Flynn Sinclair.”
“That’s Flynn with two n’s?”
“Yeah,” he said, baffled by her interest in spelling.
She chewed on her lip a moment. “That makes your heart number a one—very independent. But your personality number is two, so you’re kind and, ah, reassuring.” She looked at him dubiously, obviously doubting the accuracy of her forecast.
Definitely a flake. A pretty one, but a flake. “That’s me. Kind of reassuring.”
She chewed on that unpainted lip. “I don’t think he would send someone to hurt me. That’s not his style. And you’ve seen this man now, Henry, so you could testify if….” She straightened her shoulders. “All right. Five minutes. But show me that ID of yours first.”
Not a complete flake, he thought as he dug into his pocket again. Checking his ID was a good idea if she thought he might be tempted to conk her on the head as soon as they were alone. And apparently she did. Damn it, his curiosity was getting tangled up with those blasted protective urges.
Flynn flipped his wallet open and held it out, displaying his driver’s license—with the photo that made him look like he belonged on the Ten Most Wanted list—and his investigator’s license. She gave both a careful study, then stepped back so Henry could see them, too.
“You sure this is what you want—to be out here with him?” The mountain glared at Flynn.
“He won’t go away until I listen to him.” She patted a massive arm again. “You’d better get back to the kitchen. Something’s probably burning.”
Henry lumbered off, muttering that he’d leave the door open, just in case, and she’d better not even think about running off in that uniform and with her station in a mess.
When he was gone, Flynn looked into a pair of wary blue eyes. Poor kitten. How best to start? “Thirty-two years ago, a desperate young woman left two babies in front of the sheriff’s office in Dry Creek, Nevada.”
Her brows almost managed a real frown this time. “Wait a minute. Two babies?”
“A boy and girl.”
“You’re not talking about me, then.”
Yes, he was. “The young woman’s name was Miranda Fortune.” He waited, but she didn’t react. Maybe she hadn’t heard of the Fortunes. They were well-known in Texas, but that was one of the few western states Emma hadn’t lived in. “She was only seventeen, dead broke and estranged from her family. Miranda is your mother, Emma. And she wants very badly to meet you.”
He wouldn’t have thought a face like hers could look stony. But it did. “So you say, but your client is a man, not a woman. You said he already knew where I was.”
“My client is Lloyd Carter, Miranda’s ex-husband.”
The rest of her face still wasn’t giving much away, but something uncertain moved behind the blue of her eyes. She blinked once, slowly. “My…father?”
“No.” He spoke as gently as he could. “Miranda didn’t meet Carter until several months after you were born. I don’t know who your father was.”
She swallowed. “This man—this Carter—are you sure he’s who he says he is?”
Flynn had been putting some things together. Emma had gotten pregnant while she was living in San Diego. She’d left town in a big hurry, changed her name and was running scared. Scared of the man who got her pregnant? Afraid of a custody battle—or of the man himself? “I check out all my clients. Carter’s on the slimy side of handsome, but he’s definitely who he claims to be.”
She was stiff all over—her shoulders, her back, her expression. “How old is he? What does he look like?”
“He looks like a two-bit actor—weathered face, lots of smile lines, good cap job on his teeth. Wiry, fairly fit for his age—which is fifty-three, despite what he claims. Dark hair, gray eyes.”
Tension sighed out of her, leaving the slim shoulders slumped. “That’s not Steven.”
“Who’s Steven?”
She made a vague gesture. “Never mind. You say he hired you to find me? Was he acting for his ex-wife?”
“More or less.” Mostly less, but the situation was complicated. Flynn didn’t think this was the time to go into details.
She was looking dazed now. “So she’s alive. I’ve wondered…but it doesn’t really change anything.”
“Of course it does. Maybe your mother didn’t do right by you when you were a baby, but she wasn’t much more than a child herself then. She’s got a bucketful of regrets now, and the money to do something about them. I’m to make whatever arrangements are necessary to get you to come to her for a visit—or to stay, if you like. She’s living in Texas now, close to her family.” He paused. “Your family, too. The Fortunes.”
“Well…” She didn’t think about it long before shaking her head. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t…this is awfully sudden.” Her smile crept out shyly. “She could write to me if she wants, though. You can tell her my address.”
Appealing to sentiment hadn’t worked. Flynn was conscious of feeling disappointed in her, which was absurd. He switched tactics smoothly. He’d hit her where it counted with most people: the wallet. “One thing I haven’t mentioned. The Fortunes are rich. Not your garden variety rich, either. Buying-small-countries rich.”
“Oh. Yes, I think I’ve heard of them,” she said vaguely, as if it weren’t important. “I don’t pay a lot of attention to gossip columns and such.”
“Miranda wants to settle some money on you.”
That got a reaction, but not the one he expected. Instead of greed lighting a spark in her eyes, impatience made her snappish. “I don’t need her money. I do just fine on my own.”
He glanced at the car beside them. Three bald tires and peeling paint didn’t equal “doing just fine” to him. “Maybe so. But what’s fine for you might not be fine for that baby you’re expecting.”
Her chin tilted up. “I can take care of my baby. And myself. And now,” she said, haughty as a duchess, “if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get back to work.” She turned away.
Yeah, that’s one great ass, he thought as she walked away from him and several million dollars. Pretty face, too, in spite of those smudges beneath her eyes, and what a smile she’s got. Pity she’s a flake.
He had one last thing to try. “Maybe you forgot what I said about there being two babies,” he called out. “Are you at all interested in meeting your brother, Emma?”
She stopped and turned slowly to face him. “You’re just saying that to get me to…a brother? I don’t…do I really have a brother?”
She wanted to believe him. She wanted it so badly he could taste her yearning in the air between them. This was the reaction he’d expected when he’d
