A Fortune's Children's Wedding. Barbara Boswell

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