Danger in a Red Dress (20 page)

Gabriel shoved a menu toward Carrick, ordered a pork sandwich with sweet potato chips, and by the time he was done, Carrick was ready to order his caprese salad and chardonnay.

“I’ll bring that food right out,” Asta trilled.

As she bounced away, Carrick said, “Whoa.”

“Yeah. It’s not just her boobs that are perky.” No matter what had happened in his life, Gabriel had never been such a cynic. Now his sister Pepper told him he had passed
cynic
and had gone right into
bitter asshole
.

Gabriel looked up from the menu to find Carrick examining him. Carrick’s gaze lingered on the harsh lines of Gabriel’s bone structure, the tanned skin, the straight black hair, the blade of a nose. “I should have recognized the eyes. Your mother had to be . . . what? Hispanic? Native American? Aztec? Mayan?”

Gabriel shut the menu. “All of those, maybe. When I was four, she abandoned me, so I don’t have the details.” The details were lost in the screams of a terrified child and the rusty stain of old dried blood.

“Didn’t Father support you? I mean, until he left? He was always good about that, I thought.”

“I apparently slipped through the cracks. So to speak.” Gabriel could joke about it. He simply didn’t think it was funny. “It took DNA to turn my suspicion into certainty, and all the results are in. We’re one big happy family. Five brothers. Five women Nathan Manly seduced and impregnated.” Whoops. Gabriel had forgotten about that tact thing again. “Except for your mother. We can’t say he seduced her. He married her.”

“He married her for her money, so I’m going to guess that, yes, there was a seduction involved.”

Gabriel wondered at Carrick’s lack of concern. Most guys were a little sensitive when they talked about their mothers’ sex lives.

But Carrick was talking about his in-wedlock father, so maybe that made a difference.

Or maybe he had spent so many years being knocked around about his father’s corruption, he’d lost the ability to be sensitive.

Or maybe he just hid his feelings well.

All interesting theories, and important when it came to understanding this complex man who was his brother.

“Did he father more sons?” Carrick asked. “Am I going to have more . . . surprises popping up every damn time I turn around?”

So Gabriel wasn’t the only one whose tact failed him. “There’s a mystery we’ll never completely solve. I’ve done the research. I’ve examined your father’s—
our
father’s—travel logs, and his personal financial records. Perhaps there are other sons like me—sons he conceived in his travels, sons he lost track of—but I don’t think so. He seemed very conscientious about his little habit.”

“You have to wonder what he was thinking.”

“I’ve seen it before. Guys who spread their sperm throughout the land.”

“He wasn’t a salmon,” Carrick said with irritation.

“I guess not. I never met him.”

Asta put their plates in front of them, giving them another good flash of the boobies, and when they paid no attention, she flounced off to a more appreciative table.

“My father was a good father. Generous, kind, lots of fun when he was around.” Carrick’s mouth turned down. “But there was never a time when I didn’t know he had other sons.”

“Your mother told you?” Seemed out of character.

“No. Until he was gone and the scandal broke, she never admitted she knew. The servants told me about my father and his . . . predilections. And my class-mates jeered about it. When Father was gone away on ‘business’ ”—Carrick used air quotes—“I used to imagine him talking to the other boys, playing ball with them, helping with their homework, the way he did when he was home, with me. I felt cheated. In some ways, my childhood was as difficult as yours.”

Gabriel snorted. “No.”

With a lofty disregard for the facts, Carrick said, “Father taught me one thing for sure. When you’re headed into the brush, always put on a raincoat.”

“Oh, me, too.” Although since the moment Carrick had shown him Hannah’s picture, Gabriel hadn’t cared about other women. Hannah . . . well, he wanted Hannah, simply Hannah, and she was a whore, a thief, and a murderer. One dance, and she’d done a pretty good job of ruining sex for him.

He sure as hell hoped it wasn’t forever. But he wasn’t taking any bets.

“So. You’re my brother.” Carrick tapped his fork on the table. “Do you still work for me?”

“No. I’m working this case for myself now.”

“You’re pretty intense about this one.” That seemed to make Carrick uneasy.

