A Fortune's Children's Wedding (6 page)

For a moment, he allowed his imagination free reign and considered the possibility of the other Carrolls as culprits. Could Sarah or Casper be the blackmailer? Almost instantly, he dismissed the notion; Sarah and Casper Carroll were mere children, and though he'd only met them briefly, neither seemed criminally inclined.

No, it was Nancy Portland and the underground she headed, which raised all manner of questions. How was this clandestine organization financed? Blackmail could be one convenient source of cash, if a profitable secret was unearthed. If Romina had mentioned Angelica's paternity to Nancy, the massive Fortune Corporation and its assets would certainly offer a lucrative target. Was the Portland woman capable of blackmail—and of carrying out the threats made in that note?

He didn't know. He'd never heard of Nancy Portland
until today, but from what he discerned, the woman continually, defiantly flouted the law. Running an underground operation undoubtedly required association with other individuals who weren't law-abiding either. Computer hackers, forgers…hit men?

Your daughter will be killed.
The threat echoed in Flynt's head. The additional threat to frame Brandon for murder didn't worry him. In fact, it was an incredibly stupid ploy, providing Brandon with a foolproof defense. But then, a hit man didn't have to be intelligent, only bold and greedy and lacking a conscience.

Your daughter will be killed.
Flynt's insides began to churn. Brandon Fortune's daughter was no longer a faceless unknown to him. She was beautiful, feisty Angelica. Who might be in grave danger.

He turned his head to see her drinking the last of her iced tea. She set the glass down and daintily dabbed her lips with a paper napkin.

Flynt swallowed hard. Her mouth looked luscious and tempting as a ripe strawberry. Instantly he looked away from her, not daring to allow himself to follow that train of thought.

He made himself focus strictly on the problem at hand. Angelica at risk was a possibility none of them had ever seriously contemplated. Flynt considered it now.

His reason for being here had taken a crucial turn. Concern for Angelica's safety superseded everything else.

“Angelica, could I speak to you privately?” Flynt searched her face. Which was once again set in that same
unreadable, impenetrable mask he'd seen earlier. “I want to show you something.”

“I bet I can guess exactly what you want to show her.” Searcy smirked. “Yeah, you'll need privacy for that. I suggest you two get a room.”

Romina jumped to her feet, pitcher in hand. She looked ready to throw it at him. “Get out of my house, Searcy! The others might have a legal right to be here, but you don't! So leave, right now, or else I'll have you arrested for breaking and entering. Or stalking. Or
something!
”

“Try it!” taunted Searcy. “And I'll—”

“Time out, you two.” Weatherall stood up. “Searcy, Romina asked you to leave. This is her home and you'll have to abide by her wishes.”

“Fine! But I'm not giving up,” Searcy said as he stomped out.

“Searcy is frustrated,” said Weatherall. “He gets so close and then—nothing. His contract specifies a big bonus if he locates his clients' missing kids and they're brought back. So far, he's never collected that bonus.”

“And he never will, either. Glenn, would you mind coming upstairs with me to check on those cops?” Romina asked politely. “That'll give Flynt and Angel a chance to talk privately about her father.”

Weatherall and Romina left the kitchen. For a few moments Angelica and Flynt sat in silence. The reasonable side of Romina had caught him by surprise, Flynt mused.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Angelica asked at last. “If it's about Brandon Fortune, I'll tell
you for the last time—I'm not interested in hearing it. I am not going to meet him.”

“Angelica, you are.”

“Flynt, I'm not.”

He was momentarily riveted. It was the first time she'd called him Flynt, despite his earlier request that she do so. He liked her husky voice and the sound of his name on her lips. He wanted to hear her say it again.

“Go back to—Brandon Fortune,” Angelica gulped the name, “and tell him I hope he has a nice life but not to expect me to be in it.”

“This has turned into something more than Brandon being your father, Angelica.” Flynt reached into his jacket pocket for the letter. His knuckles brushed her gun nestled in his pocket.

“And not so incidentally, you shouldn't keep a loaded gun in a house with kids. It's a tragedy waiting to happen,” he admonished.

