m flying out tomorrow afternoon."

"Do you think that’s a good idea?" Jim asked, rather more hesitantly than was his wont.

"Probably not," Trixie said lightly. "Texas is August is bound to be unpleasant."

"Don’t you think it’ll be…I mean…Won’t it be, well, unsafe?" Jim faltered.

Trixie’s blue eyes flashed dangerously. "Very possibly," she said in a calm voice.

"Maybe you should let this case go to…" began Jim.

"Go to who?" Trixie cried. "Go to some big strong man, who can handle himself better than little ol’ me? You know, Jim, sometimes you…." She stopped, and bit her lower lip. "Oh, forget it," she snapped, waving her hand dismissively at him. "See you later, Jim," she finished bitterly, pulling her coat off of its hook on the wall and heading toward the door.

"Trixie!" Jim shouted. He rose from the edge of her desk and caught up to her in a few long-legged strides. He grasped hold of her arm and pulled her toward him.

"What!" she yelled, whirling and glaring up at him.

"There’s no reason for you to talk to me like that," he told her, an angry light flashing in his green eyes that matched the one in her blue eyes.

Trixie narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to reply when the fairness of his words struck her. "You’re right," she said simply, her anger draining away as quickly as it had appeared. "I’m sorry," she apologized.

Jim dropped her arm, as always a little amazed at the fluidity of her emotions. He never had understood how she could shout one moment and smile the next. That was only on of the many things that were mysterious about Trixie.

"Sit down," he urged after a moment. "Let’s talk about this."

Trixie sighed, but resumed her seat at her desk. "There’s not a lot to talk about," she warned him. "I am going to fly to Tumbleweed tomorrow."

"Trix, I am not trying to belittle you," Jim told her seriously. "You’re one of the best P.I.s in New York State. I mean, for heaven’s sake, look at your clientele! You operate out of Sleepyside, N.Y. You’d think you’d get clients from White Plains, a few from Poughkeepsie, maybe one or two from New York City. Instead, they come to you from all around the eastern seaboard! The Belden-Belden Investigation Agency has, in four short years, earned one of the best reputations of any agency in the state. You don’t have anything to prove, Trixie. Why do you have to take risks with your safety?"

Trixie shook her head slowly. "You don’t get it, Jim," she said softly. "I don’t take risks to ‘prove’ anything to anyone! It’s what I do. It’s what I am," she said with gentle finality. "I know you can’t deal with that." She hesitated for a moment. "That’s why it never worked between us," she finished sadly.

Jim flinched slightly at her words. He had loved Trixie deeply as a friend almost from the day he met her, when she had offered such whole-hearted friendship and trust to the sullen, injured orphan he had been. As they grew older, that love had deepened. She had felt the same way toward him, and they had begun dating when she graduated from college four years ago. They had dated for a long time, but his worry for her safety had come between them. He had wanted her to come to work at his school, like her brother Mart, his wife Diana, and their other childhood playmate Dan Mangan. But Trixie had refused, and his worry had pushed them apart. Finally, over a year ago, she had broken up with him, claiming that if he couldn’t understand the importance of her work and accept it, then he didn't really even know her at all.

Over the past year, their friendship had healed, and it had seemed to him – as well as to their hopeful friends and relatives who watched the couple like loving, concerned, incredibly interfering hawks – that they were drifting back toward intimacy. Now he had gone and shoved his foot into his mouth, harping on the very issue that had driven them apart in the first place.

"I really can’t feel very apologetic for worrying about your safety," he grumbled.

"I suppose," Trixie said reluctantly, "that I wouldn't mind so much if you just worried. It’s the interfering that I can’t deal with."

Jim was silent for a moment. Just let it be, an inner voice warned him. Don’t push her – you’ll push her right away. Take it easy. It’ll all work out in the end. Be patient. Oh, forget it, he told the inner voice.

"Look, Trix," he said rawly, squatting down so that there eyes were at a level. "I nag you and interfere with your life and basically drive you nuts because I love you. I’m scared to death of losing you. I’m sorry that bothers you but I’m not at all sorry for feeling the way I do about you."

"Oh, Jim," Trixie murmured in an anguished voice, raising a hand to wearily rub her forehead. "Please don’t."

"Don’t what?" he asked. "Tell you how I feel? Worry about you? Love you?"

"Yes," she said. "Just don’t. You make it so much harder."

"So much harder to what?" he pressed, beginning to grow a little angry again. "Forget me? Pretend there was never anything between us? Pretend there still couldn’t be something if you—"

"If I give up everything important to me," she finished heavily. "And I can’t do that, Jim. Not even for you."

"Trixie—"

"Don’t bother," she interrupted. "There’s no need to go into this again. Nothing has changed. You don’t trust me to take care of myself. Until you do, there is no way any relationship between us will work."

Jim stared at her, an idea beginning to form in his head. "Show me," he said.

"What?" she frowned, confused.

"That’s it!" he announced, rising to his feet and prowling excitedly around her office. "Show me you can take care of yourself. Show me there’s nothing to worry about, and I won’t."

"What on earth are you talking about?" she demanded, turning in her chair to stare at him."

He turned and smiled at her, his green eyes shining. "Take me with you to Tumbleweed," he said flatly.

"What?!" she shouted, leaping from her chair.

"Take me with you," he repeated. "Show me how you operate."

Now it was Trixie’s turn to pace around the office. "No," she said flatly, shaking her head. "No, no, double no, forget it."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, you’re not my partner—"

Jim cocked his head disbelievingly. "Were you really planning to take my eight-months pregnant sister with you to Texas?" he asked.

Trixie flushed. Her best friend and partner, Honey, had been married to Trixie’s older brother Brian, a doctor at Sleepyside General, for two years. The couple was expecting their first child in a month, and Honey had gone on maternity leave earlier that week. "Of course not," she sputtered. "But…"

"But what?"

"You’re not an employee. You aren’t authorized to—"

"I promise I won’t sue you if anything goes wrong," he assured her sarcastically.

She glared at him. "I can’t justify your plane ticket on my expense—"

"I’ll pay for my own," he assured her.

She stared at him, unable to come up with any other excuses.

"Come on, Trix," he wheedled gently. Stepping close to her, he gently placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. "Isn’t it worth a try? For us?"

"Jim…" she began uncertainly.

"Let’s make a deal," he offered. "I go with you, you show me what you do. I haven’t really seen you in action since we were kids. Show me that there isn’t anything to worry about. Then I can get off your back, secure in the knowledge that even if you are in an unsafe situation, you know how to handle it. Then, with that tension removed, we can be together again."

"Why can’t you just trust me that I know what I’m doing?"

"I trust you more than anyone in the world," he told her. "But I will never feel easy about all of this until I see with my own two eyes what you learned in college," he teased. "I know Honey says you don’t take such awful risks anymore, but I need to see."

Still Trixie hesitated. "I don’t know if—"

He stifled her protest by lowering his face to hers, their lips meeting in a soft kiss. He lifted his head and smiled at her. "A second chance," he said softly. "They don’t come around often. Do you want to let it pass?"

She was silent for a moment. "No," she said finally. "I don’t." She sighed. "Fine." She turned back to her desk and sat down. She turned on the computer, and a moment later Jim heard the high-pitched whine of the modem,

"What are you doing?" he asked, confused.

"Buying you a plane ticket," she replied. "You’re going to owe me four hundred bucks," she warned.

He nodded, his enthusiasm growing. "It'll be like I'm your apprentice," he said whimsically. "You can show me the ropes of sleuthing."

"Oh, I will," she warned him, staring grimly at the screen. "I will indeed."

 

Chapter Two

"Trixie!" cried Honey, her face lighting with pleasure as she opened the door to reveal her best friend.

"Hey, Honey," Trixie grinned back. "Can I come in?"

"Of course!" Honey ushered her guest in, showing her guest into her neat little living room. When they had learned about the baby’s coming, Honey and Brian had given up the apartment they had rented since their marriage, and bought a small house about a mile away from Crabapple Farm, close enough for both sets of doting grandparents to visit frequently.

"How are you feeling?" Trixie asked, grinning as she watched her usually graceful friend waddle around the living room, finally collapsing heavily on a chair.

"Fine," Honey said. "Better than I look," she added, gesturing wryly to her increased bulk.

"You look fabulous as ever," Trixie scolded. "And you know it."

Honey smiled. "You sound like your brother," she commented, her eyes taking on the dreamy expression they always gained when she thought about Brian.

Trixie bit her tongue to hold back a comment on her friend’s besotted state. She loved Honey and Brian dearly, and was delighted that they had found such happiness, but she couldn’t help feeling that sometimes they were just a little too sweet. It’s probably sour grapes, she thought to herself.

Aloud she said, "I just dropped by to let you know about this latest case."

Honey leaned forward interestedly, the dreamy look in her eyes replaced by one of intense concentration. "Great! What have you got?" Honey was as committed to their agency as Trixie was. That had come as a bit of a surprise to everyone, who had expected that Trixie would be the dominant one in the endeavor. Honey had firmly maintained her stake in the agency, though, continuing to work there even after her marriage. She had been away for less than a week, but already she missed her work.

"Not much," Trixie was forced to admit again. "I’m flying to Texas this week to look up Gorgeous’ mom."

