Kate Fortune’s Journal Entry

Heavens me! My long-lost son, Brandon, has a grown daughter! Of course, no one in the Fortune family knew about Angelica until a blackmailer began threatening to murder the young woman and frame poor Brandon for this unspeakable crime. How ever can I help Brandon out of this mess?

Flynt Corrigan is the only person I can trust with this delicate business. I know, without a doubt in my mind, that Angelica is innocent. So I’ve just sent Flynt down to Birmingham with Brandon to protect the newest Fortune and to introduce Angelica to her father. Of course, even I never thought anything might develop between Flynt and Angelica. But it has. And now, with a little nudging from me, Angelica will not only know the love of the Fortune family but also discover true love with Flynt.

Dear Reader,

I was delighted to be asked to write a book in the Fortune’s Children: The Brides series, because I was already familiar with the Fortune family. I’d previously written Stand-In Bride for the original Fortune’s Children series and a short story in A Fortune’s Children Christmas.

The Brides miniseries introduces Kate’s brother-in-law Caleb’s grandchildren, but my book, The Hoodwinked Bride, brings back some characters from the original series. This intrigued me, because I’d always wondered, What happened when Brandon was returned to his family after he’d been missing for all those years? A little back story is probably in order here: shortly after birth, Brandon Fortune had been given away (but was presumed to have been kidnapped) by his father to demented movie queen Monica Malone. At the end of the series, Brandon learned his true identity, and this long-lost child—now an adult who’d been brought up as a spoiled Hollywood kid—came back to be with the Fortunes. Except we never saw those scenes!

Brandon wasn’t quite hero material, but it seems he has a daughter he didn’t know about. Angelica, living with her mother, who is Brandon’s first love, is found and is fascinated by Flynt Corrigan, the investigator her grandmother Kate hired. I hope you enjoy reading about them being “hoodwinked” into a wedding and a happy ending.

Sincerely,

A Fortune’s Children Wedding

Barbara Boswell

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Meet the Fortunes—three generations of a family with a legacy of wealth, influence and power. As they gather for a host of weddings, shocking family secrets are revealed…and passionate new romances are ignited.

Angelica Carroll: At twenty-six years old, her life’s just starting, as she’s introduced to her real father and discovers soul-shattering passion in the strong arms of the investigator hired to protect her.

Flynt Corrigan: Jaded private investigator. What he thought was just a temporary assignment to secure Fortune’s business turns into so much more….

Brandon Fortune: This California playboy has barely adjusted to the news that he’s Kate Fortune’s son, but now he’s about to meet his grown daughter. And Brandon’s also about to be reunited with his first—and only—love!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

Prologue

“I ’ve located your missing granddaughter, Kate,” Flynt Corrigan addressed the Fortune matriarch before turning to her son Brandon. “We’ve found your daughter, Brandon.”

“Nice work, Corrigan.” Sterling Foster, Kate’s attorney husband, nodded approvingly at Flynt, then laid a supportive hand on her shoulder. “Another grandchild! Congratulations, Kate, my dear. Oh, and, er, congratulations to you, too, Brandon,” he added quickly.

Flynt studied Brandon Fortune, assessing his reaction to newly discovered fatherhood. Once he’d confirmed the news, Flynt had come to the Fortune family’s estate. Kate had brought everyone into the study to hear his findings.

“So it’s really true?” Brandon was clearly stunned. He sank into a chair and ran his hand through his overly long blond hair. His skin, tough and leathery from too much California sun and surf, had turned ashen beneath his perpetual tan. “All of it, Flynt? The daughter? The threats? It’s all true?”

Flynt felt a surge of sympathy for the man. Brandon Malone Fortune, third son of Kate and Ben Fortune who’d built the multi-international Fortune Corporation and founded a dynasty, had led a very strange life indeed. Learning that he was a father at this late date—and the victim of a blackmail threat—was another startling chapter in it.

“It’s all true, Brandon,” Flynt assured him.

“Brandon has a daughter! How wonderful!” Kate Fortune was smiling. Even though she’d only learned about this possibility a few days ago, she clearly didn’t mind the revelation. “Except for the threats, of course.” Her smile faded. “Who could have sent that note to poor Brandon? It’s beyond cruel—first informing him that he is the father of a daughter and then threatening to kill that daughter and frame Brandon for the murder unless the Fortune family pays.”

“Terrible,” Sterling muttered, heading over to the bar in the study. “My poor Kate.”

Flynt glanced at Brandon, who still seemed to be in a state of shock. Sterling handed his stepson a shot of brandy, which Brandon drained in one gulp.

“I’m a father,” mumbled Brandon.

Flynt took his cue to proceed with the information he’d gathered. “Your daughter’s name is Angelica Carroll, Brandon, and she is—”

“Carroll?” Brandon sat straight up in the chair. “Romina?” He jumped to his feet. “But I haven’t seen Romina Carroll in years. Years!”

“Romina Carroll is the mother of your daughter, Brandon,” said Flynt. He was more than a little surprised that Brandon remembered Romina Carroll at all, given that it had been decades since the two had been together. And from his own investigation, Flynt had learned that Brandon’s list of female companions down through the years had been—well, numerous was one word that came to mind, which was something of a diplomatic understatement.

“You remember this Romina Carroll, Brandon?” Sterling Foster seemed to be speaking Flynt’s own thoughts aloud. Flynt met the older man’s wry gaze with his own.

“Of course I remember Romina!” Brandon began to frantically pace the room. “She was my high school girlfriend! Well, she didn’t go to Beverly Hills High School with me, she lived in East L.A. We met on the board-walk in Venice Beach one day when we’d both ditched school. It was like love at first sight for us and we—we were each other’s firsts, you know? You just don’t forget that! We went together for two years, longer than I’ve ever been with any other girl.”

He slumped back down onto the sofa, scowling. “Romina dumped me when she was sixteen and I was seventeen. I took it hard, and after that I never saw her again. Now, you’re saying she was—she was—” He couldn’t seem to get out the word.

“Pregnant,” Flynt said it for him. “With your daughter, Angelica, who is now twenty-six years old.” He reached into the file he was holding and retrieved a photograph. “Here’s a picture of Angelica, taken by one of my investigators. It was shot with a long-distance lens so the quality isn’t very good…” Before handing it over to Brandon, Flynt couldn’t resist taking another look at it himself.

Though it was grainy and not too clear, Flynt had spent an inordinate amount of time studying that photograph. He wasn’t sure why. She was pretty, that was quite evident despite the somewhat blurred black-and-white telephoto shot, but he’d never been the type to drool over pictures of pretty girls. Not that he was drooling over Angelica Carroll, Flynt promptly assured himself.

He was intrigued by the concept of her. That had to be it, Flynt decided. As a former FBI agent, he had naturally slipped back into full Bureau training mode, which required an eye for detail in a case. His eyes had certainly detailed Angelica Carroll, he acknowledged a bit sheepishly.

So he provided himself with another rationale. In his current role as president and founder of Security Management Services—SMS to the industry—he knew it would be good business to commit to memory everything to do with this case, because it involved the Fortunes, one of the most prominent and successful families in the country. Therefore, he had seared Angelica Carroll’s face into his memory, along with the facts he’d learned about her.

“Angelica is unmarried, has no children and works as a nurse-midwife at MetroHealth, a university-related hospital in Birmingham, Alabama.” Flynt recited the facts.

Brandon raised his eyes from the photo. “What about Romina?”

“Romina lives in Birmingham, too. She has three other children, all younger than Angelica. As for the threatening note you received—”

“Do you think it’s possible that Angelica herself might have sent Brandon the threat, Flynt?” asked Sterling. “Or perhaps the mother, Romina, sent it in a bid to cash in on the, uh, Fortune connection?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Flynt. “There is that possibility, of course. I haven’t met either of them. I thought I’d give you this information first and let you decide what to do with it before I proceeded any further.”

“Brandon must meet his child,” Kate decreed. “And if Angelica or her mother sent that awful blackmail threat—well, we shall deal with that misguided bid for attention later.”

“Kate, I consider a blackmail attempt to be a criminal action, not simply a misguided bid for attention,” countered Flynt. Breaking the law was a personal affront to him.

Kate shrugged. “I propose that Brandon go to Birmingham immediately to meet his daughter, and that you go along with him, Flynt. For protection as well as for moral support.”

She stood beside her son and fondly ruffled his stiff, dry hair. It was a maternal gesture, one that she’d been unable to make when Brandon had been a child because she hadn’t known him as a child. She hadn’t known him until he had come back into her life some nine years ago because he had been taken from her as an infant. Pain shot through her, as it always did when she thought of the terrible fate that had befallen Brandon—and herself.

For years she had lived with the horror; her newborn baby boy had been kidnapped and despite a ransom payment, had never been recovered. And then nine years ago, the truth—and Brandon—had surfaced, breaking Kate’s heart all over again. Brandon hadn’t been kidnapped at all. He had been secretly given away to the legendary movie star Monica Malone by Ben Fortune, Kate’s first husband and Brandon’s father at the end of their tempestuous affair. Obtaining Brandon had seemingly satisfied Monica’s obsession to have a child by Ben. And Ben had never considered it necessary to mention the affair or the kidnap hoax or the baby boy to Kate ever again.

