A Fortune's Children's Wedding (7 page)

She cast a stealthy glance at Flynt. He'd pushed up the sleeves of his jacket and reached for a plate coated with an ominous-looking blue substance. He tentatively dipped it into the sink.

Angelica was totally diverted by the sight of his muscular forearms, now exposed by the rolled up sleeves of
his jacket. They were covered with a light dusting of wiry hair. Her stomach turned a wild somersault. She'd seen plenty of bare forearms—the doctors in the hospital scrubbed to their elbows—but none of them ever had impacted upon her like the sight of Flynt Corrigan's. And his hands…

She stared at his big hands, the long, well-shaped fingers. Not even the fact that those fingers were now holding two of the most disgustingly filthy bowls she'd ever seen detracted from the compelling masculinity of his hands. She watched him reach for the scrub brush.

“Don't bother,” she said hastily. “These dishes need to soak for hours.”

“Sounds like you're experienced with this sort of thing.”

“Pretty much,” Angelica murmured, as an entirely new wave of sensation rolled over her. She had been so riveted by the sight of his hands she hadn't noticed that when he'd moved to stand next to her at the sink, their hips had made contact. And remained touching as they stood together.

Her head seemed to be spinning. Just being near him, their bodies touching in exciting yet comfortable familiarity was a sensual experience that she wanted to prolong, to savor. She stood, dazed by these strange new feelings, watching Flynt helpfully finish putting the dishes into the sink to soak.

“Thank you,” she said softly, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly shy.

Flynt nodded and pulled off three squares from the roll of paper towels. Angelica couldn't help but count;
their mother had drilled them into the one-square rule since toddlerhood.

“Would you say you owed me a favor?” He scrunched the paper towel into a ball and slamdunked it into the trash can.

Angelica knew she should be suspicious. Instead, her heart pounded with nervous anticipation. “That depends.” She inhaled sharply. “What does this favor involve?”

“Your father, Brandon Fortune.”

D
isappointment rolled through Angelica in waves. Flynt was standing close to her, their bodies touching; she was aware of his masculinity in a way that enticed her instead of intimidating her.

But Flynt didn't appear to notice, or at least, he didn't intend to talk about it. The question he'd asked about her owing him a favor contained no sexual innuendo whatsoever. Damn! exclaimed a naughty, previously unheard-from little voice in her head. Angelica firmly stifled it.

Flynt wanted to talk about her father Brandon Fortune. Mortification swiftly replaced disappointment. She could only be grateful that he didn't know how wildly she had misinterpreted his request.

“You said your mom told the other men in her life that they were fathers, but they chose to ignore that fact—and their kids.” Flynt stated his premise.

Angelica could picture him using a similar technique with suspects during his FBI days. She purposefully moved away from the sink. Away from Flynt. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her arms folded in front of her chest in classic defensive body language.

“That's true,” she said shortly.

“Well, Brandon never knew about your existence. Your mother didn't tell him that she was pregnant, she broke up with him and then ran away from home.” Flynt's voice rose slightly. “He knows about you now, and he's here to acknowledge you as his daughter, Angelica. Doesn't that count for something?”

“How about the Father of the Year Award?” Angelica was flippant.

Flynt didn't let her get away with it. “Angelica, be fair. This time it's not a case of a father deliberately abandoning his child. This was your mother's choice not to tell Brandon about you.”

“Mama once told me that she was scared to tell him—my father—that she was pregnant.” Angelica defended her mother, her voice warm with compassion. “After all, when she finally worked up the courage to tell her own parents they were terrible to her. They threatened her, and she had to run away to have me.”

“I've talked to your mother's parents, Angelica. They admitted that they went to see Monica Malone when they found out that Romina was pregnant. Monica—uh—paid them some money…” He paused, searching for a tactful phrase.

“Monica Malone bribed them to make Mama get rid of me,” Angelica said bluntly. “That squares with what Mama told me about her parents.”

“Without condoning their actions, keep in mind that your mother was only sixteen years old at the time, Angelica. Only two years older than Sarah is now.”

“Yet they never bothered to look for her,” Angelica shot back. “Mama was an underaged runaway and could've been found easily enough, but they never even reported her missing. All these years and they made no attempt to find her.”

“She knows that? She's looked into it?”

Angelica nodded solemnly. “She knows.”

“Do you think Romina expected to be found? Maybe
hoped
to be found? She was remarkably easy to trace, she never attempted to use false identity or conceal her whereabouts.” Flynt frowned thoughtfully. “Romina's parents admitted to me that they never looked for her.”

“What kind of people are they? I can't imagine not knowing where your own child is.” Angelica's voice grew husky with emotion. “If my sister or brothers or one of my own children were ever missing, I'd never stop looking for them. Never.”