“Yeah.” Gabriel tried to joke. “Besides, I don’t offer a family discount.”

“Such business acumen.
Daddy
would be impressed.” Carrick’s mouth quirked, slamming his dimple into position.

From a table nearby, Gabriel heard a woman softly moan. Yeah, Carrick still had the lady-killer effect.

“I don’t appreciate being compared to Daddy.” Now Gabriel was
not
joking.

“It’s inevitable, man. There’s no escaping heredity. Heredity is the bitch queen of fate.”

But Gabriel had spent time with his other half brothers, Roberto Bertolini, Devlin FitzWilliam, and Mac MacNaught. The brothers were more than merely their father’s children. Their mothers had left their marks on their sons, and the men, each one, had used their own minds, their own hearts, their own spirits to fashion their lives. Gabriel admired them. They were good men, and Carrick, if he would drop the tendency toward melodrama, would be a good man, too. “Heredity is not a trap, and to believe otherwise is an excuse for weakness.”

As if the whole subject gave him a headache, Carrick put his fist to his forehead. “It’s a trap for me,” he muttered.

Carrick was feeling sorry for himself. Poor little rich boy.

Although he had few funds now. Right?

Without warning, Gabriel pounced. “Has Hannah accessed your father’s fortune?”

“No. The account is still intact.”

“So you know where the account is now.”

Carrick hesitated. “It’s so much money, and people have begun to take an interest.”

“People.” Gabriel didn’t like the sound of that. “As in people besides the government?”

Carrick looked from side to side and said softly, “Just . . . keep it down, huh?”

Gabriel leaned forward. “Are you in trouble?”

“Nothing you can help with.”

“Do you need money?” Gabriel had always wondered how Carrick had maintained such a lavish lifestyle. Maybe by living beyond his means?

“No.” Carrick lifted his chin. “I made a bundle selling interviews about Mother’s death.”

“I saw.” Gabriel hadn’t approved. In his experience, talking to the sensationalist media was always trouble, and in this case, sleazy and heartless.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have profited by that whole gruesome mess,” Carrick said defiantly, “but the news shows were going to get their information from somebody, and I figured it might as well be me.”

Okay, fine. They had different philosophies about the press.
“So what’s the problem?”

“Nothing.” Carrick’s voice rose. “Jesus, what makes you think there has to be a problem?”

Gabriel kept his voice level. Quiet. “Because Hannah Grey
does
know how to access the fortune. I’ve watched the playback a hundred times. The things your mother said to her, the things she said back, make that clear.”

“So?”

“So why hasn’t she done it yet?”

“There’s some special time of the year when it can be accessed? Or . . . or she needs some kind of sophisticated software she can’t get to while she’s on the run?” Carrick made the same guesses Gabriel had made.

“Something like that. What’s for sure is that at some point, she will clear out the account. Finding Hannah is my priority.” For more reasons than he wanted to say.

“You’re sure you’ll find her?”

“I have surveillance in place to watch her bank account. If she tries to access her money, we’ll have her.” She hadn’t done it yet, nor had she contributed to her social security account. So what was she doing for income? “I have good sources all over the country”—Gabriel hoped to hell she hadn’t made it across the border to Canada or Mexico—“and I pay well. In cases like this, all it takes is one greedy, observant person to turn her in.”

“Maybe she’s dead.”

“No.” No. Hannah couldn’t be dead. Gabriel wouldn’t allow that to be true. “We’re investigating a lead right now.”

“A lead?” Carrick seemed torn between excitement and dismay.

“A slim lead. In Houston. From a homeless lady. Who is crazy. Literally.” Gabriel had spent far too much time following up false leads, yet his gut told him this time they’d hit the jackpot. “Sometimes, the offer of a reward is all it takes to clarify the mind.”

“You’ll keep me apprised of all progress.”

“You’re the first person I’ll tell. But there’s more.” Gabriel hated to tell him this. “I’ve developed connections in the government, and I know why the investigation was opened in the first place.”

“You do?” Carrick shuddered as if someone had just walked over his grave.

Gabriel pushed the sandwich away. The conversation had made him lose his appetite. “Three and a half years ago, an informant filed a report.”