Brandon had been raised as a spoiled, yet emotionally neglected, Hollywood kid by the narcissistic movie siren. And though Kate had been overjoyed to have Brandon back, his upbringing had resulted in traits that annoyed or infuriated other members of the Fortune family whenever he visited from California. He had yet to be fully accepted by his siblings and his numerous adult nieces and nephews.

“Bad karma, huh, Mom?” Brandon stared up at her, seeming to read her thoughts. “I mean, Monica blackmailed Ben into handing me over to her and now here’s my own kid and more blackmail. I wonder what gives? What do you think, Flynt?”

Flynt was not one to delve into the arcane mysteries of karma. Now that he’d located Brandon’s daughter, which had been a personal request from his friend Gabe Devereax, husband of Kate’s youngest daughter, Rebecca, his mind was back on the business of running SMS. “I’m sorry, Kate, but I won’t be able to go to Birmingham with Brandon. That really isn’t the sort of work that—”

“I believe your company has handled some computer surveillance for the Fortune Corporation in the past,” interjected Kate. “But your firm does more than investigate electronic espionage, doesn’t it?”

“SMS provides a full range of services,” Flynt said eagerly. His company was his pride and joy. “We’re very well regarded in all branches of the security field.”

“Well, I have every confidence that we can arrive at an agreement that would be mutually advantageous to your company and ours, Flynt.” Kate easily resumed the executive mantle she’d worn for so many years. “One involving the full range of security services provided by SMS.”

“Kate, are you attempting to bribe Corrigan with a comprehensive contract for his Security Management Services?” quizzed Sterling. He didn’t appear to be averse to said bribe, however.

“My offer is to turn over all corporate security matters for the Fortune Corporation worldwide to SMS,” Kate said, spelling out the terms. “I’ll run it by Michael and Caroline—those are my grandchildren who are the company’s chief executives,” she added to Flynt in an aside, “but I’m certain they’ll agree.”

The offer—okay, so it really was a bribe—swirled in Flynt’s head. What an opportunity! The Fortune Corporation would be the most lucrative, prestigious account in his fast-growing business.

“Let me get this straight.” Flynt was pleased to hear how steady his voice sounded, as if he fielded fantastic offers like this every day. “SMS gets to handle all the Fortune Corporation’s security if I go to Birmingham with Brandon and set up a meeting between him and his daughter?”

Which meant that Brandon wouldn’t be the only one to meet Angelica Carroll. Angelica’s picture flashed before his mind’s eye. A thrill of anticipation jolted through Flynt, shocking him with its force. That the thought of meeting the unknown Angelica seemed to be engaging his interest as much as the extraordinary corporate opportunity was more than a little disconcerting. It was so unlike him. Work was—and had always been—his consuming interest.

“Not quite, dear.” Kate smiled shrewdly. “It’ll take time for Brandon and his daughter to connect. One meeting simply isn’t enough. Flynt, I’d like you to stay in Birmingham while Brandon and Angelica get to know each other. Then we’ll sign the contract.”

“And is the contract contingent upon a happy ending to this tale?” Flynt drawled. He should’ve known there was a catch. There always was. “Because if there is, I’m not interested. My time is too valuable to waste chasing rainbows.”

“You’re too young to be so cynical, my dear,” Kate reproved.

Flynt grinned in spite of himself. He was thirty-six, and it had been a long time since someone had told him he was “too young” for anything. He liked Kate’s take-action style. But not enough to accept the job unless the terms were sweetened in his favor.

Apparently, Kate realized that. “As much as I want Brandon’s relationship with Angelica to develop into a lasting one, I realize it might not happen.” She sighed. “The contract isn’t contingent on a happy ending, but there must be time and effort on your part to help their relationship along, Flynt. However, if Brandon and Angelica are simply incompatible, it won’t be your fault. We’ll sign that contract, regardless of the outcome.”

“It’s an extremely generous offer,” said Sterling. “If I were legally representing you, I’d urge you to accept it, Corrigan.”

It took Flynt all of one minute to follow Sterling’s advice. “With computers and faxes and phone conferences, I can temporarily run the business from Alabama as well as from anywhere. I’ll schedule a trip to Birmingham with Brandon,” Flynt said decisively. “Is tomorrow too soon to go, Brandon?”

Brandon wore the expression of a man poised on the ledge of a building, trying to decide whether or not to jump.

“Tomorrow would be wonderful,” Kate answered for her son. “Isn’t that right, Brandon?”

Brandon’s panicked eyes met Flynt’s, who took pity on him. He gave him a bolstering, fraternal pat on the back. “Brandon, pack your bags. We’re heading for Birmingham.”

Chapter 1

F lynt knocked on the door of the small, white frame house and wondered if he’d erred on the side of caution by not bringing Brandon along with him for this first visit to the Carrolls. Did he really need to play “advance man”?

Word around this well-tended, working-class neighborhood was that Romina Carroll tended to keep to herself but was hardworking and well thought of. She supported herself and her two youngest children by running a pet-sitting service, caring for the pets of people on vacation and others who worked during the day. She also baked and sold cookies to college students at Samford University and the University of Alabama’s Birmingham branch campus.

He knocked again, and the door opened a crack. Flynt tried to make himself look innocuous; he even managed what he hoped was a cheery smile. The mouthwatering smell of freshly baked cookies drifted from the house, and he inhaled deeply. And decided to act on a hunch. “I’m not from the State or the City Health Department, I swear.”

“The neighbors called to warn us that somebody was snooping around, asking questions about us,” a husky feminine voice replied from within.

“I bet it was old Mr. Willard next door who sounded the alarm about the Health Department,” Flynt said dryly, trying to see inside. It was almost impossible, with the door barely cracked. “He asked me more questions than I asked him, and they were all about permits and inspections and cookies like his mother used to make without government harassment.”

“Mr. Willard claims government jackals want a piece of everybody’s pie.” The female voice sounded amused. Yet wary and still on guard.

Flynt was tired of being stalled; it was past time to come to the point. “I’m Flynt Corrigan.” He slipped his business card through the crack. “I need to speak to Angelica Carroll.”

“What about?”

“I need to speak to Angelica Carroll,” he repeated.

“This card says you’re president of something called Security Management Services.” The insider’s voice was not only skeptical, it blatantly mocked him. “Am I supposed to believe that a president of a company is going door-to-door selling— What exactly are you hawking, anyway? Home security alarm systems? Well, we don’t need one, we’re already protected. Maybe you didn’t notice the sign posted in the yard? Or the decal on the front window?”

“You think I’m an incompetent salesman with a bogus business card?” Flynt shook his head, his voice laced with irony. “Ouch. My ego is decimated.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Corrigan.”

He knew the door was about to be closed and wouldn’t be reopened to him. All his law-enforcement reflexes were instantly activated. Flynt went straight for the door, wedged himself in the opening crack and pushed hard.

He heard an indignant gasp but he kept pushing, until the door was wide open and he was standing inside the house in a small, dimly lit vestibule.

“If you come one step closer, you’re toast, mister.” The threat was delivered by his husky-voiced sparring partner, but her words didn’t fully register with him.

Instead, Flynt found himself gulping for air. The sight of the young woman standing in the shadows a few feet away from him had literally taken his breath away.

It was Angelica Carroll. After all the time he’d spent studying her picture, Flynt knew he would’ve recognized her anywhere. What he hadn’t expected was her powerful physical impact on him. She had been intriguing in that grainy photo, but in person she absolutely captivated him. He reminded himself to inhale while his observational skills catalogued her.

Since he’d investigated her background, he knew of her mother’s mixed Romanian-Spanish descent. Those elements, combined with the distinctive Fortune good looks, created an ethnic hodgepodge mixing exotic, adorable and classic features into one unforgettable face, Flynt thought dizzily. He was at once amazed and dazed in a way he’d never been before. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

She was small-boned, and he gauged her height at somewhere around five foot three or four. Her big dark eyes were framed by dark lashes and brows, her mouth beautifully shaped, the lips sensuously full. She had an ivory complexion, a striking contrast with the inky black color of her hair. It fell around her shoulders in a thick, silken curtain.

He blinked. And then visibly started. For not only was she incredibly attractive, she was also holding a gun, a snub-nosed .38, pointed straight at his chest.

“I’m not kidding,” Angelica said sternly. “One false move and you’re—”

“Toast,” Flynt completed the threat. “Yes, you mentioned that already.”

“You don’t really believe I’ll do it, do you?” Angelica sounded disgruntled. “Well, don’t challenge me or else—”

“I’ll be burned toast?” Flynt suggested.

Perhaps he was being reckless, but he wasn’t afraid of being shot by Angelica Carroll. The uncanny spell she seemed to have cast upon him struck him as far more dangerous than that gun, Flynt mused. Why else would he be gazing at her like a dumbstruck yokel in the presence of a royal princess?

“Angel, I heard voices, what’s going on? Who is this?”

The woman who joined them in the vestibule just had to be Romina, Flynt decided. Angelica’s response confirmed his hunch.

“Everything is under control, Mama. Don’t worry.”

“He’s with the FBI!” Romina exclaimed, her dark eyes pinning Flynt with a laser stare.

Flynt felt a peculiar frisson ripple through him. He was dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt and a jacket and knew his hair was a tad too long for regulation Bureau standards.