“Yet you don't mind that your mother helps fugitive women hide their kids from their fathers? That those men are consigned to the very fate that you just said you would never accept—not knowing where their kids are?”

“That's different! Those children were abused by their fathers! Men like that don't deserve to—” Her jaw dropped. “I—I mean, speaking hypothetically, of course. There is no proof that Mama is involved in—anything unlawful.”

Angelica looked at the ground, unable to meet his eyes, aghast at her slip. She had almost admitted that
her mother was a part of Nancy Portland's underground network, something she'd never come close to doing with anyone else. Even after warning herself to be careful what she said around Flynt, she'd been indiscreet. She flushed, angry with herself for her inexcusable lapse. And with Flynt for causing her to make it.

He knew it, too; she could tell. She was darn lucky he'd opted out of law enforcement, Angelica thought grimly. Back in his agent days, Flynt Corrigan had probably weasled confessions out of suspects before they'd ever realized what they were saying.

“Relax, Angelica, I'm not here to grill you or your mother about any disputed custody cases. I'm no longer an officer of the law, I'm here strictly as a—friend—of your father. To convince you to give him a chance to know you.”

Angelica heaved an impatient sigh. “Look, if I agree to meet Brandon Fortune, will you both go away and leave me alone?”

Getting rid of Flynt was paramount at this point. He penetrated her defenses too easily. Of course, that meant agreeing to meet Brandon Fortune. Her father. Angelica felt a peculiar tightness in her chest.

“Will you be available to meet Brandon tonight? For dinner?”

“I already have dinner plans.” Angelica decided it was none of his business that those plans were to nuke a frozen dinner in the microwave and watch the evening news with the cat in the apartment she shared with Mara Quinlan. After all, plans were plans. “But I suppose I could meet you afterward,” Angelica said.

She could tell he didn't buy her dinner plans excuse;
he was staring at her in patent disbelief. And she'd learned enough about him in this short time to know that he wasn't going to simply give up and go away. Not until she agreed to meet her father.

“Afterward, then,” Flynt said stiffly.

“But I might not be able to stay very long. I have three patients who are due to deliver any time, so I'm on call for them.”

Angelica concocted her plan as she spoke. She could ask Mara to page her beeper, whether any patients actually went into labor or not. It was a built-in excuse to end the evening quickly and diplomatically.

“I'm a nurse-midwife,” she explained.

“Yes, I know.”

Angelica eyed him with disapproval. “It's more than a little creepy knowing you investigated me, the way that—that reptile Searcy is always snooping around trying to find dirt on my mother.”

She decided that she was definitely going to arrange to have herself paged by Mara.

“I wasn't looking for any dirt, nor did I find any, Angelica. And I only know a few basic facts about you. At this point, I've told you as much about myself as I know about you.”

They stared at each other. Angelica was surprised to see how wary and alert, how very much on guard he appeared to be. In fact, he looked the way she felt.

That struck her as strange. Why should Flynt be uneasy around her? She couldn't disrupt his life, the way he'd most certainly disrupted hers. Unless…

She remembered Searcy's crude comment on the porch, and her own foolishly impulsive glance at Flynt's
groin. Angelica felt her cheeks begin to grow warm. She was blushing!

This was a nurse? One whose career was based on the results of reproduction? It was disconcerting to realize that she could comfortably and competently discuss the anatomy and other clinical aspects of sex with any man, woman or child on the planet, yet the flash memory of Flynt Corrigan's bulging fly made her flush as crimson as a sheltered Victorian maiden.

It was also mortifying!

She couldn't let him know how he affected her, that he was capable of turning her into a blushing schoolgirl. But then, his own actions made it clear that he didn't want to acknowledge her erotic effect on him, either. Flynt had tried to ignore the evidence as much as she had; he'd not even hinted at making a pass at her.

The realization bolstered her self-confidence. The two of them could operate under an unspoken agreement, without admitting their mutual sexual awareness. Such an arrangement would permit them both to maintain control. Which would be as important to Flynt as it was to her. She recognized a fellow control freak when their paths crossed, Angelica mused wryly.

“I'll check with Brandon and then get back to you about tonight,” Flynt said, already heading out of the kitchen. “Where can I reach you? Here or—”

“I'll be at my own apartment.” Angelica scribbled down her phone number on the ransom note and handed it to him. “Oops. Did I just tamper with evidence or something?” she asked snidely.

“Brandon isn't responsible for this, Angelica. Believe it.”

“Then maybe it was Searcy,” mocked Angelica. “I wouldn't put anything past
him.
”

“You could be right. There's a whole world of suspects out there, now that you and your mother have been eliminated.”

