Lost and Found Page 7

  But he wasn't thinking about familial resemblances at the moment. At the moment, he was thinking about his niece—the only person in his entire family he felt was worth a plug nickel. His brother's only child was the one reason he even bothered keeping in touch with the rest of his family. Now she'd been kidnapped and he wanted to know why no one had felt it necessary to inform him.

  He crossed the hall with quick strides, waving off the butler who'd heard the door open and scuttled into the hallway, still shrugging into his jacket. The sight of the man annoyed Emmet. Not that he had anything against him personally. It was what he symbolized: a clinging to a way of life that was dead and gone, never to return.

  He shoved open the library door, knowing the family would be gathered there in this predinner hour. It was another of the senseless traditions that had driven him to leave home at an early age. The San Andreas Fault could open up and swallow the entire city of Los Angeles but the Malone family would still meet for their predinner drinks and "conversation." In his experience, the conversation was inclined to consist of various family members sniping at each other.

  Just as he'd expected, they were all gathered in the huge room. At his entrance, conversation stopped dead and they all looked at him. Emmet took his time, allowing his gaze to move from one to the other without speaking. He might have opted out of running the family holdings but he knew the value of intimidation and he used it now.

  His cousin Dodie sat on a delicate Queen Anne chair, her too-large frame looking at odds with the exquisite furniture. Lionel was buried in an enormous leather chair that dominated him, not so much physically as mentally. It was a sad commentary that Lionel Davis was incapable of dominating anything, including a piece of furniture.

  Their son, Lance, leaned in his favorite position against the mantel, his chiseled profile shown to good advantage. Emmet felt his upper lip quiver. Of all of them, he despised Lance the most. From the time he was a boy, he'd opted for the easy route, living off the trust fund, never bothering to do a day's work.

  Bertie and Clarence sat side by side on a sofa that matched Dodie's chair, their elderly faces turned toward him with matched expressions of surprise and vague alarm. As usual, neither of them had much idea of what was going on.

  Emmet let his presence sink in, drawing out the moment until the tension in the room could be felt. And then he smiled. Not the wide grin his friends might have recognized but a predatory, ominous smile reminiscent of a tiger eyeing a particularly juicy native.

  "What a surprise to find you all here." He shut the huge door behind him and walked into the room, stopping in the center of the vast sea of Persian rug that covered polished maple flooring.

  "Emmet. Er.. .ah.. .nice to see you. It's been a while." That was Lionel—as usual trying to pour oil on water already far too turbulent for weak stomachs.

  "Emmet." Dodie nodded her head regally but not before he'd seen the flicker of uneasiness in her eyes.

  "Well, if it isn't the great white hunter. Brought back any new trophies?" Lance swirled his cognac.

  "Careful, Lance. Sneering will give you wrinkles. And when all you've got is your face, you'd better take good care of it." Lance's mouth tightened and his eyes spoke his dislike but he didn't say anything more.

  "Look, Clarence, it's Emmet." As usual, Bertie was a few beats behind the rest of the world.

  "I see that it's Emmet." Clarence's tone held an edge of temper, like a grumpy old dog whose nap has been interrupted just so he could shake hands with someone.

  "Aunt Bertie, Uncle Clarence. I see you haven't changed." Emmet's smile lost some of its edge when he looked at them. Somehow, the world had lost track of

  Bertie and Clarence and he had a feeling it was far too late to try to bring them up-to-date now. He turned his attention to Dodie, his eyes chill.

  "I read in the newspaper that Babs has been kidnapped."

  "That's right. It's a terrible thing. We've all been very traumatized by this."

  "I think it's strange that I had to find out about my niece's kidnapping through the newspapers." He crossed over to the bar. The quiet tinkle of ice hitting a glass sounded loud in the stillness. He poured a healthy dose of Chivas Regal before turning to look at his family, leaning one hip against the maple of the bar. "Don't you think it's strange?"