“I know.” She surprised him by agreeing. “It's Mama's, and she wants it here. She says she keeps it hidden, that only I know where it is—”

“We all saw you put the gun on the bookshelf, Angelica.”

“That isn't Mama's hiding place. I just set it there when I knew that I wouldn't have to use it.”

“When you decided not to shoot me, after all.” Flynt almost smiled, then quickly sobered. “You don't know how many times the old ‘gun is kept hidden' statement has been made at the scene of an accidental shooting, Angelica.”

“I—I know. And I worry that Casper might get hold of it.”

“You should. And I'm sorry to be the one to have to tell you that you have something else to worry about.” He removed the letter from its envelope and smoothed it out on the table in front of her. “Read this, Angelica.”

She stared at the paper with its multicolored letters individually cut out from magazines and pasted together to form words. “It looks like a soap opera prop,” she said glibly. “Reads like one, too.”

Flynt's expression was grim. “Unfortunately it's very real, Angelica.”

She looked up from the crumpled note. “And what does it have to do with me?” Surely he didn't expect her to be concerned about this kindergarten project gone awry?

“That note was sent to Brandon Fortune, Angelica. You are the daughter mentioned in it.”

“The daughter who'll be killed if
big bucks
aren't paid to the anonymous sender?” hooted Angelica. “And then poor Brandon Fortune will be framed for my murder?”

“May I point out that this is a threat on your life? You're certainly treating it cavalierly.”

“You expect me to be scared? Brandon Fortune is the one who wrote—or should I say, cut and pasted—this note himself. It's an idiotic attempt to extort money from his own family.”

“Brandon had nothing to do with this note. Why would you think he did?” Flynt demanded, irked.

Never mind that had been his first thought, too. Not to mention Sterling Foster's, Gabe Devereax's and various Fortunes' initial impressions, as well. Except for
Kate, of course. She had never doubted Brandon's fervid claims of innocence.

But now after profoundly doubting Brandon's integrity, Flynt felt obliged to defend him.

“Why wouldn't I think it?” retorted Angelica. “From what I've heard from Mama, who zealously follows even quasi-celebrity news, Brandon Fortune always needs money. Some of his spending sprees have been well publicized. I remember Mama saying that he—” She broke off and stared blindly into space, her hands balled into fists.

“So your mother has followed the travails of Brandon Fortune pretty closely?” Flynt picked up her train of thought. He shifted in his chair. It was hard and uncomfortable and he was tired of sitting in it.

He stood up. Big mistake. From his standing position, he could look down the modest V-neck of her blue shirt. Flynt spied the shadowy hint of cleavage, and his mouth grew dry. Her small breasts were softly rounded beneath the ribbed knit material.

Now
he
was hard and uncomfortable. His mind went completely blank.

Unaware of his scrutiny, Angelica leaned back in her chair. “Mama tunes in to all those TV talk shows and reads the celebrity tabloids. She avidly followed the Monica Malone murder…I guess now I know why. Mama talked a lot about it at the time, but no more than any other sensational Hollywood story. And she's followed them all.”

“But you never had any hints, any suspicions at all that Brandon Fortune was your father?”

“Not until you blurted it out this afternoon.” Angel
ica stood up and carried the empty iced tea glasses to the sink. “And right in front of Sarah and Casper, too. That was princely of you, Corrigan.”

“I didn't want it to be that way. You have to admit, I tried to give your mother a chance to tell—” Flynt shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I'm sorry, Angelica. I didn't want to hurt you by springing the news on you like that. So, uh, what do you think about Brandon being your dad?”

“I never particularly wanted any
dad
at all—and now I have Brandon Fortune.” Angelica groaned. “Mama occasionally would drop hints about who my father was. She said he was related to somebody famous. That would've been Monica Malone, of course. A few years ago she started adding that he had a rich famous family.”

“And you started wondering if maybe you were a Kennedy?”

“I never wondered because I didn't care. It didn't matter,” Angelica said firmly. “It still doesn't.”

“I don't believe that for a minute, Angelica.”

Her response was stony silence.