Honey stifled a giggle. Early in her career, Trixie had formed the habit of referring to any major figure in her investigations as ‘Gorgeous." As the nickname was frequently employed in regards to thieves, kidnappers and even murderers, the name was ironic as well as generally inapt. It always made Honey laugh.

"She still claiming that she never say him?"

Trixie nodded. "There’s no record of his buying airline tickets. The nearest airport is Houston, and there’s no way I can track every man with a little girl who flew into that airport over a three-month period. So I need to go to the source. Maybe there’s someone in the town who’ll be willing to spill the beans on Gorgeous."

"Well, be careful," Honey warned automatically.

Trixie rolled her eyes. "No need to worry – I have a self-appointed bodyguard along with me on this one," she told her friend sarcastically.

Honey’s delicate brows drew together in confusion. "What?" she asked.

Trixie sighed, silently berating herself for bringing up the topic in the first place. "Your brother is going to be accompanying me on this little excursion," she said reluctantly.

Honey’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. "Jim?" she finally managed in an incredulous tone.

"Do you have any other brothers?" Trixie asked with a forced smile.

"Jim is going with you to Tumbleweed?" Honey repeated.

Trixie nodded.

"How did this come about?" Honey demanded.

"It’s a long story," Trixie replied vaguely, not wanting to go into all the details with even her best friend.

"So tell it!"

Resigning herself to the inevitable, Trixie complied, telling her friend all the details of her previous night’s conversation with Jim. "So, I bought him a ticket, and he’s coming with me," she finished.

Honey clasped her hands together in glee, her eyes shining her delight. "Trixie, that’s marvelous!" she breathed. "I’ve been hoping against hope for a year and a half that you and Jim would get back together!"

"Well, don’t get too excited yet," Trixie warned her friend. "This whole deal could backfire completely."

"How could it backfire?" Honey frowned.

"I think listing ways it might not backfire would take less time. He could decide he couldn’t deal with the situations my work places me in after all. He could fuss and fret at me to quit. He could get in my way, trying to protect me, and mess up the whole case."

Honey winced at this possibility, knowing how having her case mangled would frustrate and infuriate her best friend.

"It’s also possible," continued Trixie, "that nothing will happen at all! Maybe we won’t find ourselves in an even remotely dangerous situation. Then we’re right back where we started, with nothing resolved at all!"

"Do you love him, Trix?" Honey asked seriously.

Trixie groaned and flushed, flopping back against the chintz cushions of Honey’s sofa. "That’s not the point," she muttered.

"How is that not the point?" Honey asked with some exasperation.

Trixie removed her hand from her face and sat up straight. "It’s not! The point is that I can’t sacrifice everything I’ve worked for my whole life for some guy! Not even Jim!" She blushed again. "I know I sound like a bad article from Cosmo, but it’s true!"

"Did he ever ask you to give up the agency?"

"He’s bugged me time and time again about cases…."

"About cases," Honey interrupted, stressing the working. "He never asked you to give up investigating, he just doesn’t want you to put yourself in jeopardy."

Trixie snorted disgustedly.

"You’re just determined to be stubborn about this," Honey accused her friend.

Trixie grinned. "Stubborn? Me? Perish the thought."

"I just think that you’ve not looked at all sides of this issue," Honey maintained, refusing to be sidetracked.

"All right. I will cede you that point, Madam Debater. He never specifically asked me to give up investigations as a career. But I know that that it’s not what he wants me to do."

"What does he want you to do?"

"Oh, you know," Trixie grumbled, relaxing again. "He wants me to quit the agency and go teach Civics or some such thing at his school, cooking and…and…sewing and dusting in my spare time!"

Honey laughed at the venom in her friend’s voice as she outlined her list of hated chores. "I doubt he expects you to hang around the school and dust," Honey said mildly.

"Whatever," Trixie snapped.

"You know, I’m the one that’s supposed to be moody," Honey observed.

Trixie glared at her best fried for a moment then ruefully began to laugh. "Sorry, Honey. I’m a little on edge here."

"Look, Trix, why don’t you just try to relax a little?" Honey suggested. "Try not to worry so much. Just go on the trip and see what happens. You don’t have to resolve everything all at once."

"You’re right, as always," Trixie said, rising to her feet. She crossed the room and bent down to hug her best friend. "I have to go. There are a few things I need to see to before I meet Jim in two hours. No, don’t get up," she urged her friend as Honey moved to rise. "I can see myself out. Don’t have that baby before I get back!" she warned.

Honey laughed. "You’re only planning on being there for what, a week? The baby’s not due for another four weeks. And no Belden has ever been early for anything!"

"Brian has," Trixie grinned. "Who knows what un-Beldenish genes he might have been passed on!"

Honey laughed as Trixie left the room. A moment later, she heard the sound of the door slamming. She relaxed against the cushion of her chair and allowed her mind to wander. Images of the couple she was most concerned with at present began to flow through her mind….

Trixie, open-mouthed with astonishment, staring at a scowling, red-haired boy in the weed-tangled ruin of a summerhouse…Trixie and Jim, dancing at Diana’s Valentine’s Day Dance…Jim, joking in the clubhouse while Trixie rolled her eyes behind him…Jim taking Trixie’s hand, smiling as the light winked off of the silver identification bracelet on her wrist…Trixie and Jim, beaming and mugging for the camera at Trixie’s college graduation…The expression on Jim’s face as he watched Trixie pounding in nails while helping build Ten Acres Academy…Both of them beside each other on horseback, silhouetted against the twilight sky…Trixie’s face, pale and miserable, when she confessed that she and Jim had broken up…The look of loss in Jim’s eyes as they followed Trixie across the room at Diana and Mart’s wedding reception the previous spring…

"They belong together," Honey muttered to herself. "Even if they aren’t smart enough to realize it."

"Who’s that?" came Brian’s voice. Honey opened her eyes languidly, too sleepy to be startled.

"Trixie and Jim," she said bluntly.

Brian sighed and shook his head as he crossed the room to kneel by his wife’s chair. "While, you have them pegged right at least. They’re not too smart," he quipped. He leaned over to kiss her. "How are you feeling?" he asked with concern.

"Fine," she said, dismissing his concern with a wave of her hand. "Trixie was here."

"I know," Brian told her, settling back on his heels. "She almost ran me over in the driveway."

Honey smiled. "She has a flight out in a few hours and has things to see to before she goes."

"Where’s she going?"

"To Texas, on a case. Guess who’s going with her?"

Brian’s brows drew together. "Certainly not you!" he huffed indignantly.

Honey giggled. "No, silly," she laughed. "Jim!"

Brian started with surprise, knocking himself off balance and almost falling to the floor. "Jim’s going with her?"

Honey nodded delightedly and explained the bargain the two had made. Brian shook his head as she finished the tale. "Those two are nuts," was his professional opinion. Although Brian had dismissed the issue with such seeming flippancy, he was actually very concerned about the couple in question. Trixie was his only sister, and Jim was his brother-in-law. It had always been pretty much assumed by everyone that Trixie and Jim would eventually end up together. Thus, it had come as quite a shock when their relationship had so abruptly ended eighteen months earlier. Since then he had been very worried about his sister, as he watched Trixie throwing herself into her work, accepting more and more dangerous cases in order to, he suspected, keep her mind off the ruin of her personal life. She had never drawn Honey into the most dangerous of her cases, but Brian was deeply concerned for his sister. He believed that the end of her relationship was causing Trixie to take unnecessary risks, and he deeply hoped that a reconciliation with Jim would end that disturbing tendency.

"Do you think that…"

Brian shrugged and Honey’s half-spoken question. "I don’t know," he said honestly. "I hope so."

"I was thinking maybe…."

"Oh no," interrupted Brian. "Don’t go matchmaking. That’ll only make things worse. Besides," he pointed out reasonably, "they’re going to Texas. There’s not a lot we can do from here."

"Oh, but when they get back…"

"When they get back," he said, leaning close to her, "we will have other things to do." With that he pressed his lips to hers, and Trixie and Jim were, at least momentarily, forgotten.

 

Chapter Three

"Yes?" Jim called in response to the knock at the door to his office. He glanced up from the papers he was reading to see Mart and Dan standing in the doorway. "Hey guys! Come in!" he invited, dropping his papers and focusing his attention on his guests.

"Hey Jim," Dan greeted him. "How’re you doing?"

"Fine! How’re you guys?"

"We rushed here immediately upon our arrival in response to the urgent missive left in the able hands of the my compatriot’s aide-de-camp," Mart announced, nodding towards Dan.

"We’re here because my secretary said you wanted to see us," Dan translated laconically as he settled into one of the seats across from Jim’s desk. He was used to translating for Mart. They had spent a lot of time together in recent years. Like everyone else at Ten Acres, both men served multiple roles for the school. Mart taught chemistry and Dan was a guidance counselor, but both also spent a lot of time with the students helping them with their gardens. Each student at Ten Acres got their own small plot of land, where they could grow whatever they chose.

"Well, thanks for coming so quickly," Jim grinned. "I wanted to ask you guys a favor."

"Shoot," Dan said simply as Mart was opening his mouth to deliver another of his flowery speeches. Mart turned and glared and his friend as he flopped into the other chair. Dan smiled.

"I’m going out of town today, and I’ll probably be gone for about a week. I really need you guys’ help taking care of things. I have nighttime covered, but there needs to be someone in charge during the daytimes."

