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“I…I don’t know.” It was a frightening thought. Would Steven be so determined to find her that he would break into Flynn’s office to learn where she was? “He might.”
“Hmm.” His eyes looked very green, very sharp. “Well, I’ll make sure he can’t learn anything from me, even if he is stupid enough to search my office. Since you’re staying with your mother, your name shouldn’t be out where he can find it, like on utility bills. Have you used your social security number at all?”
She shook her head. “Steven used to talk to me about how he tracked people down, so I know better than to do that.” She tried for a smile, but it wobbled. “Which has made finding a job rather difficult.”
“A job?” He drew those thick eyebrows together. “Why in the hell would you be looking for a job? You’re seven months’ pregnant.”
“You do have a talent for stating the obvious.”
“You don’t need money. Miranda is more than willing to take care of you, and the Lord knows she can afford it.”
“I don’t want or need to be taken care of! Good grief, I’ve been on my own since I turned eighteen.” Before that, really, but that’s when she legally took custody of herself.
“Yeah, but you’re broke, out of work and unable to even look for a job because of your psycho boyfriend. You’ve got a baby to think of. I’d say you could use a little help.”
He made her feel small. Small and helpless and incompetent, and she couldn’t stand it. “If you call him my boyfriend again, I swear I’m going to—to—”
“Hit me?” For some stupid, male reason, that amused him. His eyes crinkled up at the corners. “Okay. Have at it.”
“I don’t like violence.” She turned away.
At least he didn’t grab her this time. And she was not the least bit disappointed that he let her go so easily, either.
Emma headed for the dining room, where an array of snacks and desserts had been laid out. At the moment, the room was empty, which was even more appealing than the chocolate raspberry cake.
Well…almost as appealing. She picked up one of the small dessert plates and cut a nice, big slice. Then she stood there and scowled at the piece of cake she’d slid onto her plate.
How dare Flynn Sinclair imply that she couldn’t take care of herself? She’d been on her own for years and years. Maybe the mess with Steven had changed things some. Maybe she had to accept a little help right now. Nothing had changed permanently, she assured herself as she loaded her fork with chocolate cake dripping with raspberry sauce.
Steven would give up eventually. She’d get a job and a place of her own, maybe even here in San Antonio. She’d have her baby, and…
And then she wouldn’t really be on her own anymore, would she?
Emma smiled and rubbed her tummy. Anita, or maybe Adam, was turning somersaults. No, she wouldn’t be on her own anymore. She and her baby would be on their own—together.
It was a lovely thought.
She took a big, gooey bite. The cake was wonderful. And she was going to do just fine. Steven couldn’t find her here. Good as he was, he wasn’t Superman or 007. And Flynn, aggravating as he might be, was no fool. He’d make sure there was nothing in his office that gave her whereabouts away. Just in case.
“Emma,” a woman said from behind her. “Emma Fortune?”
Her name was not Fortune. It was Michaels. Michaels was a perfectly good name, even if it had come from some list kept by a social worker. But whoever was calling her no doubt meant well, so she mustered a smile as she turned, plate in hand.
A flash went off in her face. “What the—”
“How does it feel to get rich overnight?” that voice asked. “What was your first thought when you found out you were a Fortune?”
She blinked, the dazzlement fading to reveal a tall, skinny woman with short black hair, a short black skirt and a tight black top. And a camera. “Who are you?”
The woman grinned. “The person who’s about to give you your five minutes of fame, honey. Natalie Bernstein, of the Texas Tattler.”
Two
Ten days later
The light turned red just in time to make Flynn stomp on the brakes. He pulled to a stop, drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel and glanced at the tabloid newspaper lying on the seat beside him.
Dammit to hell. The photo on the front page wasn’t flattering, but it was recognizable. No one who’d ever seen that smile would fail to recognize Emma.
And just in case they had some doubts, the fool reporter had printed her name right beneath it. Oh, they’d called her “Emma Fortune” instead of Michaels, but that wasn’t going to do anything more than irritate her. It sure wouldn’t fool the scumbag she’d been engaged to. And the cutesy little rags-to-riches story that went with the photo identified Flynn and gave enough information for a sixth grader to find her.