“What makes you think that?” He tried to sound casual but Romina’s response disconcerted him. He’d rarely been so quickly identified on sight as an agent, even when he actually had been working for the FBI.

“Instincts, honey. I operate on them,” Romina said flatly.

Flynt attempted to study Romina a bit more covertly than the frank way she was studying him. She looked like a version of Cher, he decided. Long, dark, straight hair and bangs, piercing dark eyes. Average height, average weight. Dressed in black leggings and an extra-long, crimson University of Alabama T-shirt.

Since his presence so far had only inspired Angelica to threaten to shoot him, he decided to address Romina instead. “I’m Flynt Corrigan, of Security Management Services, and I’d like to talk to you about your daughter, Angelica.”

“What about my Angel?” Romina bristled, her body language as defensive as her tone.

“I’ve been retained by the Fortu—” Flynt began, before Romina let out an ear-piercing scream.

“Mama, it’s all right,” Angelica said to calm her.

“Ms. Carroll, Romina, please get control of yourself,” Flynt ordered, but Romina kept screaming.

Within seconds, a teenage girl and a younger boy came racing into the vestibule.

“Mama, what’s wrong?” cried the boy.

The girl took action. She seized an umbrella from the tall ceramic stand in the corner and began to smack Flynt with it. “What did you do to our mama? Get out of here! Get out now!”

The attack was so unexpected that the girl got in two good whacks across his back and shoulders before Flynt’s trained reflexes kicked in. He grabbed the end of the umbrella and yanked it out of the teenager’s hands.

The boy emitted what may have been an attempt at a warrior’s whoop and charged Flynt, who easily sidestepped him. The young charger crashed into the wall instead.

“Oh, Casper!” Romina heaved a deep sigh.

“Stop right there, son!” Flynt’s voice, which had once caused criminals to halt in their tracks, proved just as effective on the boy, who was about to rush at him again. Casper froze in place. The girl shrank against Romina.

“There is no cause for alarm.” Flynt changed his tone into one of soothing reassurance.

He directed his attention to the boy and girl. They had to be Romina’s younger children, fourteen-year-old Sarah and twelve-year-old Casper, who’d been mere footnotes in his fact-finding probe. Now here they were in the flesh. Flynt knew there was another sibling too, Daniel, a twenty-one-year-old Marine currently serving in Bosnia.

Sarah looked wholesome and perky in her cheerleading outfit, her hair caught up in a dark ponytail. Young Casper, short and skinny with his thick-lensed eyeglasses sliding down his nose, was small and scared and literally trembling. Flynt felt sorry for him.

“I’m Flynt Corrigan, and I came here to talk to your mother and older sister.” He knew he’d better talk fast because Romina looked like she was gearing up to shriek again. “I think your mom must have misinterpreted what I said, because I certainly have no intention of causing trouble or harm to any of you.”

“Very impressive,” Angelica said coolly. “You play both bad cop and good cop, and you segue from one to the other without missing a beat. Now, drop the umbrella or I’ll shoot it out of your hand.”

Flynt realized that he was indeed still holding the umbrella. He let go, and it clattered to the scuffed wood floor.

“Put your hands up in the air,” ordered Angelica. “The way they do on TV.”

He reluctantly raised his hands in TV-style surrender. He had a feeling this scene was being enacted straight from a television cop show Angelica had watched. Unfortunately he’d landed the hapless role of criminal intruder.

“He did it!” Casper exclaimed, his voice squeaky with relief. “He listened to you, Angel.”

“When someone has a gun pointed at you, it’s wise to go along with the suggestion, son,” said Flynt.

“It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order,” snapped Angelica.

“And I’m not your son,” said the boy. He adjusted the frames of his thick glasses, his face scrunched in sudden confusion. “Am I, Mama?”

“No, I’ve never seen the man before in my life.” Romina took a few steps closer. Automatically, Sarah and Casper moved closer, too. They studied Flynt, their faces reflecting suspicion mingled with curiosity and fear.

“What I really think,” Romina said confidentially, “is that he’s some kind of undercover cop.”

Angelica appeared to consider the likelihood of this. “If so, he’s refined the usual police procedure. He seems to be trying to be personable.”

“Am I succeeding?” Flynt asked lightly.

“I’d swear he’s FBI, but the haircut doesn’t jibe.” Romina frowned thoughtfully.

Flynt watched them, listening, his investigatory instincts on full alert. Something was going on here. Had they actually been interrogated by an FBI agent at some point? If so, why? And if not, why the paranoia?

Unless they had sent that blackmail note to Brandon and now feared they’d been caught?

His eyes swept over Angelica Carroll. God, she was a knockout! She had the face of an angel—it seemed altogether fitting that her nickname was Angel. But her faded, snug jeans and ribbed sky blue shirt displayed a curvy, enticing figure that did not conjure up celestial thoughts. Far from it.

Flynt swallowed hard. She somehow combined a sweet wholesomeness with sexual intensity, an intriguing combination that fascinated him despite his efforts to ignore her allure.

It occurred to him how very much he did not want Angelica to be the blackmailer, and he tried to admonish himself for his uncharacteristic loss of objectivity.

“Why don’t you just drop your act and tell us the truth, Mr. Corrigan?” Angelica’s eyes met his, and he felt another jolt of awareness.

He quickly looked away from her, uncomfortable with the disturbing sensual power this woman he did not know—and most certainly couldn’t trust—seemed to hold over him.

“All right, I’ll tell you the truth. There is no reason not to, I have nothing to hide.” He knew he sounded slightly defensive. “I used to be a field agent with the FBI, but I retired from the Bureau five years ago to form my own company. We handle investigations and security for companies, universities and certain private individuals.”

“You used to be an FBI agent?” Sarah repeated doubtfully. “Why’d you quit?”

“Because the hours and the pay in the private sector are a lot better than working for the government.” Flynt injected a note of friendly humor in his voice, remembering their neighbor’s antipathy for “government jackals.”

He watched the Carrolls exchange glances, but could discern nothing from their blank expressions. Which were suddenly so thoroughly blank, the effect had to be calculated. Contrived. Flynt recognized a mask when he saw it, and right now he was seeing four.

Such total uniformity wasn’t accidental, Flynt decided, it had to have been previously rehearsed. He might have nothing to hide, but these people definitely did.

The question was what? Their plan to milk their connection to the wealthy Fortunes for all it was worth? They didn’t look like a clan of conniving blackmailers, but he knew from experience that judging on appearance could prove to be extremely unreliable.

“Could you put the gun down now, Angelica?” he asked.

“You didn’t say please.” Her tone matched the pseudo courtesy of his, word for word.

“By all means, let’s keep this party polite.” Flynt managed a forced chuckle. “Please, Angelica. You possess a remarkably steady hand, but being held at gunpoint is making me a little uneasy.” He was aware that he was trying—too hard?—to sound personable.

“I understand. And you’re not only uneasy, you’re insulted,” Angelica said sweetly. “Having a girl point a gun at you is insulting, isn’t it? After all, you have your big macho male image to maintain.” She kept the gun trained on him.

“I think you’re actually enjoying this.” Flynt was more than a little embarrassed. She’d hit the proverbial nail right on its clichéd head. What redblooded male, particularly a former lawman, wanted a pretty girl to pull a gun on him? And worse, keep it on him! A hopeful thought struck. “Maybe your gun isn’t actually loaded?”

“Oh, it is,” Angelica assured him. “Never doubt that. And keep your hands up, Ex-Agent Corrigan.”

“We have a weapons permit, so you can’t haul us in on that one,” added Casper rather gleefully.

Flynt heaved a sigh. “Look, I’m getting tired of this.” He slowly lowered his hands, taking heart that Angelica did not shoot him. But she did keep the gun pointed directly at him.

They were clearly at a standoff. Which might all too easily escalate to a face-off, unless he managed to defuse the tension. Flynt ran his hand through his thick, dark hair, spiking it in a dozen different directions. Angelica, her mother, sister and brother resumed staring at him with their exasperatingly impassive expressions.

“Do you know who the Fortune family is?” he asked sternly, aware that he’d unintentionally lapsed into bad cop mode.

“Who doesn’t?” Angelica replied, lifting one perfectly arched dark brow in a gesture of derision. She recognized his bad cop was back and wasn’t at all intimidated.

“I don’t,” said Casper.

“Neither do I,” said Sarah. “Who are they?”

“Keep still,” barked Romina.

Both children looked downcast, their coolly impervious air gone. Flynt had no trouble reading their young faces now. They regretted displeasing their mother. His eyes shifted to Angelica, who was watching him closely.

He frowned. How should he play this? Angelica would probably laugh in his face if he segued into the role of Good Cop. Did she already know who her father was? And if she didn’t, shouldn’t she have some sort of preparation for such a momentous disclosure?

He scorned himself for even considering her reaction, let alone caring about it. He should be hoping she’d be so stunned, she would drop the damn gun!

He glanced at Romina. Why didn’t she say something? What was going on with these people?

Flynt felt his body churn with unaccustomed frustration. Never had he felt so clueless. He’d long prided himself as an expert in interpreting facial nuances and body language, in gauging motive and reaction. Not now. In the Carrolls, he’d hit a human brick wall.

