A Fortune's Children's Wedding. Barbara BoswellЧитать онлайн книгу.
I’m sorry but the feeling isn’t mutual.”
“The last thing you need is any more family, huh?” His lips quirked into that wry smile of his.
The one that had an odd effect on her senses. Her cheeks suddenly felt hot. “You make it sound as if—” She broke off, irked.
He was deliberately trying to goad her, but she didn’t have to let him. “I have nothing more to say to you, and you can tell Brandon Fortune that there is no sense in dredging up a past that is best forgotten. Now, would you please leave?”
Flynt stayed right where he was. Angelica frowned her displeasure. Well, what had she expected? If he wouldn’t go when ordered at gunpoint, he’d hardly respond to a polite request.
“I can understand why you harbor certain—reservations—about having your father in your life. Having met your mother,” Flynt paused, striving for tact. Which meant starting over. “Now that I’ve met both your parents, it’s obvious that dealing with the two of them is going to require a deft touch. But I believe you’re up to the task, Angelica.”
She was wondering how to reply to that when there was a loud, almost thunderous pounding on the front door.
“Open up!” ordered the voice outside. “Police! And FBI. We have a search warrant!”
“Great, just great.” Angelica groaned. “What else can go wrong today?”
At once Romina, Sarah and Casper all came running. Romina was shouting, Sarah and Casper both appeared anxious.
Angelica’s eyes flew to Flynt’s face. He looked as if he’d just found himself transported into the Twilight Zone.
“What the hell’s going on?” Flynt demanded.
“You have till the count of three to open the door or we’ll break it down!” roared the voice from outside. “You know we’ll do it, Romina.”
“I know you will!” Romina screamed back.
“Go away!” wailed Sarah. “Leave us alone!” She turned to her mother. “I hate it when they mess up my room, Mama. Last time they broke my softball trophy and threw my collection of stuffed animals on the floor and tramped all over them!”
“I know, honey.” Romina stroked her younger daughter’s hair. “They’re cruel and unreasonable.”
“And that’s why we do what we do, right, Mama,” exclaimed Casper.
Romina glanced at Flynt. “Casper, hush.”
“Okay, Romina, this is it,” shouted the voice. “One…”
“Where’s the gun, Angelica?” Casper tugged on Angelica’s arm. “Let’s fight back this time. Shoot them.”
Flynt stared at the four Carrolls, who seemed prepared to let their door be broken down rather then opening it. “There’ll be no shooting,” he said sternly. “And no forced entry, either.”
“Hold on, we’re going to open the door,” he called as he strode to it.
The shouted threats and warnings stopped. Flynt felt the pressure of Angelica’s gun in the inside pocket of his jacket. If the intruders weren’t who they claimed to be, at least he was armed.
He opened the door to two uniformed policemen, one who appeared to be in his late thirties, the other about ten years younger. Flynt immediately picked out which was the FBI agent from the two men not in uniform. Mid-forties, conservative suit and shoes, neat haircut, definitely with the Bureau. The other guy was a run-of-the-mill private investigator, Flynt was certain of it; he recognized the breed.
What, he wondered, did this quartet want with Romina Carroll?
“Who are you?” growled the older police officer whose name tag identified him as Officer S. Webber.
“I guess you could say I’m a friend of the family,” Flynt replied, “or something along that line. And I’d like to see that search warrant, please.”
“Oh, TJ, I’m so glad it’s you!” Sarah rushed onto the porch and beamed at the younger policeman. “Would you search my room, please? I know you won’t throw stuff around and break my things on purpose like some people.” She shot the older officer a baleful glance. “That cop, Moffet, who was here last time was awful, Officer Webber. He should be fired.”
“I’m sure Moffet was just doing his job, young lady. And nobody deliberately breaks your things,” growled Webber. “If your mama decided to abide by the law, you wouldn’t have to go through this. We don’t like it any more than you do. Go on in with her, TJ, you might as well get started,” he instructed the other officer.
“C’mon, TJ,” invited Sarah. “Wait’ll you see what I—”
“Just a minute! No one is going inside until I’ve seen that search warrant,” Flynt commanded.
He sounded convincingly authoritative and legally knowledgeable and was aware that his casual attire could be attributed either to an undercover law enforcement officer or a lawyer.
The four men on the porch stayed where they were.
“Who’s he, Romina?” Officer Webber demanded. “Got yourself some legal aid? Or did another agency beat us over here?”
Flynt gave his card to Webber, who passed it around to the other three men. “I’m here on behalf of Angelica’s father’s family,” he added, not bothering to reveal his exact role.
“And they’re really rich and they’ll make you sorry you messed with us,” boasted Casper.
“What’s this about your father, Angelica?” TJ, the younger officer, looked astonished.
“Seems I have a father.” Angelica rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell you more later.”
The FBI agent showed Flynt his credentials, identifying him as Glenn Weatherall from the local FBI field office. “Officers Webber and Gibson are with the Birmingham Police Department.” Weatherall indicated the uniformed officers with a nod toward them. “And this is Ike Searcy, a private investigator.”
Searcy produced his own card as Weatherall handed Flynt the warrant and a few other papers.
“Flynt can kick your butts, ’cause he’s not afraid of you. He used to be an FBI agent and he had a license to kill, just like James Bond. But then he decided to quit and get rich.” Casper ran around the porch like a manic puppy, darting among the four men. “And when we’re rich, we’re gonna—”
“Casper, hush!” hissed Romina. “And stay still! Sit down in that chair and don’t move!” She pointed to a wicker chair at the far end of the porch.
Casper flopped down on it, heaving a martyred sigh.
Flynt read through the papers he’d been given, then looked at Romina. “This is a valid search-and-seizure warrant, Romina.”
Romina glared at him, then at Webber. “So go on in and tear up my house again. I already put the usual stuff-to-be-seized in a box right by the phone. My address book, phone statements and bills, and bank statements—all together for your convenience. Did I leave anything out?”
“Credit card statements,” barked Searcy.
“We don’t use credit cards,” Angelica replied. “Mama believes in paying cash. It keeps you from living beyond your means and getting into debt.”
She was saying all the right words, but her tone was—well, too angelic, mused Flynt. As if she didn’t expect to be taken seriously.
“Oh, come on. We all know the true reason why you don’t use credit,” groused Webber. “Cash eliminates a paper trail.”
“This is such a big waste of time,” Romina huffed impatiently. “You won’t find anything here. You