  "Naturally, we wanted to get hold of you but we were under the impression that you were off on some trip to the Amazon or the Zambezi or some such place."

  "As a matter of fact, I was rafting on the Colorado."

  "There." Lionel's voice expressed his relief. "You see, we couldn't have gotten in touch with you there. Don't imagine they have phones in those raft things, do they?" His smile faded under his wife's withering glance.

  "Did you even try to contact me?" The silence gave him his answer. He took a swallow of his scotch, letting the silence stretch. "Have they made any demands yet?"

  "Who?" Lionel stared at him, his eyes reminding Emmet of a trapped rabbit.

  "The kidnappers. Who else would I be talking about?"

  "Oh, the kidnappers. Of course, of course."

  "Of course. Have the kidnappers made any demands?" Emmet spaced the words clearly, sensing an undercurrent he didn't understand.

  "Why should they make demands? They were very well paid." Bertie tugged at her shawl, tangling the long fringes, her soft brow puckered in a frown.

  "What?"

  "What Bertie means is that they are undoubtedly expecting to be very well paid." Dodie jumped in, speaking just a little too quickly, a little too loudly.

  "I don't think that's what Bertie meant at all. Was it Bertie? Just what did you mean?"

  Bertie stared at him, her eyes reflecting her uneasiness. "Mean? I don't know what you mean 'what did I mean.' I didn't mean anything at all. Nothing. I don't think."

  "What's going on?" He pinned Dodie with a sharp look. She met his eye without flinching.

  "I don't know what you mean. The kidnappers haven't made a demand yet so, really, we don't know much more than what you read in the papers."

  Emmet looked around the room. They were hiding something. He could smell it. The question was: what was it? And he knew exactly how to find out. There was always one weak point in any wall. His eyes settled on Bertie and his smile made her give a vague squeak of dismay.

  It took him less than five minutes to get enough out of Bertie so that Dodie had to give up and tell him the whole story.

  "We really had no choice. When Babette threatened to talk to Finney, we had to stop her. You know the terms of the will, even though you were cut out of it."

  Dodie looked at him, as if expecting him to agree that they'd done the only logical thing.

  "So you had her kidnapped. You've let her think that she's in the hands of criminals who may kill her whether they get the money or not."

  Dodie shifted uneasily beneath the building anger in his voice. "We were all upset by the thought that Babette might suffer some worry but she really left us no choice. Naturally, we instructed the men we hired to treat her well."

  "Well, that was gracious of you. Very Malone, Dodie. The Malones are nothing if not gracious. They may stab you in the back. They may mooch money from you. But they're ever gracious."

  "Really, sarcasm is un—"

  "Shut up." It was probably the first time in her entire life that anyone had told Dodie to shut up. She gaped, her mouth dropped open and she stared at her cousin, looking like a carp thrown up on dry land.

  Emmet ignored her. He stalked from one end of the room to the other, needing some outlet for the rage that bubbled inside him. He kept thinking of how frightened Babs must be. His niece was a gutsy little thing but kidnapping was enough to make anyone nervous. He spun around, staring at his family. They stared back, with varying expressions of uneasiness.

  "The problem with you people is that you're a bunch of parasites. Not one of you has ever done a decent day's work. You hung on Great-grandfather's coattails and then you hung
on Caldwell's. Funny, he was quick enough to boot me out of the family for marrying the wrong woman but he never had the sense to throw all of you out on your butts. Not one of you is worth spit.

  Babs is the only member of this family that's worth a thing but she's got one weak spot."

  He paused, his eyes pinning each of them in turn. None of them quite met his eyes. "She's kindhearted. I told her to cut you loose years ago but she wouldn't do it. She said you needed her. Hah! You never gave a damn about her unless you needed money."

  His fierce gaze settled on Dodie. "When Earl and Lenore died, you took a frightened little girl and tried to regiment her into your ideal of a Malone daughter and you've never forgiven her for being too damned strong for you to break.

  "Well, you've pushed too far this time. Babs should have gone to the police. I'd like nothing better than to see the whole lot of you in jail."