“Feel free to jump in at any time, Romina. Otherwise, I’ll just go ahead and say it.” He looked at Romina. Who still didn’t say a thing.

“So go on and say whatever it is, why don’t you?” Casper taunted.

“Don’t bother,” said Angelica. “We’re not afraid of any threats you came here to make, so stop wasting our time—and your own—and leave. Now.”

Her finger lightly caressed the trigger in a gesture so obvious, Flynt knew she’d deliberately done it to goad him.

“This is ridiculous.” He sucked in his cheeks. “I don’t know what game you’re all playing—Family Stonewall, maybe?—but I’ve had enough.”

He took a deep breath and forged ahead. “I am not here to make threats. And I am not leaving until I tell you why I really am here.”

“Okay, let’s hear it. And then get out,” Angelica commanded.

“I arrived in Birmingham today, accompanied by Brandon Malone Fortune. He is your father, Angelica, and he wants to meet you as soon as possible. I came here first as a kind of advance man, a facilitator, to, uh, help ease whatever initial awkwardness there might be.”

He thought it best not to mention the blackmail threat just yet.

Anticipating some initial awkwardness had been optimistic, Flynt thought grimly. The silent tension that blanketed the room reminded him of the eerie, thick stillness that preceded weather phenomena, like killer tornados.

The silence stretched on for so long that Flynt himself felt the need to break it. “Somebody say something.” He made it a demand, not a request.

“Brandon in Birmingham.” Romina finally spoke. Her voice was cold and devoid of emotion. “Well, that’s good for a laugh, I guess. And since there aren’t any world-famous, luxury hotels in town, I’m sure neither of you will be staying. Brandon isn’t one to compromise his standards and settle for anything less.”

“We’re staying at the Premier Living Suites,” replied Flynt, naming a complex for business travelers. Romina’s insight surprised him. Even after all the years spent apart from him, she had accurately pegged Brandon’s reaction to accommodations lacking the prestigious five-star or diamond ranking. Brandon would have been satisfied to arrive and leave the city the same day that he squeezed in a meeting with his daughter, but Kate’s determination that he stay and try to develop a relationship with Angelica nixed a quick exit. Besides he’d grown fond of Kate and didn’t want to disappoint her. When their meeting had ended, the Fortune matriarch had drawn him aside and told him she had high hopes that having a daughter would give purpose and direction to Brandon’s life.

“Brandon is willing to meet you at his suite or here in this house or wherever you say, Angelica. It’s entirely your call,” said Flynt, hoping he sounded reassuring.

Unfortunately his irritation at Romina for placing him in the position of news breaker, gave his voice a harsher edge. Worse, he could tell that the news he’d broken really was news to Angelica and the kids.

For Flynt had seen the flash of shock and something that might have been pain cross Angelica’s face in the seconds before she composed her lovely features back into a mask of stoic cool.

“I’m well aware that Brandon Malone Fortune is my father, Mr. Corrigan.” Angelica sounded bored. “And I don’t want to meet him—anytime or anywhere.”

But Flynt was alert to the almost imperceptible pauses before she’d spoken her father’s name. Before she’d said the word father. She was covering well, but he perceived that the news had made an emotional impact upon her.

Angelica had not known Brandon Fortune was her father; every instinct Flynt possessed told him so.

Her next action confirmed it. Angelica silently walked to the bookcase in the living room, just off to the right, and placed the gun on the top shelf. Flynt watched her, his eyes fixed on the gentle sway of her hips as she walked. On the smooth white skin of her midriff, exposed when her shirt rode up as she stretched to stand on her toes to reach the highest shelf.

Tension hummed in his body. He continued to stare as she rejoined them in the small vestibule.

Angelica looked up at him, as if surprised to still find him there. “I told you I didn’t want to meet Mr. Fortune. Now why don’t you go back and tell him so, like a good, loyal lackey?”

That stung. Flynt scowled. “I’m nobody’s lackey, little girl. Remember that.”

“Only if you’ll remember not to ever refer to me as ‘little girl’ again.” Angelica’s eyes were flashing.

“You can reveal a lot in anger, Angel,” Romina warned. “Far too much.”

“I don’t mind revealing that I do not appreciate sexist comments about my height or my gender, Mama.” Angelica was ostensibly speaking to her mother, but her dark gaze was fastened on Flynt.

“Your uncle Gabe calls his wife, that’s your aunt Rebecca, ‘Shorty,’ and she doesn’t seem to mind,” Flynt said conversationally. “Of course, she’s not actually short so maybe it doesn’t seem to be that big a deal to her.”

“Angelica, just think, you have aunts and uncles!” exclaimed Sarah. “Tell us about Angelica’s father, Mr. Corrigan!” The girl was clearly astounded by the revelation and didn’t bother to conceal it. “Is he my dad, too?”

“And mine?” echoed Casper, who looked so hopeful that Flynt felt an overwhelming urge to throttle Romina.

Why had she let it happen this way? Why had she permitted her children to hear such personal, sensitive news from a stranger? From him! He felt like a purveyor of sleaze for the lowliest tabloid.

“Brandon Fortune is Angelica’s father, kids, but not yours,” Flynt said, when it became clear that Romina wasn’t going to answer them.

Was that the shine of tears in Angelica’s dark eyes? Flynt stared at her, watched her struggle to maintain her facade of control. He wanted to break through it, to get an emotional reaction from her. And wondered why.

After all, his own wall of reserve was as strong as a fortress. If he’d been in Angelica’s position, he would have responded exactly the same way she had. By concealing any pain. Controlling it by denying it. So why did he care?

Chapter 2

“W hy did her father come here to Birmingham?” quizzed Casper. And then his eyes widened and his mouth formed a round, shocked O. “Does he want to get back together with Mama?”

“Of course not, Casper,” Romina finally said. “I haven’t seen Brandon since I was sixteen years old. I’m amazed he knows about Angelica. If he really does know, that is,” she added darkly.

“You think I’m making this up?” Flynt was exasperated. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“Casper has asked a very good question.” Romina’s dark eyes were intense as lasers as they bored into Flynt. “Why did Brandon come to Birmingham to meet Angelica? After all these years, why bother now?”

“Maybe he wanted to give her some money,” Casper suggested ingenuously. “Wouldn’t that be cool, Angel?”

“We don’t need money from Brandon Fortune, Casper.” Angelica’s voice was shaky. She’d either abandoned her attempt at feigning indifference or else she was unable to keep up the pretense. “Or from anyone else.”

“We do, too, need money,” protested Casper. “We never have enough. There’s lots of stuff I don’t have and the other kids do. Like a computer. I learned everything about them in school. I know more than anybody in my class, but I don’t have my own computer. And I don’t have any video games, either. Everybody has them but me.”

“You have plenty of games,” countered Romina crossly, looking defensive.

“Games that nobody wants to play!” Casper’s thin face was flushed. “A deck of cards and a chess set. Chinese checkers. Clue and Monopoly—and not even the deluxe editions.”

“You should be thankful for what you have, not greedy for what you don’t have, young man!” Romina glared at her son.

“Mama, I think Casper is—” Angelica began, attempting to make peace between the pair.

“You know how hard I’ve worked to make things better than they were for you at his age, Angelica. But you never complained. I never heard one word of self-pity out of you. From the age of nine, you went out and earned money baby-sitting, and you always watched the little kids for me while I worked nights. You were a perfect child.”

“Not this again!” Casper howled, his temper flaring anew. “I’m sick of hearing about how perfect Angel and Danny were when they were kids. You don’t even try to understand.” He burst into tears and ran out of the room.

“Mama, don’t.” Angelica laid her hand on her mother’s shoulder as she saw her mother brush aside a tear. “This is a hard age for him. He’s going through a rough time at school and he—”

“Oh, Angelica, don’t give me that psychology junk you learned in nursing school,” Romina said impatiently, before turning on her heels. Sarah followed, leaving Angelica and Flynt facing each other in the vestibule.

“Mama tries her best.” Angelica looked forlorn. “She always has. But she and Casper—well, they just—just—”

“Rub each other the wrong way?” suggested Flynt. “Believe me, I’ve been there.”

“You don’t get along with one of your children?” Angelica asked, her dark eyes wide as saucers.

A smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “I don’t have any kids. Or a wife, either, for that matter. I meant that, growing up, I played Casper’s role. I always managed to do or say exactly what would get on poor Mom’s last nerve. She always claimed she was doing her best, too.”

He felt Angelica studying him, and a peculiar warmth began to spread through him. “I’m waiting for you to express your deepest sympathy for my mom. To say that an obnoxious adult like me could’ve only been a hellacious kid, one that would drive any well-meaning mother into a frenzy.”

“Do you get along with her now?” Angelica said instead. “Did things between you and your mother get better when you grew up?”

“After I left home, things between us definitely improved. Because I wasn’t there.” Flynt was glib. He wanted to drop the subject; Corrigan family history was not something he ever cared to dwell upon.

“Do you keep in touch with your mother?” Angelica pressed. “Do you phone or visit her often?”

She was watching him, both curious and determined. As a dogged interrogator himself, Flynt realized that she wouldn’t let up till she got some answers. Well, he was willing to provide some, but if she was hoping to hear about a fractious mother-son relationship turned harmonious, she was out of luck.

