and a half.”
“Yeah, yeah, your time’ll come,” Valene predicted, letting Connor know that she wasn’t buying into this act of his.
However, Connor remained steadfast because he honestly believed that his status was never going to change. “Sorry, not going to happen. Not to me.”
“Just because you’re the last man standing, brother dear, doesn’t mean you’re going to stay that way,” Maddie told him.
“You’re right,” Connor answered his sister. “I am the last man standing. And I intend to keep on standing for a very long, long time.”
“What do you have against being happy?” Zach asked Connor as he slipped his arm around Maddie’s shoulders and drew her closer to him.
“But that’s just my point,” Connor told the other man. “I am happy. I like being free and not accountable to anyone except for myself. And you people on occasion,” he added as an afterthought, looking around at the others in the living room.
Barbara Fortunado merely smiled at her son as she reached over and patted his cheek affectionately. “Your time will come, dear,” was all she said before she turned her attention to her daughters.
A moment later, she became fully immersed in finalizing plans for the wedding—which at this point was only a month away.
Connor turned to look at his father, who from what he could determine was also standing on the outskirts of this conversation, the way he was.
Yes, he thought, romance was all well and good, but when that faded and the day-to-day business of living had to be addressed, that was where it all fell apart. He liked keeping things fresh, not facing the same old stale fare day in, day out. In his opinion, marriages were about routines and he liked to mix things up.
“You understand, right, Dad?” Connor asked the man sitting across from him.
“Do I understand how you feel right at this moment? Yes, I do,” Kenneth admitted freely.
Connor was glad to hear that he had his father’s support. “Well, at least you can see that—”
“I also understand,” Kenneth went on as if his son hadn’t said anything, “that all that’ll change the moment the right woman comes into your life.”
“Lots of women have come into my life, Dad,” Connor pointed out. That was part of the joy of being unattached. “And I’m still free.”
“I said the right woman,” Kenneth emphasized. “And it’s not something anyone can convince you of until it actually happens to you,” his father said knowingly. “Until then,” he counseled, “just enjoy thinking that you’re happy.”
Connor merely offered his father a smile. He knew he couldn’t change his father’s mind any more than his father could change his. But he was happy, Connor thought with conviction. He knew that. And he intended to remain that way no matter what anyone else might think to the contrary.
But because the upcoming wedding seemed to make his sister so happy, he remained in the room and pretended to listen to all the plans that were being made for the anticipated nuptials.
He even nodded and smiled in the right places while his thoughts were elsewhere.
* * *
“Do you need anything, Connor?” Barbara Fortunado asked her son much later that evening.
Talks regarding the wedding plans had gone on much longer than anyone had thought they would and time had just gotten away from them. To his credit, she thought, Connor had feigned interest and even contributed a word or two, which made his sisters happy. It was nice seeing her children getting along.
She paused now to look in on her son, who was spending the night in what had once been his bedroom.
“No, I’m good, Mom,” Connor told her. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looked around the room. It had been a long time since he’d been here. “Although I have to admit that it feels a little strange to be back here after all this time,” he confessed.
Barbara nodded. Like all good mothers, she realized that her children had to make their own way in the world and she was proud of each and every one of them. But there were times when their very success at forging their paths out in the world made her feel just a little sad. There were times, fleeting moments actually, when she longed for the days that they had all been together, under one roof, and needed her.
She smiled at Connor now. “It’s nice to have you back, even if it is for just a little while and even if the reason you’re here is because this nasty business was what drew you back.” Her mouth quirked a little. “No matter what the reason, you’re here and that’s all I care about.”
Connor crossed the room to the doorway where his mother was standing. Slipping his arm around her shoulders, he pressed a kiss to her temple.
“You were—and are—the primary draw that brought me back, Mom. You always have been.”
Barbara laughed softly. “You always did have a way with words. Not always a truthful way, I grant you, but always sweet,” she concluded. And then she became his mother again as he crossed back to his bed. “Get some sleep, dear.”
Connor couldn’t help grinning at her. “I am thirty-one, you know.”
Barbara nodded, as if she had heard all this before and was prepared for it. “And you’ll always be my little boy no matter what age you are. Good night, Connor.”
Connor inclined his head obligingly. “Good night, Mom,” he replied.
He waited until his mother had closed his bedroom door behind her. Getting up off the bed, he crossed over to his desk and took out the folder he had slipped into the top drawer. Pulling out his chair, he sat down at the desk and began to go through the folder. It was filled with notes he’d made to himself regarding Charlotte Robinson’s dealings, as well as her possible current whereabouts.
He reviewed his notes slowly, rereading everything as if it was the first time he was seeing it. In his compilations, he’d come across the name of a freelance researcher, a Brianna Childress, who had handled some work for Charlotte Robinson over the course of the previous year.
He looked at the papers thoughtfully. Whatever this Brianna person had been doing for Charlotte had to have been sent to some address, even if that address turned out to be a PO box. That PO box in turn had to have been paid for, which meant that there’d been a check that could be traced to a bank account.
In addition, this freelancer had to be paid for her trouble. That brought him back to the bank account again, or at least a traceable credit card. All this meant that there was a possible paper trail. One he intended to follow.
It was a start, Connor told himself.
“You don’t know it yet, Brianna Childress, but you are about to be paid a visit tomorrow morning,” he said aloud. He closed the folder but went on holding it in his hands a little longer, as if the act connected him to the woman he was pursuing. “You just might be instrumental in helping me find the elusive Charlotte Prendergast Robinson before she can do any more damage.”
Connor
