A Fortune Wedding Page 3

  “Gone?” She stared. “It can’t be gone. It was twenty-five million dollars, for God’s sakes. The income alone was more than a million dollars a year.”

  “I guess a million doesn’t go as far as it used to,” he said. “You spent down the capital about three years ago.”

  There was a roaring in her ears. “I didn’t spend anything. I didn’t…good Lord, it’s gone? All of it?” Even she could hear the faint note of panic in her voice.

  “The right investments—or the wrong ones—can eat up that kind of money pretty quick. Lloyd wasn’t nearly as smart about finance as he liked to think he was. He wanted to be a player. Sometimes when you play, you win,” Gahan said, “and sometimes you lose. Lloyd lost more than most.”

  “But he had money of his own.”

  Gahan studied her for a long moment, seeming to go through an internal debate. Finally, he let out a quiet breath. “The Fredericks family has been broke for years. Fredericks Financial has been struggling—the credit crunch hit it hard and it was significantly overextended. You and Lloyd would have been broke, but he was good at arranging loans. He guaranteed the last one through your son.”

  Disbelief gave way to anger. “That’s impossible. Josh only inherited his money a week ago. Lloyd would never have used Josh’s trust fund to secure anything.”

  “Lloyd did,” Gahan said simply. His intercom buzzed and he pressed a button on his console. “Give me five minutes, Colleen,” he said, and turned back to Frannie. “Mrs. Fredericks, I’m sorry that all of this has come as such a shock, but there’s really nothing I can do. My advice to you is that you talk to your family, arrange a loan. If they can secure your debts, you have as good a chance of moving forward as anyone.” He rose and put out his hand. “I wish you luck.”

  Frannie left the office in a daze, scarcely feeling her feet as they slid along the carpet. It didn’t feel real, nothing felt real.

  Twenty-five million dollars, gone. Her father had left it to her when she was born, then died mere months later. She had no memory of him. But he’d loved her and wanted to provide for her, leaving the trust for her care, with the bulk to be awarded upon the birth of her first child. It was, she realized now, probably the real reason Lloyd had married her.

  And now the money was gone, and so was Lloyd.

  She touched her cheek, remembering the times he’d lashed out with his tongue. And, less frequently, his hands. He was gone and only she and Josh remained, trying to move forward through the morass he’d left behind. She pressed the elevator call button, the sound ringing in her ears.

  “They grilled you for two days without pressing charges?” Jorge glanced over at Roberto as they walked through the police station parking lot to his car. “That’s some lawyer you got. Or, excuse me, some lawyer I got you.”

  Roberto barely registered the joke. He glanced around, squinting at the sun and despising himself as he realized that he was looking for Frannie. “No charges—at least that’s what they tell me right now. Of course, that could change.”

  “Why would they let you out if they were going to charge you?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe they’re waiting to get more information. Maybe they want to watch what I do.”

  “That could be a little paranoid, big brother.” Jorge pulled out his keys.

  “And it could be reality. It doesn’t seem like they know much at this point.”

  “Well, they’ll have to watch for a long time, because there’s nothing to find unless you did it. Which I’m assuming you didn’t.”

  Roberto opened the door and slid into Jorge’s glossy black Jaguar. “You ever think about putting your money into your business instead of pricey toys?”

  “We’re in different industries. In your line of work, a ride is just to get you to the lumberyard. In my part of the world, it’s a branding statement.” Jorge started the engine. “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “I wasn’t aware I was being asked one.”

  Jorge studied him a moment, then smiled faintly. He backed out of the parking slot and headed for the exit.

  And for the first time in two days, Roberto felt like he could draw a real breath.

  “You want to tell me again how you landed yourself in the hot seat? I mean, didn’t you think we had enough trouble going already? You don’t even know Frannie Fredericks.” Jorge flicked a glance at Roberto. “Do you?”

  There had been a time he’d thought he’d known her, but he’d found out he was wrong. He’d left her behind long ago—she wasn’t why he’d returned to Red Rock. So why had he been idiot enough to go charging to the rescue? “I met her the summer I worked at the ranch.”

  And that quickly he was back to that day all those years ago, watching Fredericks stomp off and Frannie ride out like the wind, fury in every line of her body. When Roberto had caught up to her, he’d seen the tears. Somehow, comfort had turned to something more, to connection, to revelation. They’d lain down together in the soft grass under one of the spreading red oaks. And he’d shown her what making love was truly like, learned it for the first time himself.

