A Fortune's Children's Wedding. Barbara Boswell

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