“Do you know who Sarah's and Casper's fathers are?” Flynt was unable to resist asking. He thought of the expression on the kids' faces during the brief fatherhood discussion. Confused. Hopeful. It had been painful to see. “Because they obviously don't.”

“And you're wondering who else is going to arrive at the door wanting to establish a relationship with their newly found offspring?” Angelica finished washing the glasses and reached for a dish towel to dry them.

“The thought's crossed my mind. From what I've
seen around here today, you never know what or who will show up at this door.”

“Don't worry, I know who Danny's, Sarah's, and Casper's fathers are, and it's nobody rich or famous. None of them will ever come here. Each of those men are aware that mama had his child, but it doesn't matter to them.”

“All three guys know they have kids by Romina and don't care?” Flynt frowned. “What sort of lowlife goes around fathering and abandoning children?”

“A selfish, irresponsible lowlife, that's who,” Angelica said bitterly.

“And your mother managed to find
three
of them?” Flynt watched Angelica put the glasses away. Her movements were graceful, precise. “Romina has a real talent for picking men.”

Angelica whirled to confront him. Though censure was missing from his tone, she expected to see it reflected on his face. She found him looking at her, his expression curious but not judgmental.

“Mama has a talent for trusting the wrong men,” Angelica acknowledged with a wistful sigh. “I know this will probably sound like an over-used cliché, but my mother has a heart of gold and the men she's chosen have pretty much smashed it. Finally, she was galvanized to help other women. It was a gradual process and she—”

Angelica abruptly lapsed into silence. Flynt Corrigan had been an FBI agent, she reminded herself, a professional investigator who'd made his living interrogating people. She had to proceed with caution around him. But
it was hard to remember that because he was so easy to talk to. So easy to confide in.

It was mystifying. Angelica was thoroughly bemused. She'd never been the open, trusting type who shared secrets and sought advice; from an early age, she had found it best to keep her thoughts and feelings to herself. Yet here she was, chatting away about mama's men with Flynt as if they were long-time confidantes, just like she'd done with Mara, who was her best friend, fellow nurse, former foster sister and current roommate.

Of course, the feelings Flynt evoked in her were definitely not the comradely ones Mara inspired. Angelica noticed that Flynt was watching her, and her heart began to beat erratically. Needles of sexual excitement pricked her, and she was suddenly, sharply aware of how quickly she'd shifted from being mentally attuned to him to this aching sensual awareness of him.

“Why hasn't your mother told the kids who their dads are?” Flynt asked.

Angelica dragged her eyes away from him, wishing that they were talking about something else, not this subject that had caused so much pain.

She swallowed hard. “There's no deep dark secret why mama hasn't told the kids who their dads are. My brother Danny knows, but he's old enough to deal with it. Sarah and Casper aren't. Mama doesn't want them to know their fathers' names because she's afraid the kids might try to contact their fathers and be hurt when they're rejected by them, which they definitely would be.”

“Help!” Casper came running into the kitchen with an armful of dishes. “I ate ice cream and spaghetti and
pie and chocolate pudding in my room, and this gunk got crusted on, and now there's roaches in my room and mama's gonna kill me.” He dumped the dirty dishes onto the counter and ran out the back door without pausing to take a breath.

Flynt joined Angelica at the counter and picked up one of Casper's discarded bowls. “It's encrusted with gunk, all right,” he said lightly. “I'm surprised that any self-respecting roach would go near this.”

Angelica began to fill the sink with detergent once again. “Mama is something of a neat freak. Gunk and roaches aren't going to improve her relationship with Casper.” She took two of the bowls and submerged them in the sink of soap bubbles.

She found herself resorting to her own private fantasy that something—somebody!—would come along to help improve the relationship between her mother and baby brother. More specifically, a good man who could relate to both Casper and Romina because it was achingly clear that Casper needed a strong male presence in his life, especially with Danny gone. Immediately, Angelica reproved herself. A good man to set everything right? How embarrassing! Her fantasies were becoming downright retro; she'd undoubtedly watched one too many reruns of those old heartwarming family sitcoms. Next she'd be proclaiming that “Father Knows Best.”