A Fortune's Children's Wedding

“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.”