A Fortune's Children's Wedding (10 page)

“Now I'll have to ask Mara to drive me down here to pick up my car on the way to the hospital tomorrow.”

“Do you keep office hours or work hospital shifts?”

The question diverted her. “I have my own practice and schedule patient appointments from nine to five on weekdays. I do hospital rounds before nine to visit any patients of mine on the maternity floor, and of course, I'm on call after hours and weekends if one of the mothers goes into labor.”

“What about home deliveries? Don't midwives advocate them?”

“There is no set policy. If the mother wants a home delivery and there is no apparent risk to either her or the baby, I'll agree to it. But I always consult with both obstetricians and pediatricians before I give the go-ahead.”

“Having a baby at home strikes me as nuts,” Flynt
declared. “One of my crazier cousins did it. Had her husband and two older kids in the bedroom with her to see the baby being born. Hell, I think she invited the entire neighborhood in to watch.”

“I assume the whole event was videotaped?”

“You assume correctly.” He slid his fingers to her waist and gave a light retaliatory squeeze.

Their flash of shared humor was all too brief. Angelica stiffened, and Flynt dropped his hand at the same moment. Neither said a word.

 

Flynt's rental car, a gray Ford Taurus, was parked along the street nearly two blocks from Swank. A few drops of rain were just beginning to fall as she slipped into the passenger side. The raindrops were splattering harder against the windshield as Flynt settled in the driver's seat.

Angelica stared at his hands on the wheel, at his long well-shaped fingers. Compulsively, her eyes lifted to trace the strong line of his jaw, the sensual shape of his lips. She could almost feel the touch of his mouth on hers, of his strong hands holding her.

Arousal curled hot and deep within her. She shivered and squeezed her legs together. Oh, God, she wanted him. If he touched her again, she couldn't be sure she'd resist him. She certainly couldn't depend on a fortuitous page to interrupt them….

Her heart jumped in panic.

“Tonight turned out to be a big waste of time.” Her tone was sharp, defensive.

She had to make him mad enough to stay away from her, and a blow to his male ego would be just the trick.
“I've spent more worthwhile evenings sitting alone watching the Weather Channel with the cat. Too bad I didn't do that tonight. At least I wouldn't be out in this thunderstorm.”

As if on cue came a rumble of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning.

“It's a night for regrets, huh? Then don't forget your big date tonight. What a shame you had to cut it short to meet your own father,” Flynt retorted caustically. What troubled him greatly was the streak of pure undiluted jealousy surging through him at the thought of her with another man.

Angelica suppressed a snicker, recalling the dinner date she'd invented. And the professional inquisitor with his unfailing memory had bought her story? Well, why not play along?

“Yes, what a shame. My date was very understanding, though. I told him I wasn't entertaining any illusions about Daddy Dearest. Good thing I wasn't. Brandon skipped out as if I were a bounty hunter ready to turn him in.”

Flynt turned toward her. Though he'd inserted the key in the ignition, he made no attempt to start the car.

“Angelica, try not to take it personally. Brandon was nervous about meeting you. I think that seeing you affected him more than he ever dreamed it would.”

“I already told you there is no need to apologize for Brandon, and there's no need to make excuses for him, either.” Angelica played with the strap of her purse. “Truth be told, I expected it of him. Brandon's behavior is entirely consistent with the other men who made
Mama pregnant. All of them leave, none of them want anything to do with fatherhood.”

Her observation disturbed him because it was true. Because he knew himself what it felt like to be unwanted by a parent. “Angelica—”

“It doesn't matter. I'm an adult and I wasn't looking for a father, anyway. Now that Brandon Fortune and I have met, he can go back to California or wherever, and I'll gladly get on with my life.”

“It's not that simple,” growled Flynt. He wished it were. But Brandon was supposed to stay and get to know his daughter, and Flynt knew keeping Brandon in Alabama meant spending more time with Angelica himself. His body surged with hot anticipation…that was immediately followed by an impulse to pack up Brandon and catch the next plane out of the city.

