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So why would he throw it all away by driving drunk, then fleeing the scene of an accident he’d caused?
Some people—people like her parents—just didn’t realize how good they had it. They cared only for the buzz of the moment. Then, when they finally screwed up big and had everything taken away, they could only stand there with blank looks on their faces.
Only, Major Branigan didn’t have a blank look on his handsome face. His classic McCoy features—strong jaw, aristocratic nose (though he had clearly busted his at one time) and arresting, deep blue eyes—radiated emotions he was visibly trying to contain. Emotions that were at odds with the Marine Corps poster boy he’d first appeared to be—complete with the Corps’s emblem tattooed on his bulging left biceps.
Definitely not the one Lynn had expected. Personally, she would have given anything to find out she didn’t really belong to the family she’d been born into. A family devoid of love and support. But she couldn’t blame him for wanting to hear about his connection to the McCoys rather than about what she could do for him.
Still, she hesitated. “I’m not sure it’s my place to tell you what I know about the Lost Millionaires.” She wasn’t one of the McCoys’ advisors. Yet.
His rigid stance collapsed under the weight of his incredulity. “Lost Millionaires?”
“That’s what Joseph called you all while coordinating efforts to track you down after learning of your existence when Marcus’s will was read last Wednesday, June twelfth.”
His eyes slid closed. “Just tell me.”
She refolded her hands. “While none of this is for public consumption, mind you—”
“Imagine that.”
“Yes, well…”
He opened his eyes, and she fought the unusual urge to squirm beneath his hard, blue gaze.
Something furry brushed against her bare shin and made her jump. She glanced down in time to see a cat in the guise of a small ring-tailed lemur, its eyes as startlingly blue as its owner’s, cozying up to her. “You have a cat.”
“Yes, I have a cat.”
Momentarily derailed by the reality of a macho military type like him owning something so…fluffy, she just stared at it. It stared back.
“You were saying?” Major Branigan’s deep voice returned her focus.
She shifted her leg out of the way and met his equally inscrutable stare. “Apparently, Marcus McCoy indulged in several short-lived, clandestine relationships that resulted in children being born—all boys thus far, interestingly enough—”
“And he paid each mother a million dollars to keep the identity of her illegitimate baby’s father a secret, even from the kids themselves, right? Or was my mother simply a better negotiator than the rest when it came to her ‘consulting fee’?”
The pain in his sharp tone made her stomach tighten.
“No—” Lynn was forced to clear her throat against her unexpected and unprecedented empathy. Why in the heck should she feel for him? His mom had scored herself a butt-load of security.
All her mother had ever scored was her next high—Lynn blinked to cut off the thought and refocus. No ties, no limits.
She lifted her chin. “No,” she repeated. “All the women were paid the same sum and given the same conditions.”
His stance relaxed almost imperceptibly. “And this Alexander McCoy…?”
“Actually the maid’s son. Raised by the McCoys to believe he was Marcus’s brother.”
“So much for the McCoy stores’ motto—‘Don’t trust it if it’s not from the real McCoy.’”
Worried about the distaste in his voice, she nodded slowly.
“Unbelievable. At least my mom was always straight up with me about the circumstances surrounding why my father wanted to remain anonymous and where the money she’d used to start her architecture firm had come from.” He shook his fist holding the letter, eyeing it. “Admirable bunch.”
The McCoys were, but Lynn let his sarcasm pass and simply lifted a shoulder. What he thought of them wasn’t her concern.
“What about the other two guys?”
“One is a rancher in Colorado. The other, a contractor, lives in Dependable and was easy to contact.” Because he, too, had managed to land his rear in jail, Lynn had discovered when she’d checked in after arriving here. Merely a charge for disorderly conduct, and easily resolved. Something she’d hoped the major’s would be, too.
Determined to make it so, she continued. “Joseph had hoped to notify you all simultaneously, but I was delayed in getting all the pertinent information I need surrounding your case. We thought it best for me to have everything before contacting you.”
Thank goodness the next phase in his hearing process was also delayed because of a clogged court docket and the fact the primary witness—the driver in the car he hit—couldn’t be present yet. The woman was stuck in a hospital bed, in traction. Unfortunate for the woman, but it bought Lynn time. Time she apparently was going to require.
Relaxing his grip, he uncrumpled the paper. “So why name his sons in his will and blow the family-secrets closet wide open?”
“Joseph believes Marcus finally saw the error of his ways.”
Branigan raised his gaze to hers. “Did you know this Marcus?”