  "Jail!"

  "Now, really, Emmet."

  "What does he mean, Clarence?"

  "Emmet, my dear fellow, I really think perhaps you've misunderstood our motives." For once, it was Lionel's voice that prevailed above the babble. No one could have been more surprised than he was. "I mean, no one meant Babette any harm. No harm at all. Besides, she's not even with the men we hired anymore."

  "Then where is she?"

  "Er... well, actually, we're not quite sure of that. A gentleman called and said he'd rescued her. He said he was a friend of yours. A Sam Delanian?"

  "Sam has her?" Emmet's frown lightened a fraction and Lionel dabbed at his forehead with a linen handkerchief.

  "When did you talk to Sam? Where is Babs?"

  "Your friend called yesterday."

  "So where are they? They should have been here by now."

  Dodie sniffed. "Actually, I suggested to Mr. Delanian that it might be quite profitable for him to keep Babette away for a few days."

  "You bitch." The flat words had more impact than if he'd shouted them from the rooftop. Dodie blanched, her eyes dropping away from the contempt in his. Lionel stared at his hands. Lance looked as though he might say something and then changed his mind and continued to stare broodingly into the empty fireplace. Bertie and Clarence looked confused, as usual.

  "If she's with Sam then he'll take care of her. God knows, she's safer with him than she is with the lot of you."

  He turned his back to the family and picked up his Scotch and downed it in a gulp, as if to wash a nasty taste out of his mouth. It was Lionel who broke the tense silence—more afraid of what Emmet might do than he was of his current anger.

  "You're... ah... not thinking about calling the police or anything hasty like that, are you? I mean, it would be best for everyone if we kept it all in the family. Scandal and all, you know." His voice trailed off, his eyes shifting nervously when Emmet turned to look at him.

  "I don't really care what's best for the family. As far as I'm concerned, nothing would make me happier than to see all of you rotting in San Quentin. It's too bad they closed Alcatraz."

  Lionel paled and dabbed at his forehead, his hand shaking. Emmet let the silence stretch, giving them all a chance to think about what he'd said. Even Clarence and Bertie looked worried.

  "No, I'm not going to the police." His upper lip lifted at the visible wave of relief that ran through the room. "I'm not doing it for your sakes or the sake of 'family.' I'm doing it for Babs's sake. This would cause a hell of a scandal and she'd be right in the middle of it."

  "If she hadn't been so unreasonable about the paintings, none of this would have been necessary. In a few more days, Mr. Stefanoni will be going back to Italy and this will all be settled."

  Emmet barely looked at Lionel. "If you weren't so damned stupid, you might be dangerous. This whole plan goes beyond dumb to downright insanity. Do you really think Stefanoni isn't going to figure out that you sold him fakes? He's not going to be amused. I'll go talk to him and see if I can pull your fat out of the fire this time but only for Babs's sake."

  He walked to the door and opened it before turning to sweep them all with one last contemptuous look. "You'd better hope to God that nothing happens to her or I'll fit you all for cement boots myself."

  He stalked into the hall, almost running over the butler who was on his way in to announce dinner. Emmet threw open the front door and stepped out into the fresh air, drawing in a deep lungful. God, he felt as if the very air in that house was tainted. He stared at the evening sky, thinking about his niece. Thrusting his fingers through thick gray hair, he walked down the steps. She'd be all right. Sam Delanian was a good man. He'd take care of her.

  ❧

  "Ouch! Dammit, that hurts."

  "Don't be such a baby." Babs dabbed the cotton swab gently on the scrape that skidded along his rib cage.

  "It's easy for you to say. No one is dropping battery acid in your open wounds."

  She ignored Sam's muttered complaints. "Do you think any of your ribs are cracked or broken or anything?" She sat back on her heels next to the bed and looked at him, her eyes dark with concern.

  "My ribs are just fine except they hurt like hell."

  "Maybe we should find a doctor. If you've got a broken rib..."

