A Fortune's Children's Wedding. Barbara Boswell
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too young to be so cynical, my dear,” Kate reproved.
Flynt grinned in spite of himself. He was thirty-six, and it had been a long time since someone had told him he was “too young” for anything. He liked Kate’s take-action style. But not enough to accept the job unless the terms were sweetened in his favor.
Apparently, Kate realized that. “As much as I want Brandon’s relationship with Angelica to develop into a lasting one, I realize it might not happen.” She sighed. “The contract isn’t contingent on a happy ending, but there must be time and effort on your part to help their relationship along, Flynt. However, if Brandon and Angelica are simply incompatible, it won’t be your fault. We’ll sign that contract, regardless of the outcome.”
“It’s an extremely generous offer,” said Sterling. “If I were legally representing you, I’d urge you to accept it, Corrigan.”
It took Flynt all of one minute to follow Sterling’s advice. “With computers and faxes and phone conferences, I can temporarily run the business from Alabama as well as from anywhere. I’ll schedule a trip to Birmingham with Brandon,” Flynt said decisively. “Is tomorrow too soon to go, Brandon?”
Brandon wore the expression of a man poised on the ledge of a building, trying to decide whether or not to jump.
“Tomorrow would be wonderful,” Kate answered for her son. “Isn’t that right, Brandon?”
Brandon’s panicked eyes met Flynt’s, who took pity on him. He gave him a bolstering, fraternal pat on the back. “Brandon, pack your bags. We’re heading for Birmingham.”
Chapter 1
F lynt knocked on the door of the small, white frame house and wondered if he’d erred on the side of caution by not bringing Brandon along with him for this first visit to the Carrolls. Did he really need to play “advance man”?
Word around this well-tended, working-class neighborhood was that Romina Carroll tended to keep to herself but was hardworking and well thought of. She supported herself and her two youngest children by running a pet-sitting service, caring for the pets of people on vacation and others who worked during the day. She also baked and sold cookies to college students at Samford University and the University of Alabama’s Birmingham branch campus.
He knocked again, and the door opened a crack. Flynt tried to make himself look innocuous; he even managed what he hoped was a cheery smile. The mouthwatering smell of freshly baked cookies drifted from the house, and he inhaled deeply. And decided to act on a hunch. “I’m not from the State or the City Health Department, I swear.”
“The neighbors called to warn us that somebody was snooping around, asking questions about us,” a husky feminine voice replied from within.
“I bet it was old Mr. Willard next door who sounded the alarm about the Health Department,” Flynt said dryly, trying to see inside. It was almost impossible, with the door barely cracked. “He asked me more questions than I asked him, and they were all about permits and inspections and cookies like his mother used to make without government harassment.”
“Mr. Willard claims government jackals want a piece of everybody’s pie.” The female voice sounded amused. Yet wary and still on guard.
Flynt was tired of being stalled; it was past time to come to the point. “I’m Flynt Corrigan.” He slipped his business card through the crack. “I need to speak to Angelica Carroll.”
“What about?”
“I need to speak to Angelica Carroll,” he repeated.
“This card says you’re president of something called Security Management Services.” The insider’s voice was not only skeptical, it blatantly mocked him. “Am I supposed to believe that a president of a company is going door-to-door selling— What exactly are you hawking, anyway? Home security alarm systems? Well, we don’t need one, we’re already protected. Maybe you didn’t notice the sign posted in the yard? Or the decal on the front window?”
“You think I’m an incompetent salesman with a bogus business card?” Flynt shook his head, his voice laced with irony. “Ouch. My ego is decimated.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Corrigan.”
He knew the door was about to be closed and wouldn’t be reopened to him. All his law-enforcement reflexes were instantly activated. Flynt went straight for the door, wedged himself in the opening crack and pushed hard.
He heard an indignant gasp but he kept pushing, until the door was wide open and he was standing inside the house in a small, dimly lit vestibule.
“If you come one step closer, you’re toast, mister.” The threat was delivered by his husky-voiced sparring partner, but her words didn’t fully register with him.
Instead, Flynt found himself gulping for air. The sight of the young woman standing in the shadows a few feet away from him had literally taken his breath away.
It was Angelica Carroll. After all the time he’d spent studying her picture, Flynt knew he would’ve recognized her anywhere. What he hadn’t expected was her powerful physical impact on him. She had been intriguing in that grainy photo, but in person she absolutely captivated him. He reminded himself to inhale while his observational skills catalogued her.
Since he’d investigated her background, he knew of her mother’s mixed Romanian-Spanish descent. Those elements, combined with the distinctive Fortune good looks, created an ethnic hodgepodge mixing exotic, adorable and classic features into one unforgettable face, Flynt thought dizzily. He was at once amazed and dazed in a way he’d never been before. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She was small-boned, and he gauged her height at somewhere around five foot three or four. Her big dark eyes were framed by dark lashes and brows, her mouth beautifully shaped, the lips sensuously full. She had an ivory complexion, a striking contrast with the inky black color of her hair. It fell around her shoulders in a thick, silken curtain.
He blinked. And then visibly started. For not only was she incredibly attractive, she was also holding a gun, a snub-nosed .38, pointed straight at his chest.
“I’m not kidding,” Angelica said sternly. “One false move and you’re—”
“Toast,” Flynt completed the threat. “Yes, you mentioned that already.”
“You don’t really believe I’ll do it, do you?” Angelica sounded disgruntled. “Well, don’t challenge me or else—”
“I’ll be burned toast?” Flynt suggested.
Perhaps he was being reckless, but he wasn’t afraid of being shot by Angelica Carroll. The uncanny spell she seemed to have cast upon him struck him as far more dangerous than that gun, Flynt mused. Why else would he be gazing at her like a dumbstruck yokel in the presence of a royal princess?
“Angel, I heard voices, what’s going on? Who is this?”
The woman who joined them in the vestibule just had to be Romina, Flynt decided. Angelica’s response confirmed his hunch.
“Everything is under control, Mama. Don’t worry.”
“He’s with the FBI!” Romina exclaimed, her dark eyes pinning Flynt with a laser stare.
Flynt felt a peculiar frisson ripple through him. He was dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt and a jacket and knew his hair was a tad too long for regulation Bureau standards.
“What makes you think that?” He tried to sound casual but Romina’s response disconcerted him. He’d rarely been so quickly identified on sight as an agent, even when he actually had been working for the FBI.
“Instincts, honey. I operate on them,” Romina said flatly.
Flynt attempted to study Romina a bit more covertly than the frank way she was studying him. She looked like a version of Cher, he decided. Long, dark, straight