Steven Shaw wasn’t a sixth-grader. He was a pro.
The light changed. Flynn pulled away quickly.
Take it easy, he told himself as he turned off into the entry to the exclusive Kingston Estates, a gated community where Miranda’s villa was located. Even if Shaw saw that tabloid the minute it hit the stands, he couldn’t get here this fast. But the sense of urgency riding him wouldn’t let up. He slowed, flashed his ID at the man at the gate, then accelerated smoothly.
It was his fault. If he’d stayed with her at the party, he could have gotten that camera away from the party-crashing reporter. If he’d followed his instincts and talked to Ryan before the party instead of waiting until he’d talked to Emma, the reporter would never have gotten in. Ryan would have seen to that.
Of course, Emma could have prevented the whole mess, too, by telling her uncle what was going on—if she weren’t so blasted pigheaded.
When Flynn pulled up in front of the townhome, Emma’s battered Ford was in the driveway. So was an Explorer.
Looked like Kane Fortune was here, too. Good. Flynn slammed the door to his Jeep and stalked up to the steps to the front door.
Miranda opened it herself. She was wearing a long blue robe that zipped up the front, her hair and makeup neatly fixed. She blinked when she saw him.
“I’m sorry to bother you at this hour, but I need to see Emma.”
“I’m sorry. Do come in.” She held the door wider and stepped back. “We’re all in the breakfast room. Would you like to join us? There are muffins left, and I think some eggs, too.”
“I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee.” The poor lady’s fingers were nervously pleating the blue silk of her robe. Flynn did his best to look reassuring. “I imagine you can guess why I’m here.”
She nodded jerkily. “The picture.”
“Yeah.”
“Emma thinks she has to leave. To just—take off. I hope you’ll help me convince her the situation isn’t that serious.”
Either Miranda was living in a fantasy world, or Emma hadn’t leveled with her. “Even if Shaw doesn’t read the tabloids himself, odds are that someone he knows does. All it takes is for one person to mention it to him.”
Her lips tightened. Without another word, she turned and led the way down a short hall.
The breakfast room was a small, sunny place. Lots of wood, painted white; lots of undraped windows with frilly things at the tops. The cushions on the chairs were green and yellow, and matched the frilly things at the windows.
Kane sat at the white table. The plate in front of him held only crumbs. He looked up when Flynn entered, his level gaze unsurprised. “You’ve seen that damned picture, I guess.”
Flynn nodded. He was looking at the other occupant of the room, who was wearing a red cotton nightgown that buttoned up to the neck. Emma’s plate held a dismembered muffin and some scrambled eggs she’d stirred around. Her hair looked like she’d stuck her head in a blender.
Her face was a little fuller, he noted with satisfaction. He couldn’t tell about her arms with that enveloping nightgown, but he thought she’d put a little weight on. Good.
“Flynn! What are you doing here?” Her eyes were wide and startled.
“Having coffee,” he said, going to the hutch where a pot sat on a warmer. “Then we’re going to get some things straightened out.”
“What’s to straighten out? I’ve got to leave, that’s all.”
“Yeah, I’m afraid you do.” He brought his cup over to the table and sat across from her. She looked cute with blender hair. He wondered if her breasts were that full all the time, and wished she was wearing something clingy so he could see the shape of her breasts better….
Damn. What was wrong with him?
Miranda frowned. “Even if this man does come looking for Emma, she doesn’t have to leave. Kingston Estates has security.”
“A bored security guard or two won’t slow Shaw down, I’m afraid, if he’s determined to get to Emma.”
“What do you know that we don’t?” Kane asked.
“That’s what we need to get straight.” He sipped his coffee appreciatively. “This is great coffee, Miranda. You grind it fresh?”
“I—yes.”
“There’s a little place on Esquivel that has some good blends. The beans are shipped vacuum-sealed. You might want to try it some time.”
“You came here to talk about coffee?” Emma said sweetly.