“There is the occasional phone call,” he admitted. “But I limit my visits to one afternoon a year, on Christmas Day. My aunts, uncles and cousins are around to keep the conversation, and the eggnog, flowing. The TV set is on all day and that helps, too.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry I can’t paint a more glowing picture for Casper’s future relationship with your mother, but who can tell? Maybe it will be better for them, maybe they’ll end up the best of friends. Now, about Brandon—”

“What about your sisters and brothers?” Angelica dismissed his attempt to switch topics. “Are you close to them? Are they—”

“There aren’t any,” Flynt said tersely.

He felt the familiar ache that struck whenever anyone posed casual, innocuous questions about siblings. If he replied that he had none, he felt he was denying that Mark had ever existed at all.

But mentioning his younger brother often led to more questions, ones that inevitably culminated in the pain and dread that had shadowed his childhood. And his adult life, too. How could it not?

“You look strange,” Angelica observed. She’d moved to stand closer to him and was eyeing him intently.

She was close enough for him to inhale the subtle scent of her perfume, a fresh citrusy aroma that reminded him of sunshine and… Flynt gulped. And sex.

The sexual arousal was based strictly on his strong attraction to her, not the perfume, Flynt conceded. Because never before had the delicate scent of orange blossoms turned him on.

He was definitely turned on now. Heat streaked through him, from the top of his head to his feet, pooling sensually, deliciously, inconveniently, deep in his groin. If she were to lower her eyes, she would notice that the fit of his jeans had been altered quite visibly by his arousal.

Flynt fervently hoped that she wouldn’t see.

“Of course I look strange.” He retreated a few steps, desperately needing to marshal his defenses against her all-too-potent allure. “I’ve just been held at gunpoint, and then got stuck witnessing a nasty family quarrel,” he said flippantly. “It would be strange if I didn’t look strange.”

“You didn’t look strange till I asked you about sisters and brothers,” Angelica persisted. “I can tell that’s obviously a sensitive subject with you.”

She took a step closer, and Flynt shifted under the intensity of her gaze. That laser stare of Romina’s seemed to be a genetic trait.

“Don’t give me that psychology junk you learned in nursing school, Angelica.” Flynt did a rather credible imitation of Romina’s rebuke.

Instead of taking offense, Angelica smiled. And Flynt felt as if he’d been struck by a bolt of sensual lightning. He’d thought she was enticing from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, but when she smiled like that, her eyes bright, her face alight, she was well-nigh irresistible.

“Nice dodge, but it won’t work, Mr. Corrigan,” Angelica said, tilting her head.

She was still smiling, and he gazed at her, transfixed.

“You’ve had a firsthand look at the Carroll family, now it’s your turn to cough up some personal information about the Corrigans.”

Was she flirting with him? Flynt clamped his teeth together to keep his jaw from hanging agape like a starstruck idiot.

And then her words filtered through the sensual clouds and abruptly quashed every amatory feeling. An abrupt transition, akin to being thrown into an icy lake. Which was a good thing, he concluded. He had been too distracted by her appeal, he’d lost his focus on the job at hand. That was unacceptable.

“I’m here to talk about your father, not me.” His lips thinned to a hard, straight line. “To set up the initial meeting between the two of you, and the sooner, the better.”

Angelica stared at him. His transformation was startling. For a few moments there, his mood had been light, almost playful, now he was strictly business.

Fortune business. She flinched. “I have no desire to meet—”

“You didn’t know Brandon was your father, did you?” Flynt lowered his voice and she leaned in closer to hear. “You don’t have to don the family mask, no one is here but me. Be honest, Angelica.”

“No, I didn’t,” she confessed. “I guess there’s really no harm in admitting that.”

“Any particular reason why you pretended that you knew?” He sounded almost amused.

“I just did, that’s all.”

“Because you were raised to automatically lie when faced with the unknown, according to your mother’s ‘trust no one’ philosophy?”

Bingo! He’d hit it. Not that Angelica was about to tell him so. “Now who’s overindulging in psychology, Agent Corrigan?”

“Ex-agent, remember?” he corrected. “And call me Flynt.”

Their eyes met again, and Angelica felt her pulses jump queerly. He had an unnerving effect on her. A most unusual one. Because when she’d been holding him at gunpoint, when she suspected him of being sent here to investigate them, of being one of the enemy, she’d felt an unexpected, unwelcome sexual awareness of him.

That had never happened to her before. Being attracted to a man who could bring their lives crashing down on them? Good Lord, it was something her mother might do! But not perceptive, practical Angelica, who had been blessed with an abundance of common sense. And a steely self-control dating back to her nursery school days.

It occurred to her that somewhere along the line she’d begun to trust Flynt Corrigan, at least a little. Enough to believe he was telling the truth about why he’d come, that he actually was here representing her newfound father.

If he were one of them, he wouldn’t have lingered so long talking in the vestibule; they liked to burst onto the scene like a SWAT team. Time was always of the essence in their hateful surprise searches.

Most convincing of all, her mother didn’t view him as a threat, and her mother’s instincts in such cases were impeccable.

“You’re a million miles away.” Flynt’s voice, deep and male, broke into her thoughts. “I know you must have plenty of questions about Brandon and how he found you, so just ask, Angelica. I’m here to give you the answers.”

She was standing way too close to him, Angelica realized with a start. They were in each other’s personal space, within easy touching distance, and the longer she looked into his light blue eyes, the less clearly she was able to think.

He had beautiful eyes, the palest of blue, a distinctive contrast to his dark brown hair and brows. Taken separately, his features were too irregular for him to be categorized as handsome, yet his face was one of the most interesting, arresting ones she’d ever seen. Masculine and unyielding, with the kind of virile sex appeal that probably caused a lot of women to throw themselves at him.

He had said he wasn’t married. Angelica’s guard, so briefly dropped, was back in full force. He was probably one of those jerks who bounced from woman to woman, unwilling or unable to make a commitment. The type of man her mother was drawn to, with hapless moth-to-a-flame predictability.

And from what she’d heard via media gossip, exactly the type of man her father Brandon Fortune was.

Angelica’s stomach clenched and she took a sudden deep gulp of air. She felt like she’d been sucker punched. Her father! As if life weren’t complicated enough, now she had a father to deal with!

“Are you okay?” Flynt was practically hovering over her now. Too close. Way, way too close.

Angelica was excruciatingly aware of his vastly superior height—he was a couple of inches over six feet, effectively dwarfing her—and of his broad shoulders, his muscular frame not at all disguised by his jacket.

He was tough and strong and looked it. She didn’t like tough, strong men. She remembered too well how one swat from a big man’s fist had sent her flying across the room. More than once.

“Now you’re the one who looks strange.” Flynt cupped his hands over her shoulders to support her. “You’ve gone so pale, you look ready to faint.”

Angelica jumped. His touch seemed to tripwire every nerve in her body. She felt her hair stand on end. “Don’t touch me!”

She roughly jerked away from him and made a wild dash to the living room.

Flynt’s reflexes were on red alert status this time. He easily beat her to the bookcase and retrieved the gun from the top shelf, tucking it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Give that to me!” Angelica demanded thickly.

“So you can shoot me with it? Not a chance, Miss Fortune.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Flynt folded his arms in front of his chest. “You’re going to have to deal with it, Angelica. You’ve been found, and your father’s family wants to claim you as one of their own.”

“Oh, sure! I just bet they do,” she said sarcastically. Standing across the living room from him, with distance safely between them, her fighting spirits were revived…even if he did have her gun.

She had no fear that he would use it, but it was annoying to be bested so easily by him after she’d done such a splendid job of holding her own earlier.

“That’s why I’m here, Angelica,” Flynt said with commendable patience. “If you’ll allow me to explain the circumstances surrounding your father’s—”

“Spare me. I remember when Monica Malone was murdered and the news broke that her son Brandon was really the missing Fortune child who’d been kidnapped as an infant,” Angelica interjected. “It was one of those sensational stories the media hyped to excess, especially since they wrongly believed Jake Fortune had killed Monica. A person would’ve had to be living in a cave in the remote Himalayas not to have heard about it.”

“The Fortunes were all over TV and in all the papers back then,” agreed Flynt. “They told me how much they hated being trapped in that media circus. Even eight years later they’re still appalled by the memory of it.”

“Are they still appalled by Brandon? You see, I also remember some of the more candid pictures and video clips back then. They were a real study in body language. That family looked anything but thrilled to have Monica Malone’s son dumped on them, blood relative or not.”

“You picked that up from a few photos and video footage, did you?” mocked Flynt.

She didn’t back down. “I’m right, aren’t I? Well, they’ll be even less happy to meet me. Not that I blame them, I don’t want to meet them, either. We might be related, but we’re strangers with nothing at all in common.”

“Brandon’s mother, Kate—your grandmother—was happy to have Brandon back,” countered Flynt, “and she is looking forward to meeting and knowing you, too, Angelica. Kate’s determined to see you reunited with your father, and she’s made it very clear that you are to be a part of the Fortune family.”

“Well, I’m sorry but the feeling isn’t mutual.”

“The last thing you need is any more family, huh?” His lips quirked into that wry smile of his.

The one that had an odd effect on her senses. Her cheeks suddenly felt hot. “You make it sound as if—” She broke off, irked.