They reached the small vestibule. The umbrella was still lying on the floor where she had forced him to drop it. Flynt stooped down and picked it up.

“You suspected
me
of extortion?” Angelica was incensed. “Or Mama?”

“You two were the first ones we suspected,” drawled Flynt. “See how easy—and how foolish—it is to jump to conclusions?” He placed the umbrella in her hand. “I'll talk to Brandon and then call you, probably within the next hour.”

“Can't wait,” Angelica muttered, watching him stride down the walk.

She tried to ignore the unwelcome fluttering in her stomach. She was
not
nervous! That threatening note was too amateurish to be taken seriously, she decided. The pasted letters were too ridiculous, like something out of a junior detective novel. Anyway, she didn't feel like a Fortune, she didn't feel like Brandon's daughter so the threat didn't really apply to her, no matter what Flynt might say.

Nor was she nervous about meeting her father for the first time; she didn't care enough to be nervous, Angelica staunchly reminded herself.

“Fathers!” She said the word aloud and heard the scorn in her voice. “Who needs them?”

Who needed them, indeed? She remembered her brother Daniel's father, Tom Harper, though she had
only been seven years old the final time she'd seen him. He was a big, rough, hard-drinking cowboy in East Texas, who'd resented even the slight domesticity forced on him during his visits to Romina's tiny apartment and was abusive to the mother of his son.

Angelica thought of that last evening when Tom Harper and her mother had been fighting as usual, with Mama screaming, Tom cursing, and both of them throwing things. Poor little Danny, not quite two, had cried and cried. In her mind's eye, Angelica could still see Tom Harper bursting into the small bedroom, bending over the crib to grab the terrified toddler.

She saw her young self charging Tom like a bull in the rodeo, knocking him off his already unsteady feet. He had risen up like an enraged giant, and then it was Angelica who'd been thrown, right into the wall.

That had done it for Romina, who'd endured Tom's abuse but wouldn't tolerate a man's hand being raised against her children. She'd immediately decided they were leaving Tom Harper and Texas the next day. For a long time afterward, Romina had boyfriends only, sparing Angelica and Danny any further interactions with fathers until she met Sarah's, in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, seven years later.

Barry North, a charming, smiling man, Angelica recalled. Handsome and well-groomed, some kind of professional because he always wore a suit when he came to visit. A married man. She and Danny had rummaged through his wallet once when he was in the other room with mama, and had seen the family photo he proudly carried. There they were, the North family. Barry, his wife and three kids.

Barry North was not interested in having a fourth child, at least not with Romina. After Romina told him she was pregnant, they never saw him again.

Shortly after Sarah's birth, they had moved to Birmingham, Alabama. Romina met Casper's father, Jurgen Heintz, an introverted physics professor at the university, on one of her cookie runs to the campus. He'd made it clear during his infrequent visits that the presence of Angelica, Danny and little Sarah unnerved him. He did not like children, and he certainly didn't want any of his own.

Angelica knew that because at fourteen she'd become her mother's confidante—or confessor. Jurgen Heintz refused to have anything to do with his child and arranged for a departmental transfer to the main campus at Huntsville. Before leaving town, he gave Romina a lump sum of cash.

“He bought his way out of Casper's life for six thousand dollars,” Angelica remembered her mother saying as she clutched the professor's check.

They'd used it as a down payment on this house.

At least Jurgen had provided them with that much; Tom Harper and Barry North hadn't donated a penny toward their children's welfare. Yet even as she credited Jurgen Heintz for his contribution, Angelica thought of Casper, wanting all those expensive, exciting, challenging things they couldn't afford.

“Casper is too smart for his own good,” Romina often said. “It's too bad he inherited that high IQ from his father.”

Fathers.
Angelica shivered. She'd always felt lucky
to be spared knowledge of her own. Now that was about to change.

The fluttering in Angelica's stomach became genuine pangs. Which could not be anxiety! She refused to be anxious about meeting some guy from her mother's past—which was all that Brandon Fortune meant to her.

 

“Is she coming?” Brandon asked Flynt for what seemed like the thousandth time since they'd taken a booth in the trendy Southside nightspot called Swank.

The place had been Brandon's choice. He'd polled the staff at the Premier Living Suites for the “hottest new place in town” and been told Swank was it.

The place boasted no fewer than seventy-five varieties of beer, plus a cigar bar stocked with fancy smokes, cognacs, wines and premium cocktails. There was also a billiard room, a smoke-free lounge with thick-velvet upholstered chairs and sofas and a marble dance floor. Flynt and Brandon were currently occupying one of the dark leather booths in the softly lit Martini Lounge. Strains of a yearning ballad filtered in from the dancing area.