A Fortune's Children's Wedding. Barbara Boswell

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