"We can cover it, no problem," said Dan. His curiosity was piqued, but he didn’t want to ask why his friend was going out of town on such short notice.

Mart solved that problem for him. "Perchance, however, you will edify us as to the impetus behind your sudden relocation?" he pressed.

Jim was silent for a moment, staring steadily at his two friends. He was torn - he wanted to tell his friends what was going on and get their opinions, but wasn’t sure Trixie would like his spreading their deal around to everyone else.

"Come on, Jim buddy," grinned Dan, breaking into his reverie. "You want to tell us."

"Is it, perhaps, one of the fairer persuasion that is luring you from our midst?" asked Mart, a faint leer on his even features.

Jim flushed, caught off guard, and stumbled over his reply. "Well, yes…kind of…that is, it’s sort of a…"

"Geez, Jim, get a hold of yourself!" Mart interrupted, dropping his elaborate speech plans for once. "What’s all this ‘kind of sort of’ stuff? How can someone be kind of a woman?"

"She’s definitely a woman," Jim said firmly. "But it’s not what you think. She’s Trixie."

Mart and Dan both raised surprised brows. "My sister, Trixie?" Mark asked.

Jim nodded.

"You’re going out of town with my little sister Trixie," Mart repeated flatly. "Who, the last I knew, you were not dating, nor were you…"

"No, it isn’t like that," Jim said impatiently. "You know me better than that."

"So what’s going on?" Dan asked. Dan was at least as protective of Trixie as either of her brothers, although, unlike Jim, he had enough sense not to let her see it. There had always been an unresolved question which lingered at the back of Dan’s mind as to what could have been, had not Jim been part of the equation.

Jim sighed and explained the deal he had made with Trixie. "So what do you think?" he asked apprehensively.

"I think you’re a glutton for punishment," Mart said bluntly.

"Thanks, guys," Jim said bitterly as Dan nodded agreement with Mart.

"You’re going to follow Trixie around and actually watch her do whatever crazy things she does in the course of one of her investigations?" Mart shuddered theatrically. "I have to keep myself firmly in a state of denial as to her work just to stay sane. Brian has to do the same thing with Honey. I can’t even imagine following one of them around observing."

Jim sighed and ran a hand through his red hair. "I know," he said mournfully. "I’m kind of hoping that my presence will restrain her."

"I wouldn’t count on it," Dan replied, amused. "If anything, it will probably push her to greater feats of self-endangerment, if only to show you what she can do."

Jim nodded. "Probably," he groaned. "I’ve been trying not to think about that."

"Why are you even doing this, Jim?" Mart asked penetratingly.

Jim spread his hands wide in a gesture of exasperation. "Why do you think, Mart? Do you think I like to inflict great emotional and mental stress on myself?"

Mart shrugged. "Seems that way," he commented.

Jim scowled. "Well, I don’t," he said shortly.

"So why are you going?" Mart repeated.

"It’s the only way I can get your obstinate sister to reconsider our relationship," Jim ground out. "Happy?"

Mart stared narrowly at his friend "You don’t seem to be," he commented.

Jim sighed. "I won’t be happy until I get your sister back. Is that what you want to hear? I’ve been miserable for over a year, and I will follow her to Texas, or Bangladesh or the moon if that’s what it takes to convince her that I’m serious about working things out. Ok?"

Mart grinned and stood up. "That was a most affecting recital. Now that I’m confident that your intentions toward my sibling are heartfelt, I’ll take my leave. You can rest assured that I will oversee this fine institution in your absence." He waved farewell and was gone.

"He must be worried," Jim commented wryly. "I understood that whole speech."

Dan got up too, but lingered in the doorway. "You know, Jim," he said seriously. "I hope you’ve really thought the whole idea of this trip through very carefully."

"What do you mean, Dan?" Jim asked slowly.

""It took over a year for Trix to get back enough trust in you to give it another chance," Dan said, his dark eyes somber as he stared intently at his friend. "If it gets messed up again…" His words trailed off as he shook his head. "I don’t want to see you crash and burn because you’re pushing too hard."

Jim nodded. "I see what you’re saying," he said. "Thank you. I’ll be careful."

"Good," Dan said briefly. "Because I think, with Trix, that you don’t get three strikes. I think you’re lucky to be getting another at-bat at all, and if it doesn’t work this time…." He shook his head again. "Game over," he said with finality.

"So you think this is a bad idea?"

"I didn’t say that," Dan corrected him. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "I think it has great potential for disaster," he admitted, "but it has equal potential for immense success. It’s up to you," he finished meaningfully. "Since Trixie is not going to make it easy for you."

"I won’t mess it up," Jim vowed.

"Good," Dan said. He hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to continue. "Because if you do," he said finally, "there may just be someone back here who will be waiting to pick up the pieces." With that, he left, quietly closing the office door behind him.

Jim was left staring incredulously at the space that Dan had occupied a moment before. Dan? he thought. And Trixie? He shook his head. At least his friend had forewarned him of his intentions. Also, it seemed that Dan wouldn’t press the issue unless all of Trixie’s ties to her oldest flame were irrevocably severed. We’ll just have to be sure that that doesn’t happen, Jim thought resolutely. He stuffed his papers into his briefcase and strode resolutely toward the door.

 

In this installment, I presume to imagine that I know what the characters are thinking. If you think I’m way off the mark, feel free to let me know.

Chapter Four

Trixie sat in the driver’s seat of her car, waiting for Jim to come out of his building. She hewed nervously on one fingernail as she stared out the window, looking at but not seeing the beautifully manicured grounds of Ten Acres Academy. I must be crazy, she thought to herself.

Undoubtedly she was, she decided. Nuts as they come. It was foolish of her to be setting herself up for more heartache. She should just realize that whatever had existed between her and Jim was finished. Just not met to be. She should just tell him that when he got out here, instead of stringing them both along on the strength of an impossible dream. That’s what she would do. She nodded firmly to herself. She would look him straight in the eye and say Jim, I’m sorry, but it will never work. It’s better for both of us if we don’t delude ourselves this way. Yes, that’s what she would say. Then she would give him one last handshake, and, smiling bravely, drive off…

…leaving him standing alone and forsaken, with a suitcase in his hand, on the long drive of Ten Acres. The hurt, abandoned look that she hated would be in his green eyes. Then he would lower his head in defeat and trudge back to his lonely rooms while she drove on, alone, still feeling the press of his hand on hers, remembering way the sun glanced off his fiery hair, and…

Trixie groaned and lowered her head onto the steering wheel of her car. Her inner monologue had taken on the aspect of a Harlequin Romance novel. Even her own imagination was conspiring to defeat her! What defense did she have against that?

*     *     *

Jim stopped before leaving the set of rooms he lived in at one of the Ten Acres boys’ dorms and glanced in a mirror. He made a face at his own reflection. "You’re pathetic," he told his reflection. "You know that, don’t you?"

The face in the mirror didn’t reply, so he moved away from it and left his room. "It’ll be fine," he assured himself. "I’ll just tell her - Look, Trix. I think that we can make something of this. I’m not happy without you, and I know you aren’t happy without me. Mart was talking the other day about some ancient culture that believed that every soul was split in half, and each half was born into a different family. The soul became whole again only when it found and was reunited with its other half. That’s us, Trix - separate halves of the same soul. Without each other, we are incomplete."

Jim brightened. That’s exactly what he would say! He’d say it before they even reached the airport! She’d hear him speak those words and…

..she would laugh uncontrollably. She’d be so amazed that anyone could seriously spout such drivel that she wouldn’t be able to stop laughing. Her eyes would tear up and she’d get a cramp in her side. She’d lose control of the car, which would careen off of the road into a ditch. She wouldn’t be able to see, so the car would shoot up the other side of the ditch, slamming into the tree. Glass would fly, there’d be the sickening screech of crumpling metal and Trixie would be…Trixie would…

"Oh, for Pete’s sake," he said aloud, disgusted with himself. He shook his head, ridding himself of the disquieting images his imagination had conjured up. He’d better get control of himself or this trip really would be a disaster!

Jim stepped out the large front door, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light. He immediately saw Trixie’s small green car and moved to quickly open the passenger side door. "Hey, Trixie," he said as he stowed his suitcase in the backseat. Wow, she looks great, he thought, surreptitiously admiring her out of the corner of his eye. Her blond curls were pushed back tamely and the crisp white blouse and gray slacks she wore gave her the appearance of a calm, collected professional. She wore a tailored blazer that looked awfully warm for the weather. With a jolt he realized that she must be wearing it to conceal a gun! He swallowed suddenly, realizing finally that this was no game. It was deadly serious, and it was what Trixie did every day.

"Hi," she replied with a strained smile as he settled himself in the seat beside her. My life would be so much easier if he weren’t so good looking, she thought despondently. She had sneaked a glance at him as he settled his luggage. The green shirt he wore brought out the fiery lights in his hair and brightened his green eyes. The shirt and the blue jeans accentuated his muscular frame. Trixie had to look away and clear her throat to regain control of herself.

Jim fastened his seat belt, and Trixie pulled away down the long driveway. Soon they were on the highway, heading for the airport.

"Where are we flying out of?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

"La Guardia," she replied, her eyes on the road.

"Cool," he said. Cool? he thought to himself. I say that an airport is ‘cool?’

