Читать книгу A Fortune's Children's Wedding - Barbara Boswell - Страница 10

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?