Читать книгу A Fortune's Children's Wedding - Barbara Boswell - Страница 11

“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…