He was deliberately trying to goad her, but she didn’t have to let him. “I have nothing more to say to you, and you can tell Brandon Fortune that there is no sense in dredging up a past that is best forgotten. Now, would you please leave?”

Flynt stayed right where he was. Angelica frowned her displeasure. Well, what had she expected? If he wouldn’t go when ordered at gunpoint, he’d hardly respond to a polite request.

“I can understand why you harbor certain—reservations—about having your father in your life. Having met your mother,” Flynt paused, striving for tact. Which meant starting over. “Now that I’ve met both your parents, it’s obvious that dealing with the two of them is going to require a deft touch. But I believe you’re up to the task, Angelica.”

She was wondering how to reply to that when there was a loud, almost thunderous pounding on the front door.

“Open up!” ordered the voice outside. “Police! And FBI. We have a search warrant!”

“Great, just great.” Angelica groaned. “What else can go wrong today?”

At once Romina, Sarah and Casper all came running. Romina was shouting, Sarah and Casper both appeared anxious.

Angelica’s eyes flew to Flynt’s face. He looked as if he’d just found himself transported into the Twilight Zone.

“What the hell’s going on?” Flynt demanded.

“You have till the count of three to open the door or we’ll break it down!” roared the voice from outside. “You know we’ll do it, Romina.”

“I know you will!” Romina screamed back.

“Go away!” wailed Sarah. “Leave us alone!” She turned to her mother. “I hate it when they mess up my room, Mama. Last time they broke my softball trophy and threw my collection of stuffed animals on the floor and tramped all over them!”

“I know, honey.” Romina stroked her younger daughter’s hair. “They’re cruel and unreasonable.”

“And that’s why we do what we do, right, Mama,” exclaimed Casper.

Romina glanced at Flynt. “Casper, hush.”

“Okay, Romina, this is it,” shouted the voice. “One…”

“Where’s the gun, Angelica?” Casper tugged on Angelica’s arm. “Let’s fight back this time. Shoot them.”

Flynt stared at the four Carrolls, who seemed prepared to let their door be broken down rather then opening it. “There’ll be no shooting,” he said sternly. “And no forced entry, either.”

“Hold on, we’re going to open the door,” he called as he strode to it.

The shouted threats and warnings stopped. Flynt felt the pressure of Angelica’s gun in the inside pocket of his jacket. If the intruders weren’t who they claimed to be, at least he was armed.

He opened the door to two uniformed policemen, one who appeared to be in his late thirties, the other about ten years younger. Flynt immediately picked out which was the FBI agent from the two men not in uniform. Mid-forties, conservative suit and shoes, neat haircut, definitely with the Bureau. The other guy was a run-of-the-mill private investigator, Flynt was certain of it; he recognized the breed.

What, he wondered, did this quartet want with Romina Carroll?

“Who are you?” growled the older police officer whose name tag identified him as Officer S. Webber.

“I guess you could say I’m a friend of the family,” Flynt replied, “or something along that line. And I’d like to see that search warrant, please.”

“Oh, TJ, I’m so glad it’s you!” Sarah rushed onto the porch and beamed at the younger policeman. “Would you search my room, please? I know you won’t throw stuff around and break my things on purpose like some people.” She shot the older officer a baleful glance. “That cop, Moffet, who was here last time was awful, Officer Webber. He should be fired.”

“I’m sure Moffet was just doing his job, young lady. And nobody deliberately breaks your things,” growled Webber. “If your mama decided to abide by the law, you wouldn’t have to go through this. We don’t like it any more than you do. Go on in with her, TJ, you might as well get started,” he instructed the other officer.

“C’mon, TJ,” invited Sarah. “Wait’ll you see what I—”

“Just a minute! No one is going inside until I’ve seen that search warrant,” Flynt commanded.

He sounded convincingly authoritative and legally knowledgeable and was aware that his casual attire could be attributed either to an undercover law enforcement officer or a lawyer.

The four men on the porch stayed where they were.

“Who’s he, Romina?” Officer Webber demanded. “Got yourself some legal aid? Or did another agency beat us over here?”

Flynt gave his card to Webber, who passed it around to the other three men. “I’m here on behalf of Angelica’s father’s family,” he added, not bothering to reveal his exact role.

“And they’re really rich and they’ll make you sorry you messed with us,” boasted Casper.

“What’s this about your father, Angelica?” TJ, the younger officer, looked astonished.

“Seems I have a father.” Angelica rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell you more later.”

The FBI agent showed Flynt his credentials, identifying him as Glenn Weatherall from the local FBI field office. “Officers Webber and Gibson are with the Birmingham Police Department.” Weatherall indicated the uniformed officers with a nod toward them. “And this is Ike Searcy, a private investigator.”

Searcy produced his own card as Weatherall handed Flynt the warrant and a few other papers.

“Flynt can kick your butts, ’cause he’s not afraid of you. He used to be an FBI agent and he had a license to kill, just like James Bond. But then he decided to quit and get rich.” Casper ran around the porch like a manic puppy, darting among the four men. “And when we’re rich, we’re gonna—”

“Casper, hush!” hissed Romina. “And stay still! Sit down in that chair and don’t move!” She pointed to a wicker chair at the far end of the porch.

Casper flopped down on it, heaving a martyred sigh.

Flynt read through the papers he’d been given, then looked at Romina. “This is a valid search-and-seizure warrant, Romina.”

Romina glared at him, then at Webber. “So go on in and tear up my house again. I already put the usual stuff-to-be-seized in a box right by the phone. My address book, phone statements and bills, and bank statements—all together for your convenience. Did I leave anything out?”

“Credit card statements,” barked Searcy.

“We don’t use credit cards,” Angelica replied. “Mama believes in paying cash. It keeps you from living beyond your means and getting into debt.”

She was saying all the right words, but her tone was—well, too angelic, mused Flynt. As if she didn’t expect to be taken seriously.

“Oh, come on. We all know the true reason why you don’t use credit,” groused Webber. “Cash eliminates a paper trail.”

“This is such a big waste of time,” Romina huffed impatiently. “You won’t find anything here. You never do.”

“You mean anybody,” Searcy corrected. “Damn, we’re too late again! I know Darlene Carson and her kids were here. You’ve already helped them move on, Romina,” he added accusingly.

Romina shrugged. “You have a good imagination. Ever think of writing for TV?”

“You may as well get started,” Angelica spoke up. “I was going to go back to my apartment, but I’ll stay until they leave, Mama.”

“Thank you, Angel.” Romina gave her a little hug, then turned to the young policeman. “TJ, are you seeing Mara tonight?”

TJ’s face reddened and he nodded his head. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

“Be sure and tell her you helped tear up my house and upset my kids. Remember what Mara says about these raids, Angelica? How all the angry men stomping and yelling reminds her of that bully stepfather of hers, the one she ran away from. Remember, Angel?”

Angelica nodded. “I remember, Mama.”

“You should remember some things too, TJ,” Romina said to the young policeman who didn’t meet her steady gaze. “Remember that Mara Quinlan was my foster child from the time she was thirteen. That we were the only ones willing to help her get away from that monster her mother married—the one your department finally got around to putting in jail after he nearly killed a man in a fight. You think about all that while you’re ransacking my house.”

“Give TJ a break, Mama.” Angelica heaved a sigh. “He’s just doing his job.”

“Yeah, like the Gestapo did theirs.” Romina scowled. “Did Mara ever tell you that she was here baby-sitting during that first raid, TJ? She wouldn’t open the door and the cops kicked it in. Poor Mara was scared to death, she was even more upset than Sarah and Casper who were only eleven and nine at the time. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather when Mara told me she’d started dating a cop. After that raid, she was so hostile toward the police.”

TJ made a strangled sound and followed Sarah into the house.

“Mama, don’t try to make trouble for TJ with Mara,” Angelica warned her mother. “He’s a nice guy.”

“Don’t forget to add, ‘for a cop,’” drawled Flynt, unable to refrain from commenting.

“I’ve known TJ Gibson for years, long before he became a cop.” Angelica eyed him coolly. “He’s a nice guy, period.”

“Angel went to the Junior Prom with TJ. He was crazy about her. Of course, I can’t remember when Angelica hasn’t had guys crazy about her.” Romina’s smile could have been one of maternal pride—or of malice.

Flynt suspected the latter because she aimed it directly at him. As if he cared who Angelica had gone to the Junior Prom with…as if he cared if there were battalions of men lusting after her!

Of course he didn’t care. But he found himself wondering if there was currently a particular man in her life. He hadn’t investigated her private life for the Fortunes, other than her marital status and lack of offspring.

“Might as well go inside and have some iced tea.” Romina was suddenly, inexplicably cheerful. “The goon squad won’t be in the kitchen long, it’s too small for anybody to be hidden in there. Of course, our refrigerator does have a fairly big vegetable drawer. Think you’ll find somebody hiding out in it, Webber?”

“You’re a zillion laughs, Romina.” Webber pushed past her and marched inside.

“Can I have some iced tea, too, Mama?” Casper had jumped up from the chair and was circling the group.

“You can have a glass of milk,” said Romina. “It’s better for you.”

“Can I have some cookies?” the boy asked.

“They’re the special orders for campus delivery and—oh, all right, you can have one oatmeal cookie.” Romina entered the house. “But just one.”