"It’s not as big as JFK, but it’s pretty big," she replied. "I must sound so inane, she thought disgustedly. I can’t believe I’m discussing comparative airport size.

The silence lengthened again. "Nice day," Jim commented finally. You go, you conversational Lothario. Knock her dead with your rapier wit.

"Nice and warm," she agreed. "A little humid though." I sound like someone’s grandmother. A little humid!

"I wonder what the weather will be like in Texas…" Oh, great question, Jimmy boy. It’s August. It’s Texas. What do you think it’s going to do, snow?

"The Weather Channel said it was really hot - about 100 degrees. But there’s no humidity there - it’s very arid." There I go again! Knock it off with the humidity, Beatrix!

"Huh." Oh man. She watched the Weather Channel to find out what it’s like there. I don’t even know what part of the state it’s in. She must think I’m the biggest slacker.

Again, a long silence fell. This time, it was Trixie who broke it. "So, you didn’t change your mind, huh?" Great. Not only have you shown a perfectly stunning grip of the obvious, but you sound like you’re disappointed he didn’t back out. Way to smooth things along.

"Nope." Nope? Nope!! What happened to disjointed souls? What happened to the seeking the half that makes you whole speech? The best you can do is NOPE??!! Great.

Another of those unbearable silences fell. At the same time, Trixie and Jim opened their mouths and began to speak.

"Jim, this is…."

"Trixie, I…"

Both stopped.

"Go ahead and…"

"You first…"

This broke the tension finally and they both began to laugh. "This is so silly," Trixie said with a giggle. Finally! Normal interaction!

Jim chuckled. "No kidding," he agreed ruefully. Ok. Good. Approaching normalcy.

"There’s no reason for us to be awkward with each other," Trixie declared firmly. "We’ve been friends for too long for that kind of thing." Oh jeepers, I hope that didn’t sound bossy.

Jim nodded. "I’m just a little nervous," he admitted. "I want this to work so badly." Is that too needy? Too much pressure?

"I do too," Trixie said softly. Oh shut up, Belden! You should have quit while you were ahead! Now you’re getting everyone’s hopes up again!

Jim brightened. "That’s good to hear," he admitted.

Trixie looked at him in some surprise, taking her eyes off of the road for a moment. "You thought I didn’t want it to work?"

"I didn’t know," he confessed.

Trixie smiled slowly. "I wouldn’t have let you come if I didn’t want it to work," she told him.

Jim sighed with relief and leaned back. "Good," he said. "We’re working for the same goal. Now we can stop being all weird with each other. Actually," he said, "I think we should forget about the whole purpose behind this trip."

"Forget it?" Trixie repeated, frowning.

Jim smiled. "Yeah. Let’s not worry about the whole deep meaning behind the trip," he said, dramatically accenting the words. "Show me how to be a detective. Let me be your partner."

"You want to be my partner?"

"Don’t sound so surprised," Jim grinned. "We’ve worked on cases before, remember? We’ve faced down some pretty bad dudes."

Trixie laughed at that. "Pretty bad dudes? You’ve been hanging out with the kids too long."

"So what do you say , Schoolgirl Shamus?" he asked teasingly. "Belden and Frayne, united against the bad guys?"

Trixie glanced almost shyly at him. "That sounds great," she said, smiling. "Just remember," she finished after a moment, "I’m the senior partner."

Jim laughed. "Ok, sir. I’m the flunky. I’m Watson, you’re Holmes. You’re Starsky, I’m Hutch. You’re…"

"Enough!" Trixie interrupted, laughing.

"Ok!" Jim agreed briskly. He leaned back in his seat and rubbed his hands together. "

"So, Ms. Shamus, what’s our first step when we get to Texas?"

Trixie grinned. "Belden and Frayne," she murmured under her breath. "Get ready, Texas – here we come!"

 

Chapter Five

"All right, Jim," Trixie said in a dangerously even tone. "I understand. You didn’t like the flight."

"Didn’t like the flight?!" Jim repeated incredulously. "For Pete’s sake, Trix, did you see that—"

"Jim, I saw everything you saw. I was sitting right next to you, remember?"

"And do you know how long that flight was delayed?"

"I was there too," Trixie reminded him again.

"Four hours! Sitting on the runway for four hours!" Jim continued in his list of grievances, oblivious to Trixie’s remarks.

Trixie sighed. Jim was normally the most even-tempered of men. But periods of enforced inactivity had pretty much the same affect on him that it did on her – it frustrated, infuriated and generally drove him nuts. It also put him in a pretty bad mood.

"This kind of thing comes with the territory," Trixie told him vaguely. "If you’re working in investigations, you have to expect that."

That at least was enough to make him stop airing his grievances aloud, as she had hoped. He trailed silently after her as she made her way to the baggage claim.

They stood together silently as the pieces of luggage fell down the chute to the circling belt beneath. Piece after piece of luggage fell. After several moments, Jim found his bag. They continued to wait for Trixie’s. They waited. And waited. And then they waited some more.

The last piece of luggage fell down. The belt continued to run, and the last few remaining bags on it were claimed by their owners. Soon Trixie and Jim were the only two remaining at the claim.

"Oh, no," Trixie said aloud. "No, no no. I refuse to believe this."

"It looks like they lost your suitcase," Jim said heavily.

Trixie shook her head and motioned quellingly at him. "Shh…" she warned. "It’s not lost. It’s waiting. Don’t jinx it."

"How old are you?" demanded Jim. "You’re afraid that this thing is jinxed?"

"Luggage claim…please give me my bag," Trixie said plaintively, staring at the chute the bags fell from. "Please?"

"I’m worried about you, Trixie Belden," Jim grumbled. "How long have you been talking to luggage claim stations?"

"Ignore him," Trixie added. "He doesn’t understand. Just give me my bag?"

More people began to gather together, as the next set of luggage from another plan began to process. The red light began flashing again, a loud buzzing sound emanated from the machinery, and bags began to fall. The first one down was Trixie’s battered blue suitcase.

With a crow of triumph, Trixie darted forward and gripped her bag. "Hah!" she shouted at Jim as she returned to his side. "I told you!"

Jim stared at her in amazement. "How did you…what in the world…?"

"You just have to be nice to it," Trixie said airily. Looking at Jim’s amazed face, she burst out laughing. "I figured that maybe it was stuck or something. I didn’t hex it or anything."

Jim shook his head. "You’re a weird woman," he complained, falling in to step behind her again as she began her trek toward the rental car counter.

Trixie stepped up to the rental car counter and smiled at the man behind it. "I have a reservation for Beatrix Belden, please."

"Let me just look that up, ma’am," the man said politely. He was quite young – probably no more than twenty or twenty-one, and smiled at Trixie with full appreciation for her good looks. His gaze grew bolder, much to Jim’s chagrin. He stepped up the counter and scowled at the young man, who, faced with 6’2" of scowling redhead, hurried away to check the reservation.

"Hey, Trix, can I ask a question?" frowned Jim. "In my apprentice capacity, that is."

"Fire away," replied Trixie.

"You’re renting this car under your own name?" he burst out.

Trixie nodded.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you using your own name?"

Trixie suddenly broke into a grin. "What, you think I should have used an alias?" she asked, amused.

"Well, it just seems to me that…" Jim floundered.

"I don’t have credit cards in any name but my own," she pointed out gently. "Or a driver’s license."

"But isn’t he going to know—"

"No one knows me in Texas," Trixie said. "And anyway, Gorgeous has never even heard of me. He wouldn’t know me from Adam."

"Who is gorgeous?" Jim interrupted. "What are you talking about?"

Trixie sighed. "Gorgeous is Al Piers, the man we’re looking for."

"His nickname is Gorgeous?"

"No, Jim." Trixie sighed again, suddenly badly missing Honey. "I just call him Gorgeous."

"Why do you call him Gorgeous? I thought you never met him!"

"I never have," Trixie agreed.

"Then why—"

"If you would hush for a moment, I would explain it to you," Trixie told him somewhat acerbically. She waited, and when Jim was silent, took a deep breath and continued. "I call anyone who is the main perp in any of my cases Gorgeous."

"Perp?" repeated Jim.

"Bad guy," explained Trixie briefly.

"I know what a perp is," Jim snapped. "But I think you’ve been watching too much NYPD Blue."

Trixie scowled at him. "Thanks so much for the opinion," she said icily.

"You’re welcome," Jim told her, equally frostily. "Why do you call them Gorgeous?"

Trixie shrugged. "Why not?" she said flippantly.

"That’s the best reason you can come up with?" Jim jeered. "Some methodology."

Trixie stared at him, her eyes gone suddenly blank. "You want to know the real reason?" she asked softly. "Fine. One of my professors in college advised that we do it. It helps you from becoming too personally connected to whomever you’re investigating. By the end of an investigation, Jim, you know everything about the person you’re investigating. You knot their name, their shoe size, their favorite vegetable. If you start calling them by name, you can form a connection with them. That can make things hard for you if something should go awry in the case."

"Awry?" Jim questioned.

"If you have to hit them, hurt them, shoot them," Trixie replied tersely. "It’s a lot easier to shoot someone you call by a stupid alias than it would be to be to shoot someone you think of by name."

Jim stared intently at her. "Have you ever shot anyone, Trix?" he asked.

Trixie shook her head. "Never needed to," she said briefly.

"Would you?"

