Devil Plays With Fire — Adrienne DeWolfe

COMING SOON: Don't Miss the Next Sassy, Sexy Adventure with Pinkerton Agent Sadie Michelson and Her Gunslinging Lover, Cass.

Spring, 1884

Pinkerton struck a match and squinted, puffing his stogie to life. “That reminds me.” He blew out the flame. “Are your guns still for hire?”

Cass folded his arms across his chest. “You sure got some nerve, Flatfoot.”

“Yep.”

“Maybe I didn't make it clear what I think of you and your army of scum-sucking weasels.”

Pinkerton blew a leisurely ring of smoke. “Things change.”

“As far as I know, hell didn't freeze over.”

The Scot shrugged. For a long moment, he appeared to be studying the proliferation of ivory blossoms in the dogwood trees, the colorful carpet of periwinkles and sun drops beneath Pancake's hooves; the majestic circle of conifer-laden mountains, towering above Cass's head.

“Blue Thunder Valley sure is pretty country,” Pinkerton drawled. “Peaceful. Quiet. I can see why a man might come here to mend his heart.”

“My heart's just fine,” Cass snapped.

“Course, there's not much in the way of excitement,” Pinkerton continued in that same grating tone of conciliation. “No Injuns on the war path. No outlaws jumping stage coaches. No mobsters running opium dens.”

“I got plenty to do around here, Pinkerton.”

“Is that a fact?”

“I'm training my horse to fend off road agents.”

As if on cue, Pancake hiked his tail and let one rip.

“I can see that,” the Scot said dryly.

Cass's cheeks flamed. “Good. Then you can see I'm busy. So scram.” He grabbed Pancake's halter to lead him away.

“Too busy to earn a $10,000 reward?” Pinkerton challenged.

Cass scowled. “I told you,” he snapped over his shoulder,“I -- ”

The protest died on his lips. In Pinkerton's hands was a crumpled murder warrant. “WANTED,” the parchment screamed. Beneath the usual list of aliases was a sketch of a big-breasted outlaw with a saucy smile and daring décolletage. Below the murder suspect's chin was printed, “$10,000 Reward. Deliver prisoner to the nearest Consulate of Mexico for extradition.”

The breath whistled past Cass's teeth.

That international felon, in all her buxom glory, was Sadie!