When merely the thought of the sexual chemistry between him and Angelica had such an intense physical effect on him, he knew he was treading in very dangerous waters indeed.

But he couldn't run away from her. Not when there was a chance that Angelica might be in danger. The blackmail note threatening her, which they'd all dismissed as the idiotic but harmless idea of either Brandon or Romina, might be tied to the custody-thwarting underground, a sinister possibility indeed.

Furthermore, not to be discounted, was the multi-million-dollar contract for his company that Kate Fortune dangled as bait. Certainly no minor incentive.

And all threats or incentives aside, what kind of man ran away because a dark-eyed woman with the face of an angel and a curvy little body could tie him in knots
with merely a glance? A coward, a man with no pride or self-control.

Certainly not Flynt Corrigan.

He stared at the rain pounding on the windshield, turning the streetlights into watery blurs. “I think both you and Brandon need to give each other another chance, Angelica.”

“That must be the tone you used when you were about to read a suspect his Miranda rights,” Angelica mocked him. “What's next? A choke hold till I agree to meet
Dad
again?”

“I never had to resort to choke holds.” Flynt attempted a benign smile.

“And now you seamlessly morph into Good Cop, the perpetrator's pal.”

Flynt's benign smile faltered. She could be seriously maddening. He resisted the urge to respond in kind to her smart-alecky retorts, made himself stay focused on the issue at hand.

How many separate attempts at father-daughter bonding would be enough for Kate to decide he'd done his part? Unfortunately Brandon's getaway and Angelica's intransigence made even a second meeting between the pair a seemingly hopeless proposition.

“If Brandon didn't feel deeply about being your father, he wouldn't have bolted, Angelica. He would've stayed and talked the glib Hollywood patter he uses when the person he's with means nothing to him.”

“That would include everybody on the planet, I imagine.” Angelica rolled her eyes.

“Your grandmother, Kate, is an astute judge of char
acter, and she believes in Brandon, Angelica. She is sure that caring for his daughter will—”

“Give it up, Flynt. Brandon Fortune doesn't give a damn about me, and he never will. Luckily I don't care about him, either. Maybe if he'd come around when I was six—or even sixteen—it might've mattered, but now it's just too late.”

“Since you grew up with your mother and lived with the choices she's made, I can understand why you're hesitant to—”

“Skip the amateur psychoanalysis,” Angelica snapped. “What does it matter to you if Brandon Fortune and I ever see each other again, anyway?”

“You've absorbed Romina's paranoid ideation well, Angelica. Be suspicious, look for ulterior motives, make accusations.”

“Leave my mother out of this. She's not the one who's trying to push me into playing daughter to a perpetual adolescent. That would be you, Flynt, and I'd be a fool not to wonder why.”

Flynt heaved a frustrated sigh. If he told her what was at stake, it would give her tremendous power over him. A chilling prospect. Putting another person in a position of power meant ceding independence and control, and that was unacceptable to him.

Flynt concentrated on studying the rivulets of rain streaming down the car windows, but Angelica commanded his mind's eye. She was desirable, feminine and pretty, but he'd met plenty of women who'd possessed those attributes. None of them had ever fascinated, confused and exhilarated him the way Angelica Carroll did.

He even liked her feisty attitude. Women who were
whiny, clingy and ineffectual had never appealed to him. She reached him on too many levels; he wanted her more than he could remember wanting any other woman.

All the more reason not to trust her. No, there would be no forthcoming explanations or confidences from him.

“I'll drive you home and then track Brandon down.”

Another crash of thunder sounded simultaneously with a bolt of lightning, and the rain intensified. Flynt started the car and pulled into the line of traffic. The other cars had slowed to a crawl in deference to the reduced visibility.

Angelica felt his withdrawal viscerally. And chided herself for minding.

You don't want this attention,
she reminded herself.
You can't be trusted when he turns all that masculine intensity on you, so stop pining like a lovesick schoolgirl.
Which she had never been. She'd been too savvy.