"If they were going to shoot me," she replied honestly. Jim stared at her for a moment. Trixie turned away abruptly shocked by the look she had seen in Jim’s green eyes. The long was mingled – surprise, shock, and – most hurtful of all – a trace of horror.

I warned him she thought furiously, narrowing her eyes to quench the flood of tears that threatened. He can’t accept this. Why did I let myself in for more of this? I should just send him home now. He can get on the next plane back to New York.

She began to turn, to announce this idea to Jim. At that moment the young man returned to the counter. "Uh, we have no record of a reservation for Beatrix Belden, ma’am," he told her.

Trixie sighed. "I might have made it under Trixie," she suggested. "Though I usually don’t. Why don’t you check that? It’s T-R-I-X-I-E," she added helpfully.

The young man nodded, and turned away to the large bank of computers behind the counter.

"That’s my other question," Jim said, reminded by the man’s question.

"What is it?" she asked shortly. She was hurt by his reaction to her honest answer to his nosy question, and really didn’t want to talk to him. What does he think I’d do? she fumed silently. Stand there and let someone shoot me?

"Why are all the reservations in your own name?"

"This isn’t an undercover job," she said tersely.

"Why not?" Jim pressed.

Trixie whirled and glared at him. "And you say I watch too much TV!" she cried. "You’ve seen Mission Impossible one too many times! I’m not the CIA, Jim. My shoe doesn’t turn into a gun. My dental floss is just dental floss, not a high-tension rope. I don’t have billions of fake IDs just waiting for me. I have to go places as myself, and see what I can find out!"

"But what about when he hears you’re asking questions about him?" Jim pressed.

"He’s never heard of me," Trixie reiterated.

"What if it spooks him and he runs?"

Trixie sighed. "Do you really want a run-down on all this theory right now?"

"You can tell me in the car," Jim conceded.

"Ma’am, we have no record of your reservation," the boy said, appearing once again at the counter. Trixie turned and stared at him, "What do you mean, you have no record?" she cried. "I made reservations two days ago!"

"You aren’t listed, ma’am," the boy insisted.

"I have a confirmation number!" Trixie insisted. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the scrap of paper, thrusting it at the boy. He looked at the number, and sighed. "I was afraid of that," he said mournfully.

"Of what?" Trixie asked suspiciously.

"See how this number is set up?" the boy asked. "There’s three digits, then a dash, then six digits?"

"Yes," said Trixie, not seeing where this was going.

"So, the first three digits are the employee number of the employee who took the reservation."

"So?" Trixie pressed, growing impatient.

The boy sighed. "This employee was fired yesterday. He kept…" The boy faltered. "He kept losing reservations."

Trixie groaned. "Oh, no. Please tell me there’s something available?"

"I’ll have to get my manager."

Trixie sighed. "Wonderful," she muttered under her breath. "This trip keeps getting better and better."

Jim wisely said nothing.

A moment later a tall, broad-shoulder man who looked to be in his mid-fifties came up to the counter. "Billy here told me your problem, ma’am. I’m sorry about this inconvenience."

"It’s not your fault," Trixie said wearily. "But please tell me that there’s a vehicle available for me."

The manager winced slightly. "There’s the problem. We’re booked almost full up."

"Sir," Trixie began, putting on her best ‘hardened negotiator’ face, "it is imperative to the safety of a little girl that I am able to complete my business here. I need a car."

The large man sighed, unconsciously rubbing his hand over his belly. "We have almost nothing," he warned.

"I’ll take anything," Trixie vowed.

"The only thing I have is a station wagon. It has no air conditioning," the man warned. Jim groaned quietly behind Trixie.

"That’s fine," Trixie insisted, ignoring him. "I’ll take it."

Trixie signed the papers put before her, promising to take good care of the car, not to let it be stripped for parts, and to hand over her first-born if it got so much as scratched. The manager presented her with a key, and they were finally off.

"Great," muttered Jim as they exited the airport. "A four-hour delay, a living luggage chute, and a rental car in Texas with no AC."

"You’ll live," Trixie said heartlessly as she opened the door out. They stepped outside, and recoiled from the burst of moist heat that assaulted them.

"Yikes!" Jim yelped, lifting a hand to his already moist brow. "This is brutal."

Trixie sighed, fixed her grip on her bag, and moved toward the car. "Hush, Jim," she said clearly. "Don’t talk for a while."

Chapter Six

Jim obeyed Trixie’s order of silence until they were out of the city limits. As she reached the roadway they’d be on for quite some time, Trixie began to relax.

"So, how far do we have to go?" asked Jim abruptly.

"About two hundred fifty miles or so," Trixie replied.

"Two hundred fifty miles!" Jim repeated incredulously. "That’s a four-hour drive and then some! It’s already after eight!"

"No it isn’t," Trixie corrected mildly. "We moved time zones. Fix your watch."

"Trix, this is nuts. We should have stayed in Houston!"

"We’ll be fine," she said calmly. "I know the way."

Jim folded his arms across his chest and muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Trixie asked sharply.

"I said, sure you do," Jim repeated loudly.

Trixie turned to glare at him. "What do you mean by that?" she demanded.

"Well, you don’t exactly have a perfect record on this trip so far, do you Trix?" Jim asked challengingly.

"The plane and the car aren’t my fault," she insisted.

"Well, continuing on this late is your plan. You know we should have stayed in Houston. What if there’s no where to stay when we get there?"

Trixie shrugged. "We sleep in the car," she said. "No big deal."

"Oh yes, the car," Jim said sarcastically. "This luxury automobile."

"Not my fault," Trixie ground out through clenched teeth.

And it’s lovely sleeping weather, isn’t it?" Jim continued.

"You can hardly blame me for the weather," she pointed out tightly.

"True," he nodded. "Though I seen to recall that you said it would be all right, because it would be a dry heat." He waved his hand. "Doesn’t seem too dry to me, Trix. I’m practically swimming here."

"So it’s a little humid," she said defensively.

"A little?" he repeated incredulously. "I believe you said it would be ‘arid.’"

"Ok, so I was wrong about the humidity thing," she snapped. "It’s a state that has cacti. I thought that it would be arid. Sue me."

"Cacti. Oh look, Trix! See that over there! Must be a whole forest of cacti!"

Trixie looked in the direction of his pointing finger and saw a stretch of pine trees. "Ok. I was wrong. The arid area must be more west."

"I guess so," Jim said snidely.

Trixie slammed her foot onto the brake, abruptly slowly the car. She pulled it over to the side of the road and turned on the emergency flashers. Then she unbuckled her seat belt and turned toward Jim. "Why are you being so nasty?" she demanded hotly.

"Didn’t realize I was," said Jim. "It must be the aridity of the climate. I wish I had my canteen."

Trixie’s face flushed bright red and her hand ached to smack him. She clenched her fingers into a fist and willed herself to calm down.

"What’s the problem, Jim?" she demanded. "You’re not like this. You’ve never been this rude to me. Ever."

"I don’t know what you mean," Jim said icily.

Trixie lowered her head, feeling her eyes fill up with tears. "Do you want me to turn around and take you back to Houston?" she asked dully.

"You want to be rid of me that badly?" he asked in a remote voice.

Trixie looked up at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He stared straight ahead, and, though he was only a few feet from her, he suddenly seemed very far away.

"No," she said, struggling for the right words. "But you don’t seem to want to be here."

"Well, you don’t seem to want me so I guess we’re even."

"Why…why are you doing this?" she almost wailed.

"Why have you been treating me like you can barely tolerate my presence?"

"I haven’t!" Trixie insisted.

"Oh no?" Jim removed his seat belt and turned to face her. "In the last two days, there hasn’t been more than one or two minutes when I even felt that you actually liked me, much less had nay kind of feelings for me."

"How can you say that?" Trixie demanded.

"It’s true," Jim assured her quietly. He moved so that his face was only a few inches from Trixie’s.

Trixie felt the tears that had been threatening well up and overflow onto her cheeks.

"Trixie!" Jim exclaimed, clearly surprised to see her cry.

Now that the tears had escaped, Trixie couldn’t seem to stop them. She could only sit there, in the car – in the humidity – in the failing light as tears streamed down her face.

Jim reached out, hesitantly, and put his hands on her shoulders. Slowly, carefully her drew her toward him. With a low cry, she closed the distance between them in a quick rush, resting her head on his hard, muscular shoulder as her tears continued to flow. She cried all of the tears she hadn’t allowed herself to cry for over a year – tears of loneliness, loss and longing. She cried the tears she hadn’t shed when she heard Jim was going on a date with someone else. The tears that hadn’t escaped when she watched him laughing and joking with other people – and not her – at Mart and Diana’s wedding escaped now. And she finally acknowledged –and wept for – the fear of living her life and growing old without love; without Jim.

"Oh, Trix, don’t cry," Jim murmured against her hair. His hands stroked her back soothingly, willing her to calm down. After several tumultuous moments, she was finally able to calm down.

"Now, Trixie Belden," Jim began when her tears had faded to the occasional hiccough, "tell me what this is about."

"I’m confused," she said in a small voice, which she hated herself for using as soon as she heard it escape her.

"Me too, sweetheart," he muttered. "Me too."