“Who?”

“Someone close to your mother.”

“Hannah,” Carrick said immediately.

“No, this happened long before Hannah came on the scene.”

“Right. Right. Of course. I forgot. The government opened the investigation a while back.” Carrick wiped his palms on his napkin. “Then . . . Torres. The old butler. He died almost two year ago, but Mother told him everything.”

“It’s possible, but not likely.”

“Why not?”

“Torres died too soon, and whoever did it was hoping to put pressure on Mrs. Manly, catch her in the act of retrieving the money, and get his cut.”

“Or take it all,” Carrick said.

“Exactly.” The boy showed he had a grip on the logistics of the situation, too. He made Gabriel proud. “I don’t believe in coincidence. Whoever told the government that your mother knew about the fortune probably also put Hannah in place to try and pry the information out of her before the government hearing.”

“Right. That makes sense.” Carrick nodded as if only now did he realize that Gabriel
would
crack the case. “So you’re looking for two people. One unknown, and Hannah Grey.”

“By the time I finish my investigation, we’ll know who our mystery thief is, and we’ll make him sorry.”

“Is he Hannah’s lover, do you suppose?”

“It’s possible,” Gabriel said harshly.

“More than possible, I would say. Maybe they need to meet up before they can access the account!” Carrick sounded excited, as if he’d discovered the key to the puzzle.

“Maybe. All I know is, I am going to find Hannah Grey, and I will get every last scrap of information out of her.” Gabriel smiled with some pleasure as he considered the torments he would use on her.

He hoped she resisted for a long, long time.

 

Carrick stood on the sidewalk, smiled like a fool, and waved Gabriel into a cab and off to the airport to return to the wilds of Texas. Then he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and searched for the one number he’d input, but never called.

A familiar, hateful voice answered after one ring. “Mr. Manly, it’s good to hear from you at last. I hope you have news about the fortune for me.”

“I think you’ll want to take care of something before it gets to be a problem. It seems my security man is sure Hannah Grey knows how to access the offshore account. He’s going after her now, thinks she’s in Houston, and once he gets that information—”

“I don’t think he would go far with that amount of money before he was, shall we say, deprived of it?” The voice sounded almost amused.

“You don’t understand.” Carrick really needed this handled. He’d had enough of brothers hanging around, talking about business and wondering what he did for a living. They would want their own cuts when they broke the code to access Father’s fortune—he knew it. Everyone would want a cut, especially . . .“Gabriel Prescott will turn it over to the government. He is that kind of guy.”

The voice on the other end of the line sharpened. “You’re sure?”

“Very sure.”

“Well, then, Gabriel Prescott has officially become a pest to be removed, and Hannah Grey has become a resource to be discovered.”

“Whatever you think best, Osgood.” Carrick hung up and said to no one in particular, “I was hoping you would say that.”

TWENTY-TWO

Hannah stepped out of the air-conditioned comfort of the Wal-Mart in Houston, Texas, and the September heat hit her like a fever. It was autumn at home in New Hampshire, but here the pavement was so hot it burned through the thin soles of her shoes, and the heat rose in waves that smelled of motor oil, an ice-cream cone melting on the concrete, and the Dumpster behind the store. Not far away, the cars roared along the 610 loop.

She walked down the row of cars toward the quiet neighborhood behind the store, toward the Metro bus stop, and hated Texas. She hated the humidity, she hated the giant cockroaches that populated the bathroom at night, she hated her job checking at Wal-Mart, she hated the variety of accents—smooth Eastern Indian, rapid Spanish, the tonality of Vietnamese, and most of all, that twangy Texas accent she heard everywhere.

She adjusted the backpack she carried with her everywhere, the one with all her worldly possessions, and felt the familiar trickle of sweat start down her spine.

But it wasn’t really Texas she hated.

She was homesick.

She wanted to live in New Hampshire, in a town where she knew people. She wanted to shuffle her feet through the falling leaves, feel the first bite of winter in the air. She wanted to work as a nurse, in a hospital, not as a checker. . . . She wanted to know she would not have to move on again soon.