“Yes. He frequently worked with those of us in Legal preparing contracts for suppliers or for developers who wanted the McCoys to open new stores. Though more often than not, he teleconferenced or e-mailed because he was usually off somewhere handling client relations.”
“And now everyone knows the sort of ‘handling’ he liked to do.” The major gave her a quick once-over, his meaning clear in his sharp eyes.
Lynn kept her mouth shut. While she’d caught Marcus looking a little too long at her breasts and legs and he had always indulged in mild flirtation with her—as well as with a lot of other women at McCoy Enterprises—things had never progressed further. He’d either learned his lesson, or he’d considered her and the other ladies to be too close to home. He had left one other woman from Dependable, besides the maid, pregnant and rich but that woman had been the last of his fertile flings.
They hoped.
The major reread the letter. “Seems he didn’t have very good relations with grizzly bears.”
“Apparently.”
He looked her dead in the eye. “So why do you think he claimed us—the ‘Lost Millionaires’—in his will? Especially after going to such expense years ago to cut himself loose from his duty and responsibility?”
Lynn didn’t blink. “I can’t begin to speculate.”
Oh, but she had. Endlessly. And she had her theories. None of which she was going to share with the man she’d been sent to bring into the McCoy fold without scandal.
Marcus realizing the error of his ways certainly wasn’t one of her theories. Nor was guilt. That wasn’t his style—even if he’d placed his illegitimate sons in his will because he fully expected to live a lot longer than he had, a reasonable assumption on his part considering how robust Joseph still was at nearly seventy-five years of age.
Major Branigan tossed the letter onto the table. “Doesn’t matter why. I’m not going to be attending some family reunion anytime soon.” He turned and walked to the tall windows in his attractively decorated living room with its view of the distant ocean.
He was so tall and well shaped beneath his white T-shirt and jeans that Lynn had to admit she preferred the view she had from where she sat. Which was saying something, because she sure as heck wasn’t a card-carrying member of the Pocket Watchers of America.
She’d never even spoken with the girls who’d wasted their time checking out the back pockets of the boys’ Levi’s in school. Her focus was normally on her schooling or work. But the major was work.
Fortunately, the tension radiating from every lean, hard inch of the man squashed any pleasure that checking out his butt might have given her.
The breadth of his shoulders expanded as he inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. “Even if I were free to leave town, I still wouldn’t be interested. I’m a Marine, ma’am.”
“Not for long if you’re convicted. I’m sure you’re well aware of the fact that you’ll be dishonorably discharged before you can say ‘ooh-rah.’”
His hands fisted at his sides again. “That’s hoo-rah. And what happens to me is none of your business.”
“Your grandfather, Joseph McCoy, has made it my business. He’s not about to let a grandson he’s just found out about go to jail if he doesn’t have to.” An attitude that had shocked her, given Joseph’s morally upstanding reputation.
The major turned slowly to face her, his jaw hardened with the sort of determination only a decade in the Marines could give a man. “I said yes when the cops asked if I was driving that truck the night of the accident. I’m afraid Mr. McCoy is out of luck.”
Her knee-jerk response was Not if I can help it, but something about his admission of guilt struck her as odd. Coupled with what she knew about him from his files…
The fine hairs on her arms stood on end. Something was wrong. Did Joseph suspect as much, also? Was that why he was willing to seek special treatment for the first time that she was aware of?
She shook her intuition off. She wasn’t here to worry about right or wrong. She was here to earn the promotion Joseph had all but promised her in exchange for the presence of this grandson at his birthday party on July third. The promotion could be one more step upward. One more step toward the security she could never be too sure of.
Her third goal—a security for which she’d do anything, sacrifice anything.
Chapter Two
“You should have more faith in my abilities, Major Branigan.”
“Your abilities are not in question, Ms. Hayes.” Though Rick had tried to keep his attention fixed on the distant view of the late-morning sun glinting off the Pacific Ocean, his body was all too aware of the woman seated behind him. His gaze strayed from the older apartment complex down the hill from his condominium to his smashed red pickup truck sitting out front.
What had Pete been thinking?
But that was just it. Pete didn’t think; he simply did. Always had. When they were kids, Rick, as Pete’s best friend, had been there to divert disaster. A lot had changed between them since, yet not everything.
Needing to move, to do something, he turned from the window and headed for the door. Nothing more than a symbolic way out, but at the moment, he’d take anything he could get.
“What is in question is how we’re going to—Major Branigan?” she practically yelled.