"I don’t know how this is ever going to work. I mean, we have different pictures of the future, and…"

"Look, Trix," said Jim, pulling back so he could look at her. "There’s one picture of the future that I think we both have in common. That’s the picture of us, together. There are things to work out, sure. But those things are minor obstacles to be overcome. They’re not insurmountable impediments."

"But…"

"We’re human, Trix. Not everything’s going to be perfect. You’re torturing yourself because you want the fairy tale. Life isn’t a fairy tale. I’m not a knight on a charger," he told her, staring into her eyes. Suddenly, he grinned. "I’m a guy in a rusty station wagon with no AC. But you know what?" He smiled at her, and brushed the residue of her tears away from her eyes with his thumb. "If I get to sit in this crummy car with you, I’m happy. It’s all I need."

Trixie’s eyes filled with tears again. "Jim, that’s so…You’re so…" She couldn’t find words to express her emotion. "But what about…"

He reached out and put a gentle hand over her mouth. "No 'what abouts'," he said firmly. "We can figure anything out."

Trixie sighed. "I just want everything to be perfect."

"No one’s perfect," he repeated.

"Honey and Brian—"

"Even Honey and Brian aren’t perfect," he assured her. He grinned again. "I’m guessing Honey never told you about the time she threw the ice cube tray at Brian?"

"What?!" Trixie gasped.

Jim laughed. "I’m not surprised she didn’t tell you. She was probably embarrassed. Brian told me. It left quite an impression on him – in more ways than one," he added dryly.

"But what…"

"They were having a fight – because he wanted her to stop working at the agency as soon as they found out about the baby. She was getting ice out for their dinner, and he said something that made her angry, and she just winged it at his head. Hit him, too. Broke the tray."

Despite herself, Trixie giggled at the image of her serene best friend lobbing an ice cube tray toward the head of her calm, composed husband.

"But they worked it out," Jim pointed out, pressing to the heart of his argument. "And we can too."

Trixie sighed. "I want to, Jim," she confessed. "But…"

"No buts," he told her firmly.

"No," she replied equally firmly. "There is a but. I’m on a case, Jim. I can’t make major life decisions now. I have to get this little girl home."

Jim nodded. "All right," he said heavily. "But no more hostility."

"No more," Trixie agreed with a smile.

"It seems to me we already had this conversation today," Jim remarked whimsically.

Trixie grinned. "Maybe this time it’ll sink it," she suggested.

"I hope so," Jim grinned.

They sat there for a few moments. The sun was fading fast by this point.

"Well, we should probably get moving," Trixie commented.

"Trixie?" Jim said softly. She turned her head toward him, and his hand gently caught her jaw. He drew her face toward him, and their lips met in a soft kiss. It slowly deepened, and Jim pulled Trixie into his embrace.

Several moments later, Trixie pulled away. "We’re right on the road," she half-gasped in a scandalized tone, fumbling with the ignition and her seat belt and anything else she could play with to distract herself.

Jim blinked, then shook his head as if to clear it. "We should move on," he agreed. "But, Trix?"

She turned toward him again.

"There’s still a lot between us. It’s useless to try and deny it."

Trixie nodded slowly. She started the car, and moved it back onto the road.

"So, can I bring up a question from earlier?" Jim asked after several moments of silence.

"Sure," Trixie said. She wondered how he could sound so normal. She could still feel her heart fluttering in her chest from the after-effects of that kiss. For some reason that she didn’t quite understand, she wanted to wait until this case was over to make any concrete decision about her future with Jim. She wanted to show him what she did, and that she was darned good at it. She wanted him to be proud of her work, and not worry about it or belittle it. That understanding from him was very important to her – she needed it. But it seemed that his presence was going to be very distracting, and she would have a hard time keeping her distance from him until the case was over.

"So, why is it ok to use your own name?" Jim was asking, returning to their earlier conversation in the airport. It amazed him that she was able to drive. He just wanted to pull her back into his embrace and keep kissing her, forever.

"Well, like I said, he doesn’t know I am a PI," Trixie began.

"What if he finds out? Won’t he run away?"

"It actually doesn’t matter that much, as long as I can get an eyewitness that he was in the town."

"Why is that?" Jim frowned.

"Because then I have his mom up on an obstruction charge, since she denied she’d seen him," Trixie explained, warming to her topic. She was pleased by the thoughtful questions Jim was asking her, and by his easy acceptance of her explanations. "There will be lots of charges in this one, since technically this is a case of kidnapping across state lines. Then one of two things will happen. If Gorgeous is a good guy deep down, despite the fact that he kills his buddies, probably beat his wife and kidnapped his own daughter, he’ll turn himself in to save dear old mum from going to the slammer."

"What’s the other alternative?" asked Jim, amused by her recitation.

"The other, much more likely possibility, is that Mum will decide that Sonny Boy isn’t worth protecting and she’ll tell us where he is to keep herself out of the slammer. And remember," Trixie warned, "all of this will only happen if he gets spooked and runs, which isn’t really very likely."

Jim nodded. "So, what’s the first step when we get to Tumbleweed?"

"We find a motel room and go to sleep," Trixie joked. "Then, tomorrow, we show Gorgeous’ picture off and ask everyone in town if they’ve seen him."

"And if they have?" Jim asked.

"Then we go find him," Trixie said gleefully. "And we take that little girl home to her mama."

"You think he’ll just give her to you?" Jim asked incredulously.

Trixie shook her head. "This may get tricky," she admitted, her cheeks flushing and her lips curving in an unconscious smile at the thought.

Jim regarded her seriously. "You really do love this stuff, don’t you?" he asked quietly.

Trixie nodded, turning her head briefly to glance at him. "I couldn’t do anything else," she said simply.

"Well, then, P.I. Belden," Jim said. "Do your thing. And keep on doing it."

Trixie drew her brows together uncertainly. "You mean…"

"I mean I’m anxious to see you in action. You’ve impressed me already," he admitted.

Trixie turned to look at him again, and, this time, her smile was breathtaking.

Chapter Seven

"Oh yeah!" crowed Trixie, allowing her fist to pump the air in a gesture rather more appropriate to a football fan that a professional investigator. "Gorgeous, you are going down!"

Jim grinned as he watched her antics, despite the weariness he felt. He had been following Trixie around the town of Tumbleweed for five hours, in the heat, as she talked to – he was certain – a good half of the population of the state of Texas. She had flashed the photograph Eileen Piers had given her of her ex-husband, asking people if they had seen him recently.

The response she had received had surprised him. With a native northerner’s preconceptions of southern behavior, he had expected the townspeople to band together against the "Yankee." However, when Trixie had explained the reason for her interest, most people had very helpful. No one had been able to tell them much more than that they had seen Piers, however, until they walked into a small, dingy business on a back street.

The shop was a small grocery market, just the type Jim could remember from his youth, before the major shopping chains began taking over the world. The aisles were dim and, truth be told, rather dusty. Merchandise was piled in seemingly random, haphazard piles; canned peas next to motor oil next to sugary doughnuts. However difficult it might be for the unwary consumer to find anything, Jim was sure that the shopkeeper knew to a fraction of an inch where everything was located. In fact, after meeting the woman, Jim was fairly certain that she knew everything that went on in Tumbleweed.

Trixie had approached the iron-haired woman with a smile. "Hi, my name is Trixie Belden. I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me."

The woman had stared narrowly at the blond girl with the northern accent. "State your business, girlie, I haven’t got all day," she barked.

Trixie hid a smile and handed over her photo of Al Piers. "I would like to know if you’ve seen this man," she said calmly.

The woman pulled down the pair of half-spectacles sitting on her head down to the bride of her nose and squinted through them at the photo. After a moment, she handed it back to Trixie. "Yes, I have," she said decisively.

Trixie smiled. "You have?" she repeated, her tone encouraging.

"Of course," the storekeeper repeated testily. "That’s the Piers boys. I’ve known him all his fool life. He’s been trouble since the day he was born. What’s a little girl like you doing with the likes of him?"

"It’s important that I find Mr. Piers," Trixie replied vaguely. "Have you seen him recently?"

The woman crossed her arms over her bosom and scowled at Trixie. "I’ll not tell you until you state your business," she refused firmly.

Trixie frowned back. "My business is with Mr. Piers," she replied, equally firmly.

"Then, miss, you’ll hear nothing from me."

The two women glared at each other, almost identical expressions of stubborn insistence on their faces.

"It’s very important," Trixie tried again.

"I’m sure it is," replied the other disinterestedly.

Finally, Trixie sighed. "Mr. Piers has disappeared, with his five-year old daughter. The girl’s mother is frantic. I’m trying to find them."

Jim noticed right off that she made no mention of the divorce, or of any possible charges against Al Piers. Though Trixie didn’t lie, she had made it sound as though a terrified wife and mother had lost her husband and daughter, and was trying to get them back.

Much to both Trixie and Jim’s surprise, the woman turned red, and begun to stammer in her indignation. "You mean to tell me that that…that... scoundrel Piers took that little girl away from her mama?" she demanded in tones of outrage.

"I…I didn’t say that ma’am," Trixie hedged.

"Don’t fool with me, dearie," came the hard-voiced advice. "I’ve known that young scamp all his life. I probably know his business better than he does. I know that that little wife of his left him. More power to her, I say! But his mama is still bitter over it. She says no god-fearing woman would leave her man. But Old Scratch himself made that man, and that’s a fact!"