Still, she couldn't resist needling him, certainly a minor bid for attention. “Do you need directions to my apartment or did you get all that down pat when you were investigating me for the Fortunes?”

“I have no idea how to get to your apartment. And yes, I would appreciate directions.”

“Take a left at the next light.” She tried to match his detached tone. “And then—”

Her beeper emitted another shrill beep.

Flynt reached into his coat and tossed his cell phone onto her lap. “You can tell Mara the plan worked. You're on your way home.”

Angelica retrieved her beeper and turned it off, staring
at the number it displayed. “It's not Mara. I don't recognize this number. It really must be a patient.”

“Fact or fiction?” Flynt pretended to ponder the question, then shrugged. “With you, who knows?”

Angelica ignored the dig and called the number on the screen.

“Angel, thank God I got ahold of you!” Her mother's voice, high-pitched with anxiety, sounded over the line. “We have a real emergency here. Can you come right over? To 307 Blueberry Hollow Lane.”

“Mama, what's going on?” Angelica's stomach began to churn with trepidation.

“I can't talk now, Angel. Please, just get here soon!” Romina hung up.

Angelica clutched the phone and tried to remember the number from the beeper's small screen so she could call her mother back.

But the only numbers she'd retained were 307. On Blueberry Hollow Lane, wherever that was.

“Do you have a map of the city?” she asked Flynt.

“Of course. I haven't navigated around Birmingham using ESP.”

She didn't have the time or inclination to trade barbs. “Where's the map?”

“In the glove compartment.”

“Would you mind pulling over so I can find Blueberry Hollow Lane? I have a feeling it's a street in one of the newer housing developments south of the city and that's the opposite direction of where we're headed.”

Flynt steered the car onto a side street and braked to a stop alongside the curb, as she switched on the over-
head light and studied the map. “I was right. We need to turn around and get onto I-65.”

“I agreed to give you a ride home, not drive you all over the state,” grumbled Flynt. Outside, the wind accelerated into rainy gusts. “It's a lousy night to be out on the road.”

“Never mind, then. You can drop me off at my apartment, and Mara will—”

“I didn't say I wouldn't take you, I just said it's a lousy night to be out.” He sighed. “At least give me some advance warning of what we're going to find at this place. Searcy and the FBI again? Birmingham PD with another search and seizure warrant?”

“I'm fairly certain this address belongs to someone that my mother pet-sits for.”

“Why would Romina want you to come to a pet-sitting client's house at this hour?” Flynt was perplexed.

“Any number of reasons. I remember once when Jury, a bichon frise who belongs to Judge Newman and his wife, escaped as Mama was letting herself inside the house to take care of him. The Newmans were on vacation and Mama called us, hysterical. She'd combed the neighborhood and couldn't find Jury anywhere. So Mara, Casper, Sarah and Danny—he was home on leave that time—and I drove over to help her find the dog.”

“Did you find it?”

“Two and a half hours later, we did. Jury had joined a gang of dogs in a park a mile away and was having a fabulous time, rolling in mud and chasing squirrels.”

“Behaving like a common mongrel instead of a pampered, pedigreed pooch?” Flynt smiled at her.

She returned it. “And looking like one, too. It took
us another hour to get him all washed and groomed again. Poor Mama was a nervous wreck.”

“Do you think we're being summoned for another fugitive dog chase?” Flynt glanced outside at the rain, which showed no signs of abating. “What dog would be stupid enough to want to run around outside in this deluge?”

“There are certain breeds of dogs who don't mind water at all. They even like it.”

“Swell. The dog can revel in the rain while we play human lightning rods trying to catch it.”

“It could be a different kind of crisis, though. There was another memorable time when a pigeon flew down the chimney of Dr. Tomlin's house when the family was out of town. Mama went in to feed their cats and found the pigeon, crazed with fear, flying all over and bombarding every room while the cats stalked it. Poor Mama called us—”

“Hysterical?” guessed Flynt.

Angelica shot him a reproving look. “Of course she was upset. It took us hours to shoo the pigeon out and clean up the awful mess that bird had made.”