He glanced back at her as he yanked open the front door. Her exotic eyes were wide. For the first time since she’d strolled through his door she looked flustered, no longer the queen of her domain.
Normally, he would have felt guilty about being so rude, but he’d stowed his conscience the day the cops had come knocking.
He was about to step out—
“Major!”
He relented and made up an excuse to toss her. “I have to work on my truck.” He reached back in and scooped his keys off the small table in the hall. “Just be sure you shut the door behind you after you’ve gathered your stuff. Don’t want Buddy to get out.” He pointed at the cat beneath the table, watching him with blatant interest. Rick never knew what the damn thing was going to do from one minute to the next.
The lawyer glanced from the cat, to her files, to him, opening and closing her mouth as if wanting to sputter but too polished to actually indulge in something so telling. Rick took advantage of her distress and left the condo, shutting the door behind him.
He’d barely made the landing before he heard his door open and close quickly—good, no escape for Buddy today, the slippery cat—then her heels rapped on the stairs as she hurried down.
“Major Branigan—”
His attention on finding the key to his storage closet at the back of the carport, he called, “Thank you for delivering that letter, Ms. Hayes.” He passed his tarp-covered Suzuki motorcycle and when he heard her walk up behind him, he added, “At least now I know my father’s name.”
It didn’t change the way he felt about the man, or how he intended to live his life. Duty bound and with honor. All the way to the ugly end.
“Major. Rick.”
Her imploring use of his name made him glance at her as he opened the storage closet. She visibly clenched her jaw while she stared at him, single file folder gripped in her hands, marring her smooth, perfectly sculpted face.
This one didn’t back down. He liked that. But with him, such tenacity wouldn’t help her get what she wanted. Her three goals—whatever the third one was—would not be achieved.
Mustering as much finality and sincerity as he could, he said, “It was nice meeting you, Ms. Hayes.”
She studied him for a moment. Rick had the distinct impression he was being searched, that she was trying to see through him to the truth of him. To the sort of man he really was.
Wouldn’t do her any good. That man had been sacrificed to repay a debt.
He turned away and reached into the closet for his tool kit. When he straightened, she was reading the papers within the folder she had balanced open in one hand.
She mused, “So you admitted guilt to the arresting officers—”
He shut the storage-closet door. “We’ve already covered that.”
She ran a finger across a page. “But you refused any form of testing for blood-alcohol levels despite repeated warnings that doing so would be used against you at trial, and you refused further questioning.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “How do you know what I refused?”
“I have a copy of the police report right here.”
“How did you get that?”
A finely shaped black brow twitched. “The McCoys are remarkably connected, Major.”
“You mean rich enough to buy what they need.”
She slowly raised her eyes to his. “Actually, based on my experience during the five years I’ve worked for McCoy Enterprises, people are often eager to do things for the McCoys.” She shrugged. “Whether out of hope for future business opportunities or simply to be able to say they’ve had personal dealings with billionaires.”
Not interested in either of those things, and not caring to have his life bared for perusal by anyone except the military, he shifted the large, red metal toolbox to his other hand. “What else do you have there?”
Her smile was supremely confident. “I have it all, so you might as well accept the fact that I’m here to help you. I didn’t come all the way from Missouri for nothing.”
“No way, Ms. Hayes.” He turned and headed out of the carport.
She followed, her strides remarkably long and determined despite the height of her heels and the snugness of her skirt. Which were two things he hadn’t wanted to notice, given the disaster his life had become. So he stopped and asked, “Or is it ‘Mrs.’? Don’t you have a husband or someone waiting on you? Why don’t you fly home early and surprise him, ma’am.”
She made a disgusted-sounding noise. “Afraid not, Major. It’s Miss, and even if it weren’t, even if there was someone waiting for me to come home, which there isn’t, he’d just have to wait.” She glared for several moments, then her expression softened and she shifted toward him.
His survival-training-honed instincts went on high alert.
In a beguiling tone that was a far better match to her unusual eyes and full mouth, she said, “On the other hand, the more you cooperate with me, the sooner we can get you free of this unpleasantness. And the sooner you’re free of this unpleasantness, the sooner you can be rid of me. So it’s entirely up to you, Major.”
It was Rick’s turn to make a disgusted sound as he started again toward his truck. He might free himself of her, but they both knew he’d never be free of the stain “this unpleasantness” would leave on his reputation.
Nor would he be free of the McCoys, for that matter. His mood darkened further. He wasn’t about to run to them because he had nothing else to do.