  Sam opened his eyes and looked at her. "Babs, my ribs are not broken. They're not even cracked. Believe me. I've had cracked ribs before. I'm bruised and that's all."

  She looked doubtful, her slightly gamine face puckered with worry. Sam surprised himself by reaching out to touch his fingers to her cheek. "Don't worry about me. My pride is hurt more than anything else."

  Babs leaned her face into his hand for just an instant before drawing away and turning her attention to the scrape on his cheekbone. "But you were terrific. If it hadn't been three to one, you'd have demolished them."

  Sam laughed, the sound ending in a groan as his bruised ribs protested. "You were pretty terrific yourself. You looked like you knew what you were doing with that gun."

  "I do. Uncle Emmet taught me to shoot when I was twelve."

  "Remind me to thank Emmet." He sucked in his breath as the antiseptic burned. Babs stopped and looked at him.

  "Does it hurt terribly?" Sam stared into her eyes, feeling as if he could drown in their chocolate depths. She was so close. Her fingers on his cheek felt cool and soothing.

  "It doesn't hurt at all," he lied, still looking at her.

  "You know, you really were magnificent."

  He smiled, his battered face protesting the movement. "All I did was get beat up."

  The moment stretched with neither of them quite willing to break it. Something indefinable hovered in the air—awareness, attraction, desire—things neither of them wanted to acknowledge. Babs wondered how it was possible for his eyes to be so blue. It was like looking at the ocean, full of depths, full of promise—and dangers. Outside the motel, a car door slammed and they heard the shrill voices of children as a family arrived. The sounds broke the strange tension and Babs looked away, staring at the first-aid kit as if seeing it for the first time.

  "Good thing you had this in the truck." She busied herself with packing everything away, making sure every item was in precisely the right place. That done, she stood up and looked around the room.

  "At least we've got two beds tonight." At Sam's comment, her gaze settled on him and then skittered away.

  "I've been thinking about it and I think I should call my family. Someone is bound to be home by now and I ought to let them know that I'm safe. As soon as I tell them where I am, they can send someone to come up and get us."

  "I don't think that's such a good idea." Sam dragged himself upward until he was more or less sitting, his back braced against the headboard.

  "I'll make sure you get your money, even if you don't officially deliver me." Her voice held more than a hint of resentment. Sam thrust his fingers through his hair.

  Maybe he should have told her the truth last night but it had seemed like such a good idea to think about it.

  "It's not the money."r />
  "I thought that's what you were in this for. I mean, after all, that's why you rescued me. You don't have to feel guilty about it. You did a job and you should get paid for it."

  "Would you shut up for a minute?"

  Babs stared at him, opened her mouth and then shut it again. Sam waited to be sure that he had the floor.

  "I lied to you last night. I did get through to your family."

  "You talked to them? Why didn't you tell me? What did they say? Who did you talk to?"

  He stared at her, wondering just how to phrase what he had to say. How did you tell someone that her own family was part of a kidnapping plot? He ran his fingers through his hair again, his gaze wandering over the room, searching for inspiration.

  "I... talked to your Aunt Bertie and your Aunt Do-die."

  "God, you got the full works, didn't you? From airhead to hardnose all in one conversation. What did they say? I don't understand why you didn't tell me about this."

  He reached out, catching her hand and tugging until she sat down on the edge of the bed next to him. He kept hold of her hand, meeting her eyes with his and hating what he had to say.

  "Your family paid those men to kidnap you."

  The words came out stark and unadorned but there was no other way to say it. She stared at him, her eyes going from questioning to blank disbelief in an instant. She started to speak, words of denial pushing to get out and then saw the regret in his eyes. She looked away but not before he saw the hurt that darkened her eyes to almost black. Her lower lip quivered for an instant before being caught between her teeth. She stared at the cracked green lamp that sat next to the bed. Her fingers stiffened in his and then drew away. She didn't get up but he could feel her pulling away, drawing into herself, shutting the door on the hurt.