“You want to get right to business? Okay. What have you told them about Steven Shaw?”
“Everything necessary.” She met his eyes steadily, but her fingers fidgeted with the handle on her coffee cup. “I don’t see what you’re doing here. Why you’ve involved yourself in this.”
“Damned if I know.” He couldn’t stand to think of the scumbag getting hold of her, that was all. “Except that I’m pretty sure you’ve held back a few important facts from your mom and your brother, here.”
Those curvy eyebrows of hers sailed up haughtily. “Such as?”
“Did you tell them you needed stitches after the last time you saw Shaw? Did you mention that after beating you, he locked you in the bathroom and you had to break out before you could get medical care?”
In the silence that fell, the small, dismayed noise that Miranda made sounded very loud. Flynn noticed that the knuckles on Kane’s fists were white. He sighed. “I didn’t think so.”
“You talked to Mindy. You must have. No one else—” She shook her head. “I trusted her.”
“Who’s Mindy?” Kane asked.
“My friend. We worked together at the florist’s in San Diego and she helped me get away. I can’t believe she told Flynn everything.”
“She didn’t tell me. She told a colleague of mine. I told you I’d checked out your boyfriend—excuse me, your former fiancé—after I got that call from Mathers.” He watched the expressions fleeting across her face. Dismay, maybe shame. Disbelief. Anger. “If it makes you feel any better, Sam had a hell of a time getting her to open up.”
“Mindy knew better than to talk to a P.I.”
“Ed’s good at getting people to trust him.”
Her words came out flat. “So is Steven.”
He nodded. “That’s why you ran, isn’t it? Instead of going to the cops for help. Because you didn’t trust the San Diego P.D.”
“He’s got buddies on the force.” She pushed back her chair and stood.
Kane spoke up. “Emma told us this man is a bounty hunter. I take it he’s got contacts in the police department?”
“He used to be a cop,” Flynn said, “before he got kicked off the force for using unnecessary roughness.”
Emma froze. “He said he’d quit the force because he hated all the red tape that keeps officers from doing their jobs.”
“Right. Red tape meaning he wasn’t allowed to pistolwhip an uncooperative witness, I suppose.”
“I didn’t know.” She ran both hands over her hair. It didn’t do much to tame the unruly mass. “God. There was so much I didn’t know.”
She was so pale, her skin chalky with shock. He wanted to sound gentle. It came out gruff. “You wouldn’t have, of course.”
“The man is obviously bad news,” Kane said. “But will he really chase Emma all the way to Texas?”
“Emma thinks he will. Don’t you?”
“How can I be sure? He said…” She started pacing, her movements jerky. “When you were checking him out, did you find out if he’s been looking for me?”
“Yeah.” He hated to tell her that, but she needed to know. “Mindy told Sam he’d talked to her. And from what Sam learned, he’s got feelers out elsewhere.”
Her eyes closed. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
Miranda went to her. “We’ll get you protection, Emma.”
“You don’t understand. Steven is…once he’s decided to do something, he doesn’t turn back. No matter what.”
That’s what he’d needed to know. Flynn turned slightly in his chair to watch her restless movement, his decision made. “Mindy wasn’t crazy about breaking a confidence, but when Ed explained the situation, she could see you needed help. You seem to have some trouble with that concept.”
She stopped by one of the big windows, her fingers gripping the frame. “I’ve been accepting help for the past two months. The result was that photograph.”
“That happened because you hadn’t leveled with the people who want to help you. But you’ve made a start. The next step is to go pack your bags. I’ve got a fishing cabin about two hours away. We’ll go there.”
She stared at him. “I beg your pardon.”
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “You know, you look a lot like your mom when you do that.”
“I don’t—oh, this is ridiculous. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Kane’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you offering the use of your cabin, Flynn? Or your services as bodyguard? You don’t come cheap. I’m not sure Emma can afford you.”
“Money is not an issue,” Miranda said crisply. “But Emma doesn’t have to run off to some cabin. We can get her all the protection she needs. If she needs a bodyguard—”
“I need to leave,” Emma said flatly.