“I want two, an oatmeal and a chocolate chip. I’m too skinny, I need to bulk up.” Casper continued to badger his mother as he trailed her inside.

“Okay, okay. You can have two. Now stop nagging!”

Angelica started after them. Flynt caught her arm, pulling her back to him.

“The warrant, the search, the items listed to be seized as evidence—” he took a sharp breath “—this is serious business, Angelica. The affidavit cites possible federal charges against your mother for aiding and abetting a fugitive and for violating custody laws. Conspiracy and obstruction of justice charges are mentioned. And then there are additional state charges filed in New Jersey for interfering with custody arrangements. I don’t get it. What on earth is your mother—”

“My mother doesn’t deserve to be treated like a common criminal,” Angelica said stiffly. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop it from happening.”

Flynt noticed that she was staring at Weatherall and Searcy as she spoke, her words directed to them as much as to him. The two men had remained on the porch while the uniformed officers were inside the house, presumably searching and seizing.

What were they looking for? Flynt wondered. Or who? He was truly flummoxed.

“Did you use to work for the Bureau, like the kid said, Corrigan?” Weatherall asked him curiously.

“For seven years.” Flynt nodded. “Minus the license to kill of course.” Maybe supplying a few details of his former career would win him some information in exchange. “I was based in California. Mostly Silicon Valley, investigating economic espionage.”

“No kidding?” Weatherall looked interested. “I’ve heard there’s a lot of industrial espionage and commercial spying out there in those high-tech companies.”

“Research and development, manufacturing and marketing plans, and customer lists are all at risk,” affirmed Flynt.

“Also heard you electronic whiz kids are always being lured away from the Bureau by private industry. You can name your own price when you decide to leave,” Weatherall added, a little wistfully.

Flynt shrugged. “I decided I’d rather be my own boss, so I started Security Management Systems five years ago. Agent Weatherall, would you mind telling me what’s going on around here?”

“Seems pretty obvious.” Searcy was sarcastic. “The cops are searching the place. Whiz kid like you couldn’t figure that out?”

Flynt ignored him. “I tracked down Romina Carroll for the Fortune Corporation and found no record of any criminal activity,” he persisted.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it. Romina’s never been charged with anything. Probably never will be, at this rate,” Weatherall said, his tone consoling. “She’s downright gifted at making investigators feel stupid.”

“Did you ever consider that you feel stupid because Mama is not a criminal and that’s why she’s never been charged with anything?” Angelica argued crossly. She looked up at Flynt, her dark eyes glittering. “The reason you didn’t find records of criminal activity is because there aren’t any.”

“Yeah, Romina is a regular heroine,” Searcy said snidely. “So I guess that makes Ted Carson and me the villains, huh, babe?”

“You said it, not me,” snapped Angelica.

She looked like she wanted to rip out Searcy’s lungs with her bare hands. Flynt made a mental note not to ever call her “babe.” And then he realized that he was still holding her arm, just above the elbow. Unable to stop himself, he lightly stroked the inner skin with his thumb. It was exquisitely soft, smooth as satin, and he felt the effects deep down inside him.

Angelica’s heart jumped at the subtle caress. She swiftly glanced down to see Flynt’s fingers wrapped around her arm and realized how strange it was that she had actually forgotten he was holding on to her. But she’d remained unaware of it until…

His thumb continued its gentle, sensuous movements. She lifted her eyes to his. Her heartbeat seemed to be roaring in her head. It felt good, having Flynt touch her. So good she wanted more. Angelica shivered and moved even closer to him, seized by an impulsive urge to press herself against him. The urge swiftly was transformed into yearning, deep and unfamiliar, yet thoroughly enticing.

She jerked up her head and locked eyes with Flynt. Oh, his eyes! If eyes were the window to the soul, as poets claimed, then Flynt’s was an alert, intelligent and breathtakingly sexy one. The turn her thoughts had taken astonished her. But then, never before had she looked into a man’s eyes and felt such—such—

Desire. The admission hit her hard. Angelica panicked. Her inexplicable affinity for Flynt Corrigan was leading her down a road she was too apprehensive, too controlled to dare to go.

It was dangerous for her to have these feelings. Not to mention stupid. Angelica attempted to whip herself back into her safe, smart preFlynt self.

“Let go of my arm right now or I’ll—” She paused to think of a suitable threat. None came to mind. Truth be told, she didn’t want him to let go of her arm. What a scary admission!

“Here’s an idea for you, babe. Assault him.” Searcy sniggered. “Maybe putting you in the slammer would give us the leverage we need to bargain with that psycho mother of yours.”

“There is no need for insults,” Flynt said, dropping his hand from Angelica’s arm. “Angelica’s mother isn’t psycho.”

Angelica reluctantly moved away from him. He’d released her and now she had no choice but to put distance between them. And she didn’t want to. If her reaction to Flynt’s touch had unnerved her, his defense of her mother made her want to throw her arms around him. She wasn’t used to having someone stand up for her, and she liked it.

She liked it too much. Angelica was nervous again.

“Anyway, I truly don’t think an assault on Corrigan by little Angelica would result in charges being drawn up against her,” Weatherall pointed out amiably. “Corrigan might’ve left the bureau, but he hasn’t turned into a flaccid desk jockey who gets himself clobbered by a woman.”

“Obviously not.” Searcy directed a leer toward the vicinity of Flynt’s groin, where his hardening arousal was becoming apparent against the metal-buttoned fly of his jeans.

Weatherall coughed and gazed discreetly in the other direction. Angelica abruptly turned and rushed into the house, slamming the door behind her.

Flynt felt his face flush a dark crimson. She must’ve looked—and what she’d seen hadn’t pleased her. He stifled a groan.

“A little friendly advice, from me to you,” Searcy offered Flynt. “Sure, she’s a hot babe, but you’d be crazy to get mixed up with her. Her mother is trouble spelled in capitals, and the girl’s gotta be, too.”

“I’m not mixed up with her,” Flynt said weakly. His denial sounded lame even to himself. “Angelica Carroll’s father—and his family—are clients of mine.”

“I’m going inside,” Weatherall announced.

Flynt was grateful for the chance to change the subject. “Do you expect to find what you’re looking for?”

“No. I agree with Searcy. If Darlene Carson was here before, she isn’t now. And Romina is a real pro when it comes to getting rid of every trace of evidence. We can go over this house with a fine-tooth comb and never confirm that Darlene and those kids were ever here. Wonder what—or who—tipped them off this time?”

Searcy uttered an expletive and tossed down the butt of his cigarette before trooping into the house after Weatherall. Flynt went in, too, though he felt certain Angelica wasn’t going to be pleased to see him. So why was he so eager to see her? Flynt’s lips curved into a hard, self-mocking smile. And if he were honest with himself, he wanted to do more than just look at Angelica again. Much more…

Chapter 3

A ngelica and Romina were in the kitchen seated at the table with tall glasses of iced tea in front of them. Weatherall and Searcy stood a few feet away. Footsteps sounded in the room above them—Birmingham PD carrying out the search, Flynt assumed. Sarah and Casper were nowhere in sight.

“Agent Weatherall, Agent Corrigan, sit down,” Romina invited, gesturing to the two empty chairs at the table. “Would you like some iced tea? And how about a cookie? I have oatmeal and chocolate chip, freshly baked.”

Weatherall sat down, and Searcy moved to take the last empty chair.

“Not you!” Romina said fiercely, dropping any pretense of hospitality. The animosity between her and the P.I. was clearly personal. “That seat is for Flynt. Angel, honey, pour the agents some tea.”

Flynt gingerly sat down in the chair next to Angelica. The table wasn’t very large and his knee bumped hers under it. She drew back as if she’d been burned. He noticed that her hand wasn’t very steady as she poured the two glasses of iced tea from the pitcher.

Because his sensual effect on her was as unsettling as hers upon him? Or because the pitcher was heavy? His knowledge of the subtle nuances between the sexes was definitely lacking, Flynt conceded. Until now, he hadn’t minded.

Romina passed a plate of cookies, pointedly excluding Searcy who sullenly watched them as he leaned against the wall.

A heavy silence fell. The footsteps continued to thud above them. Flynt was excruciatingly aware of Angelica sitting beside him—and also aware that she was avoiding even glancing in his direction.

He needed a diversion—and fast. “Would it be out of line if I asked to be filled in on the situation here, Glenn?” Flynt easily lapsed into his between-us-agents tone.

“Go ahead, Glenn, fill him in,” Angelica imitated him, her expression derisive.

Or was it baiting? Maybe she wanted his attention, after all. Deliberately, Flynt let his knee touch hers again. Angelica’s eyes met his, and he saw something flare in the velvety dark depths. Instead of jumping away, she let her leg rest against his while their gazes held.

And then Weatherall finished his cookie and began to speak.

Angelica shifted away from Flynt, breaking contact between them on both the physical and unspoken levels.

“We think—hell, we know, although we can’t prove it,” drawled Weatherall, “that Romina Carroll is part of an underground network, hiding women on the run with their kids. Almost all of them are fleeing court-ordered custody decrees, although there are some who’ll take off to prevent any contact at all between the father and child. The bureau is involved because parental kidnapping that violates legal custody or visitation rights is still viewed as a kidnapping under the law.”

