Brent
Gabe came into my office and, instead of flopping in one of the chairs facing the desk, shut and locked the door. He walked around the desk and grinned down at me. No sooner had I stood than he grabbed me into a breathtaking kiss.
When he released me, I said, “Ah declah, suh, this is most surprisin’. To what do I owe the honuh of such a greetin’?”
I’d always thought he looked a little like Clark Gable, and at that moment he seemed a lot like Rhett Butler.
“Forget the Scarlett act, Dr. Collins. I’m here to ask whether you’d like to be Watson to my Holmes tonight as we set a little trap for our nocturnal malefactor.”
Changing personae, I replied, “Harrumph. Indubitably, Holmes, I should be happy to assist.”
He released me and sat down.
“I don’t want to delay catching this bastar