Trixie fumbled for a reply, but the woman behind the counter continued without any encouragement. "Yes indeed, if any man deserved to be left more than Al Piers, my name isn’t Edna Simmons! And now you say that he’s taken the little girl away?"

Trixie gave up all pretense of discretion. "Yes," she said simply. "He was supposed to be taking her on a three-week vacation. They’ve been missing for months. The mother is frantic."

"And well she should be, poor thing," Edna snorted. "I wouldn’t trust that man with a yeller dog, much less a child!"

Trixie opened the steno notebook she was carrying and made a few notes. "Mrs. Simmons," she began, trying to steer the interview back on track, "can you tell me when you last saw Mr. Piers?"

"He was in this very store not two days ago," she avowed. "He came to buy supplies for his mama. Not that Martha couldn’t come in on her own," she added, sidetracking herself with what was obviously a grievance of long standing. "How that woman carries on! She likes to fancy herself an invalid, but she’s strong as a horse. She’ll outlive us all!"

"And you’re certain that he is staying with his mother?" Trixie asked tactfully.

Edna nodded vigorously, her knot of gray hair wobbling. "He said to me, ‘Edna, ma’s dyin’ again. She needs the usual.’"

"What’s the usual?" Jim asked, diverted. He wished the words back as soon as he had spoken, apologetic for interfering in Trixie’s investigation. She didn’t seem upset though, and Mrs. Simmons spared his a disinterested glance as she replied.

"Whiskey!" she answered vehemently.

"Piers was here to get whiskey for his mother?" Trixie confirmed, scribbling vigorously.

"My whiskey’ll cure anything," Edna insisted proudly.

"Mrs. Simmons, do you know where I might find Mr. Piers?" Trixie asked.

"Martha’s place is out on the old Hoskins Road. It’s fallen to rack and ruin since Jack Piers died – I’ve told Martha time and again she should sell, or get some man out to—"

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Simmons," Trixie interrupted. "Would you mind giving me your address, in case I need to ask you any questions."

"Of course, dearie." In the few minutes they had been in the store, Jim had realized that the old lady’s crotchety exterior was a sham, and the woman was falling – as did everyone else in the world – under the spell of Trixie’s unconscious charm.

"But you don’t mean to go out there by yourself, do you?" Edna asked sharply, after she had supplied Trixie with her address. "That boy is mean as they come. A little thing like you shouldn’t…"

"Don’t worry, Mrs. Simmons, there won’t be a problem," Trixie assured her confidently.

"Well, at least take your young man," Mrs. Simmons urged.

"Everything will be fine," Trixie repeated, blushing slightly. "I really have to thank you, Mrs. Simmons. You’ve been more helpful than I can say."

"Well, what else is a body to do?" Edna demanded comfortably. "No child should be taken from her mama – especially by a snake like Piers."

"One more thing," Trixie said before they left. "It would be best if you didn’t—"

"Open my big mouth?" Edna finished. She let out a rusty laugh. "Hold your peace, child, and I’ll hold mine. I never seen you." With that she turned around, and ducked behind the curtain into an unseen room at the back of the store.

"Well, what now?" Jim asked Trixie after she had ceased her subdued victory dance.

"Well, it seems we need to find the old Hoskins road," Trixie replied lightly.

"Do we just walk out there and ask for the kid?" Jim asked.

Trixie shook her head. "I’m going to find the police in this town and see if any of them are willing to go with us," she told him. "They might not be," she warned. "But it’s best to have help if they’re willing."

"How can you take the little girl?" Jim asked. "Couldn’t her father say you are kidnapping her?"

Trixie shook her head. "I have papers from the state of New York authorizing me to remove the child from her father’s custody and return her to her mother’s," she explained. "I’m sort of her temporary guardian from the time I find her until I can return her to her mother."

"So he has to give her over?"

"Well, legally, yes," Trixie said. "But we aren’t dealing with the most law-abiding of men here. That’s why I’d really like to get some backup with us."

They had been heading toward the police station as they talked, and as Trixie finished they reached it. It was a small, wood-framed building, with blistering white paint and an American flag flying outside. They walked up the sagging steps and entered.

A man sat behind a large wooden desk, typing on a surprisingly streamlined computer. Jim noticed that he used the two-finger hunt and peck method of typing. He looked as they entered, his weather-beaten face expressionless.

"Hi," Trixie said in greeting. "My name is Trixie Belden. I’m looking for whoever is in charge here," she told him, handing over her business card.

The man dropped her card on the desk in front of him without looking at it. "Little girl, I’m the only one here," the man told her wearily. "That makes me the one in charge."

"You’re the sheriff?" she asked, a slight hesitation in her tone.

The man sighed impatiently. "I’m Sheriff Riker," he said shortly. "Who did you expect, Zane Grey? Wyatt Earp? Sorry, I left my tin star at home."

"That’s quite all right," Trixie said coolly. "I’ll take your word for it without the proof." She proceeded to tell him of her errand in Tumbleweed, finishing with her request for help.

Sheriff Riker picked up the previously disregarded business card and examined it. "P.I.," he read. "So you’re one of them free-lance cowboys, who want to take law and order into their own hands."

"I’m licensed by the state of New York," she said evenly.

"What’s the matter, little girl?" he asked insultingly. "Couldn’t handle the training at the police academy?"

Jim winced, waiting for the explosion.

"Actually, I trained at Quantico," Trixie said evenly, naming the elite facility of the FBI.

Riker raised his eyebrows. "Quantico?" he said disbelievingly.

Trixie nodded.

"You’re with the Feds?" he asked.

"I declined the position I was offered with the Bureau."

Jim looked with quickly concealed surprise at the woman standing beside him. He had known she had spent time at Quantico, but he had had the impression that it had been through a program at her college. He had no idea that she had actually been offered a position with the FBI.

"Why?" the sheriff asked, frankly curious.

"I didn’t like my posting," Trixie said briefly.

"What was it?"

"Five years in Spokane," she replied.

"What’ve you got against Spokane?" Riker asked, leaning back in his seat.

"Nothing. There was nothing about it, though, that made me want to spend five years there."

"Little lady, I find it rather hard to believe that you trained with the Feds at Quantico."

Trixie stepped up to the sheriff’s desk and pulled his phone toward her. Without asking permission, she hit the speakerphone button and dialed a long series of numbers. After a few rings, an automated voice came on the line.

"You have reached the offices of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. If you know your party’s extension, please dial it at this time."

"FBI offices," Trixie said aloud, staring directly at Riker. She picked up the receiver and held it to her ear, shutting off the speakerphone as she dialed a four-digit extension. After a few seconds she said, "Agent Carlson, please."

Jim looked from Riker to Trixie as she waited for the agent to come to the phone. She looked perfectly calm and composed, but he read her anger in the tightness of her jaw and the hard look in her blue eyes. Riker looked a little apprehensive, but mostly irritated.

"Agent Carlson," Trixie said briskly into the phone. "This is New York State Private Investigator Beatrix Belden."

Riker and Jim couldn’t hear the reply on the other end of the phone. "Oh-la-la," the federal agent drawled. "Using your real name, eh? You must be in trouble."

"No, sir," she said crisply.

"Ah, there’s someone there," he deduced. "What is it?"

"I am presently involved in a case in Tumbleweed, Texas. The town law enforcement would like to check my credentials. Would you be willing to speak to Sheriff Riker?"

"Oh, put him on, Trix," Carlson grumbled. "If you’d stayed with the Bureau like you should have, you wouldn’t have to play these B.S. games."

Without speaking, Trixie handed the phone to Sheriff Riker. Her face was expressionless, and he looked suspiciously at her as he took the phone.

"Riker here," he said, his eyes not leaving Trixie’s face. He was silent for quite a while, listening. "Uh-huh," he said. "Yes ... No ... Yes, sir ... Thank you." Red-faced, he handed the phone back to Trixie.

"Well, Belden, that was fun," Carlson grumbled. "Are there any other small-town cops you want me to impress?"

"No, sir," she replied evenly, conscious of her audience.

"Waste of talent," Carlson muttered. "So, now are we even for that little scrape you bailed me out of when bailed me out of when we were training at Quantico?"

"Not even close, sir," Trixie said mildly.

The agent groaned. "Fine. Call sometime when you can talk, Trix. Let me know how the case goes."

"Will do," Trixie replied. "Thank you for your help," she added, and put down the phone.

She raised a silent eyebrow at Riker.

"Well, I might not be Wyatt Earp, but from what the fed says it seems you’re Annie Oakley," the sheriff drawled.

"Will you be able to accompany me to the Piers home?" she asked, ignoring the bait.

Riker sighed. "I have been asked to accompany you as a personal favor to Special Agent Carlson," he told her.

"You are under no obligation to accompany me," Trixie clarified. "I am not trying to create the impression that I am affiliated with the FBI."

Riker stared assessingly at her for a long moment. "You never know but that it might be convenient to me someday to have a Fed who owes me a favor," he mused. Trixie was silent. Riker sighed and shook his head. "My only deputy won’t be in for two hours. Meet me here then and I’ll go with you then."

Trixie nodded and turned to leave. "Detective Belden," he called after her. She turned, and he gestured toward Jim. "Who’s that?" he asked.

"My assistant, James Frayne," she said briefly.

"Oh really?" he drawled, his tone laden with innuendo. "Your assistant?"