“Although the cops and FBI don’t treat parental abduction as seriously as stranger abduction,” Searcy interjected testily. “Which is why guys like me get hired by the fathers who’ve been shafted twice. First, the ex-wife disappears with the kids, then the law ignores it. Sometimes the cops and agents actually help the underground by deliberately turning a blind eye to the people running the safe houses. Sometimes they’ll even tip ’em off about a raid.”

“Do you actually believe that Officer Webber would call Mama and tip her off?” Angelica was incredulous.

“That does seem unlikely,” agreed Flynt, hoping to forestall additional sniping between the Carrolls and the P.I. “I’d like to hear more about this underground.”

“How about if I tell you why the need for it exists?” Romina’s voice rose with urgency. “Ever heard of domestic violence? Or sexual abuse? What about ineffective law enforcement or judges who won’t believe the very real claims of abuse that mothers make against the monsters who are beating them up or molesting their own kids?”

“Until the courts consider the evidence presented about the children’s safety, mothers are going to be forced into taking action on their own,” Angelica chimed in. “They have to protect their kids, no matter what.”

Flynt saw where they were going with this—and disapproved. “Even if ‘no matter what’ means breaking the law?” he challenged.

“That’s right.” Angelica met his gaze defiantly. “Because the law can be wrong.”

“Now there’s a familiar refrain.” Flynt grimaced. “Every perp I ever arrested was quick to point out that they’d done nothing wrong, that they were clearly the victims of a bad law.”

“There are some cases involving violence and abuse that have been bungled by the courts,” Weatherall pointed out. “For their children’s sakes, the mothers feel they have no choice but to take off and stay hidden. They view the underground as the only way to keep their kids safely away from the abuser.”

“You’re spouting their propaganda, Weatherall! It’s like listening to Romina or Nancy Portland, the head honcho herself!” ranted Searcy.

“I’m simply presenting all sides of the issue to Corrigan,” Weatherall said calmly, refusing to rise to the bait.

“That’s very fair of you, Glenn.” Romina placed another cookie in front of him.

“What’s this underground network?” asked Flynt. “And who is Nancy Portland?”

“A living saint. Tell him about Nancy, Angelica,” Romina prompted.

“Nancy Portland is from a wealthy, well-respected family and has been happily married for years,” Angelica said, turning to gaze into Flynt’s eyes.

She leaned forward. The table was so small that her action brought them back into close proximity. Her shoulder brushed his arm; her thigh touched his. This time Angelica didn’t jerk away. Flynt could tell by the fervid glow in her eyes that her subject was so important to her that nothing could divert her.

He wished he were similarly preoccupied. But the controversial Nancy Portland did not engage his interest the way Angelica did.

Prickles of heat shot through him. The sizzling sexual awareness he felt in her presence caused Searcy and the others to fade into irrelevance. Flynt could see and hear only Angelica.

“Nancy is smart and brave and a brilliant organizer,” Angelica said, her face rapt with admiration. “She lives in Tampa and heads an underground of secret safe houses all over the country where women running from their former abusive spouses can hide with their children. The mothers and kids are supplied with false identity papers and are often helped financially when it becomes necessary to leave one safe house for another.”

“Portland’s blatantly anti-male! She’s never helped a father and kids running away from a physically abusive mother,” shouted Searcy. “As for the sexual abuse allegations, Nancy Portland doesn’t even try to learn the true facts. She believes whatever trumped-up tales these women concoct to get her to help them.”

“It’s true Nancy doesn’t help men,” Romina confirmed. “Because men are the ones with the power and the money and the connections. Nancy helps women because they’re powerless with nowhere else to turn.”

“But before she gets involved in any case, Nancy Portland interviews the women and their children,” Angelica put in. “She can tell who is lying, she knows if the children are genuinely scared of their fathers and want to get away. Nancy won’t assist a woman making false accusations. She’ll turn them away and advise them to work things out with the children’s fathers.”

“That’s not what she told Darlene Carson who’s made plenty of false accusations about my client and brainwashed their kids against him,” Searcy raged. “Ted Carson won legal custody of their two daughters, now aged six and seven, after a bitter divorce. The kids went missing with that lunatic Darlene a year-and-a-half ago, and Ted hired me to find them after the initial police investigation went nowhere. I traced them to Birmingham two days ago. And Birmingham, of course, means Romina Carroll. But now—” He threw his hands up in the air and cursed some more.

“You traced them to Birmingham, then assumed they were with Romina?” Flynt repeated slowly. “Why?”

It seemed an unlikely assumption to make. The neighborhood was crowded, and he’d learned from his own inquiries that a number of residents spent a lot of time at their windows, watching the comings and goings on the street.

How could women and children be smuggled in and out without others knowing about it? And when a number of people viewed strange happenings, they liked to talk about them. Flynt had learned that basic investigatory truth early on. Conspiracy buffs to the contrary, the idea of a vast collusion of silence about anything was extremely improbable.

And this house was so small! Though he hadn’t seen the upstairs, the area couldn’t exceed the size of the rooms downstairs—the cramped living room, the eat-in kitchen, and tiny vestibule. Keeping extra people hidden without a trace required a mansion, and this tidy little box simply didn’t fit the bill.

Flynt stared at Romina. What in her background had contributed to her seeming beyond-the-ordinary with sympathy for runaway women? Romina was an activist; he certainly hadn’t expected that when he was doing his cursory case legwork. His musing carried him one step further. How had Romina’s children—including Brandon’s daughter!—been affected by what they’d seen and experienced from their mother’s cause?

“Good question, Flynt!” Romina exclaimed, her voice piercing his reverie. “For the past three years, we’ve had to endure these raids because Searcy and other paid snoops show up in Birmingham and work the cops and local field agents into an uproar. Do you know there’s been a tap on my phone for the past three years?”

“Our family’s privacy is invaded and our rights are trampled on.” Angelica was indignant. “Hard to believe it could happen in America, but we’re living proof that it can—and does.”

“It’s not a tap,” Weatherall said quickly. “The phone is attached to a number-tracer registry, which is perfectly legal. Conversations can’t be overheard, a number is simply logged into a computer and the origin of the calls can be traced.”

“And guess what? Records show that Romina gets calls from phone booths all over the country. Explain that!” demanded Searcy.

Angelica shrugged. “Mama has lots of friends who live all over the country and like to stay in touch.”

“And none of them have their own phones?” howled Searcy.

Flynt cleared his throat. “Any record of outgoing calls?”

“The outgoing calls are all to local numbers, and they all check out.” Weatherall smiled slightly. “If Romina calls friends all over the country to stay in touch, she uses phone booths too. Using coins. There are no telephone credit card numbers on record.”

Neither Romina nor Angelica offered any explanation. And Flynt faced the fact that these raids weren’t instigated on the whims of “Searcy and other paid snoops.” He knew that whatever the evidence in this case and others, it was strong enough to authorize police and FBI involvement, compelling enough for a judge to issue a warrant.

And all this had been going on for the past three years!

What he’d deemed odd about the Carrolls, their suspicion-bordering-on-paranoia, their rehearsed blank expressions, designed to give away nothing, made sense in light of the facts he’d just learned. He had thought their initial behavior was that of people with something to hide. Well, it appeared what they were hiding were people!

No wonder Angelica had held him at gunpoint until his identity had been established to her satisfaction. Until she’d believed that he wasn’t a doggedly determined P.I. like Searcy or an infuriated ex-spouse who might use force against them to demand information about missing children. Once again, he found himself contemplating the kind of men in Romina Carroll’s life since her early affair with Brandon. Had a string of abusive men in her personal life turned her pro-active? He could only imagine the effects of it all on Romina’s family. On Angelica.

As if the Carrolls’ secret world wasn’t bizarre enough, he was about to introduce Brandon and the Fortunes into it. And now there was another angle to be considered.

Flynt thought back to that meeting in the Fortune mansion, when he’d broken the news of the existence of Brandon’s daughter. They had all contemplated the likely possibility that either Romina or Angelica or both were behind the extortion attempt.

But with the revelation of Romina’s involvement in this underground network, the list of suspects widened considerably. Suppose Romina had mentioned her past relationship with Brandon to one of the fugitives she’d sheltered?

A woman on the run, desperate for money, might easily view Angelica as a direct conduit to the Fortunes—and their fortune. Such a person might decide that exploiting the secret connection promised a cash bonanza.

For the first time since reading that amateurish blackmail note, Flynt found himself seriously considering the death threat it contained—if you don’t pay big bucks your daughter will be killed and you’ll be framed for her murder.

It was time for a swift re-evaluation of the situation. Exactly who were they dealing with?

Angelica hadn’t known Brandon was her father, which immediately eliminated her as the blackmailer. And now, upon meeting and observing her, all Flynt’s instincts told him that Romina hadn’t sent that note either. Romina would’ve known of Brandon’s connection to the Fortunes for the past nine years, since the media broke the scandalous story of the child Monica Malone had obtained through blackmail. Yet she had made no attempts to contact any of them in all that time. When Romina Carroll cut her ties, they stayed severed.

Flynt recalled some basic facts from his investigation. After Romina’s parents had accepted a bribe from Monica Malone, on the condition that they keep Romina’s pregnancy a secret from Brandon—and preferably end it—Romina had run away, never to return. She hadn’t contacted her own parents for twenty-six years!

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.” Angelica 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.

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