Jim searched her face for signs of her usual telltale blush, but saw nothing but a narrowing of her eyes. "Mr. Frayne is considering a career in investigations," she lied smoothly. "He is accompanying me on this case."

"Are you bringing him with you to Miz Piers’?" Riker frowned.

Trixie nodded. "Don’t worry, Riker," she said as she slammed out of the door. "If he gets hurt he’ll sue me, not you."

Feeling somewhat awkward, Jim walked silently beside her until they reached their hotel. The rooms all had two double beds, so they had gotten one room to share. Trixie went in and sat down at the little table. She opened her notebook, scowling furiously at the pages as she scanned all of the interview notes she had taken that day. When she reached the end, she took a pen and recorded the interview with the sheriff. Finally, she slammed the book closed, leaned back and sighed.

"Trix?" Jim asked tentatively after a few moments.

"Yes?" she replied. Jim noticed that she sounded tired.

"What was all that with the FBI agent about?"

Trixie grinned. "Sheriff Riker and I were having a contest to see who was more macho," she said.

Jim grinned back. "Who won?" he asked teasingly.

"Well, I was way ahead until he hinted that I was bringing my boy toy along with me on an investigation," Trixie answered, amused. "That scored him a few points."

"Who was the person you talked to?" Jim asked curiously.

Trixie laughed. "FBI Special Agent Mark Carlson," she recited. "He and I were in Quantico together. He’s done pretty well."

"Trix, can I ask you something?"

"Fire away," she said easily.

"Were you really offered a position with the FBI?"

She looked at him. "Yes," she replied simply. She grinned faintly. "I was offered one again today, in fact."

"I thought you were just at Quantico for a college course."

Trixie sighed. "It was a special program, which drew students from law enforcement programs all around the world. The stated aim of the program was like I told everyone - to train non-FBI personnel in Bureau methods. Spread the techniques around."

"What was the unstated aim?"

"To pull the cream of the crop out of the program for the Bureau," she grinned. "Kind of a hands-on recruitment program."

"Did they recruit all of you?" he asked.

Trixie shook her head. "Mark and I were the only ones in our group offered a position," she said quietly, no hint of boastfulness in her tone."

"How many were in the program?"

"Seventy."

"How many applied?"

Trixie looked slightly uncomfortable but answered honestly. "A few thousand."

He groaned, and placed his head in his hands. "You mean all this time I have been going on and on about how I worried about you protecting yourself, and you were one the top two law enforcement recruits in the country?"

"Not necessarily the top two," she said. "Not everyone applied for the program, and not everyone who accepted could do it, and not everyone who did was – "

"Trixie…" Jim said, a hint of exasperation in his tone. "Don’t worry about saving my ego. I’ve been making a fool out of myself, haven’t I?"

"You’ve been overly concerned," she said diplomatically.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" he demanded.

She shrugged. "It’s not easy to work into ordinary conversation. ‘By the way, did I tell you how cool and tough I am?’ It sounds like bragging. And…well…I wanted you to trust me without knowing all that."

He sighed. There was silence for a few moments. "Why aren’t you with the FBI?" he asked abruptly.

She shrugged vaguely and didn’t reply.

"Were you really being posted to Spokane?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, I just told Riker that to shut him up," she admitted.

"Where were you posted to?"

Her eyes took on a strange expression, dreamy and a little wistful. "D.C.," she said.

"What would you have done?"

"I would have been quartered there and been flown around the country - and the world - to wherever I was needed," she said simply. "Serial killer investigations, cults, wars…cool stuff."

Jim’s mouth pursed in a whistle. "Why didn’t you take it?" he asked again.

She shrugged vaguely. "There were a lot of reasons."

"Such as?"

"Well, I didn’t really want to be shuttled all over the place all the time. Plus, I didn’t really want to work cases that are that high profile. And Honey was counting on me to start the agency, and Moms and Dad really wanted me to move home…" She trailed off.

"Any other reasons?" he pressed.

She didn’t answer, but her cheeks pinked.

"Did it have…was I…Did you give up an opportunity like that for me?" he burst out.

Now her blush was much stronger. "You were part of it," she admitted reluctantly. "But I really did want to run my own agency. I wanted to take my own cases, decide what I would do, answer to myself. There’s too much politics involved in Bureau work and I’m not a good politician."

He sighed and shook his head. "You would have been chasing serial killers, and I was worrying about your safety on your cases at home," he said dismally.

Trixie smiled. "Serial killers are not the only dangerous people," she pointed out reasonably. "You were right. Some of my cases at home were not exactly safe."

He was silent for a moment. "So, who was that agent you called again?" he asked casually.

She smiled. "Mark Carlson," she repeated. "He owes me."

"Why?" he asked curiously.

Trixie laughed. "We were at Quantico together. His brother came to visit him and brought an entire keg of beer. Almost the whole thing went into Mark. So, the next day, he was a mess. We were supposed to go on this huge endurance test mission, and there was no way he could do it. If he failed it, or if they had found out that he’d been drinking, he’d have been thrown out of the program, and he’d worked his whole life to get into the FBI. So, I pretended to sprain my ankle on the first mile, and convinced the guy in charge to let Mark take me home." She laughed. "It is going to take him years to pay that back."

Trixie smiled over the memory, and hoped fervently that Jim didn’t ask her anything more about Mark. While they were both in college, she and Jim had not been involved with each other - there wasn’t even so much as an ‘understanding’ between them. So, being free to date, she had been involved in a rather serious relationship with Mark. In fact, she had been half-convinced that she would end up marrying him. She had been on the verge of accepting both his proposal and the offer from the FBI when she had realized that she didn’t love Mark, and was only with him as a substitute for the relationship she had subconsciously wanted to be in with Jim. That was why she had decided to move home and see what would happen there. In the last year, she had many times been very tempted to return to Mark and the FBI, but had always managed to realize that she if she did she would be using both of them as a replacement for what she really wanted. Both Mark and the Bureau deserved better than that.

Jim knew that there had been a man in her life other than him. They had leveled with each other about their romantic histories when they started dating, but had mentioned no names. Trixie hoped they could keep it that way.

Alas, she was doomed to disappointment. "Was he the man you were…involved with in college?" he asked.

Trixie sighed. "Yes," she admitted.

"Oh," Jim said. He seemed to be digesting this news. "And he offered you a job with the FBI?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Are you going to take it?" he asked quietly.

Trixie rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Of course not," she said emphatically.

Jim looked up at her. "Why not?" he asked quietly.

"Do you think I’ve spent all this time developing the Belden-Belden Investigative Agency to leave it and run off to the FBI?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah. The Agency." Jim’s voice was dull.

Trixie looked at him, and felt an aching in her chest. It amazed her that someone so handsome, so smart, so dedicated could have so much self-doubt. He thought the only thing that kept her Sleepyside was the agency? Couldn’t he see that he was what kept her there? As much as she loved the town, her family and friends, she was forced to admit to herself that she would probably have left long ago if it weren’t for him. She felt an odd sort of indecision as she stared at him. Would it be smart to tell him that? Wouldn’t it just be making herself vulnerable, opening herself up for future hurt?

It was Jim himself who made the decision for her. He was thinking of what a mess he had made of things. All that blustering he had done, and she was practically a female Rambo! Jim was dully sure that he had messed up hardcore. The Agency was holding her in Sleepyside now, but would that serve forever? Honey was out now with the baby, and who knew when she would return? She and Brian wanted a large family, and as Honey drifted away from their work, Trixie might not feel the responsibility to her best friend any more. And that suave FBI guy that she had loved before was waiting for her, with a high-prestige job where she would be challenged and stimulated, where no one would cast aspersions on her abilities. It was only a matter of time until she realized that and she headed out of town for greener pastures. Jim heaved an unconscious sigh, and looked so dejected that Trixie felt the need to comfort him.

She moved over and sat beside him on the bed. He looked at her in surprise, and she cupped his chin in one hand, determined to keep his gaze focused on her. "Jim, listen," she said in a firm voice. "Why do you think I am still in Sleepyside? It’s not for Wimpy’s burgers, great as they are."

Jim didn’t answer, and she went on. "It’s you," she conceded. "I can’t get you out of my mind. I can’t live with you; I can’t live without you. I’ve tried," she admitted. "but it’s never worked."

His face lit up. "You mean…" he began.

"I don’t know," she said. "I just know…I just know that I can’t leave and not see you. I don’t know what’s going to happen," she told him honestly, "but I know I can’t walk away from you."

He reached for her and pulled her against his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her head and they sat silently together. "I think we’re stuck with each other," he said after a moment.

Trixie giggled, and he felt the vibration against his neck. "How romantic," she said.

He leaned back and smiled down at her. "You want romance?" he asked.

"Not now," she said, looking around at the shabby motel room. "This setting is not conducive to romance."

"But when we get back to New York…"

"We will talk," she said firmly. "Remember, you still have to see if you can handle seeing me in action. Maybe you’ll decide you can’t live with it after all."

Jim looked into her blue eyes, and suddenly pulled her close to him again. He kissed her long and thoroughly, and when he pulled away those clear eyes were clouded with passion. "And you remember this," he said in a husky voice. "Whatever problems may exist, we have this between us." He kissed her again. This time, when he pulled away, her eyes remained closed. "And I think that that may prove to be impossible to ignore."

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