  “You knew her at the ranch? Is that why they held you? For chrissakes, Roberto, that was what, twenty years ago?”

  “Close enough.”

  He stopped at a traffic light. “What makes them think that’s remotely relevant? She wasn’t even the one who got dead, he was.”

  “And he had pictures of me on his cell phone.”

  Jorge stared at him. “What the hell? Why would he do that?”

  Roberto smiled faintly. “Maybe he thought I was cute.”

  “Even if there were pictures of you, anyone could have taken them. He could have taken them by accident. There’s no way they can say that means anything. Any decent lawyer would shred that.”

  Jorge’s lawyer had. But there’d been no explanation for the text message sent to Cindy Fortune: “Is this who I think it is?”

  “What I want to know is what you thought you were doing by barging into the middle of this,” Jorge said. “They’re cops, they know their jobs. You should have left it up to them instead of trying to be some kind of hero—”

  “What if she didn’t do it, Jorge?” Roberto demanded. “What if it had been Sierra or Gloria or Christina sitting in that jail and I knew something that could get them off the hook? Would you still be pushing me to stay out of it?”

  There was a beat of silence. “What happened between you and Frannie Fredericks?” Jorge asked quietly.

  “Nothing,” Roberto snapped.

  Jorge drove in silence for a few minutes. “You know, even if a lot of nothing went on between you two, you don’t need to take the fall for her.”

  Roberto turned to stare out the window. “I appreciate you helping line up the lawyer.”

  “You never have been any good at taking advice.”

  “You’d think you would have figured that out by now.” Faint amusement replaced the irritation in Roberto’s words.

  Jorge grinned. “I’m what you call an optimist.”

  “How are Mama and Papa?” Roberto asked.

  Jorge’s grin faded. “Not good, especially when the cops showed up asking questions. I thought Pop was going to throw one of them through the window.”

  “Blond guy, brush cut?” Roberto asked.

  Jorge nodded.

  “McCaskill. Too bad he didn’t, the guy could have used it. Hey, pull in at the bank, will you? I need some cash.”

  He was quick in the ATM. The enclosed space felt way too much like the cell he’d called home for the past two days. He just needed to be out; he needed to be moving. The hours of police interrogation had been bad enough; given Jorge’s behavior, it didn’t appear that the questions were likely to stop anytime soon.

  Impatiently, Roberto pushed open the door that led out to the street. And came to an abrupt stop.

  The recognition was instantaneous. It didn’t matter that nearly two decades had passed since they’d stood in each other’s pr
esence. It was Frannie, he was as certain of that as he was of his own name.

  She’d been striding down the sidewalk, not paying attention, but she was paying attention now, eyes wide, lips parted. They studied one another, taking a measure of what the years had wrought.

  He tried not to let the shock show. “Frannie.” It was her and yet not her. She’d changed so much, the vibrant young girl washed away. Once, she’d been laughing and mischievous, riding along beside him, playing jokes, teasing. Now, she was pale, cool and sophisticated to the point of almost not being there. There was a brittleness to her, a vulnerability hovering around her mouth that about broke his heart.

  “Roberto.” It was shock that had snatched the breath from her lungs, Frannie told herself, adrenaline that had her heart hammering. Surprise, nothing more, but still she kept staring, drinking in the sight of him, unable to look away.

  And unable to keep from remembering that long-ago afternoon.

  It was Roberto as she had known him and yet not: more lines, a wariness about the eyes. His dark hair was cropped short now, not long as it had been. Something about him had always made her think of a nineteenth-century bandit riding the border, tough and reckless. There was a strength, an uncompromising hardness in his face, yet in the Roberto she had known, that could soften into easy approachability when a smile curved his mouth, a mouth she knew was capable of passion and tenderness.

  Frannie gave herself a mental shake. Hadn’t she thought about this moment over and over again across the years, the dismissive glance, the cutting comment, the artful put-down? There had been a time she’d hated him. There had been a time he’d deserved it. Any sane person would think he deserved it now. Now, when he’d possibly murdered her husband. Now, when he’d possibly been the one to set her free. She straightened her shoulders. “I didn’t know you were out.”

  “For now,” he said briefly. “And you? They dropped the charges?”

  “Not quite. They released me on my own recognizance.”

  “That’s only because they don’t want to admit they were wrong without another suspect. You’ve got nothing to worry about. You’ll be all right.”

  “Of course. Everything’s going to be fine.” It was a lie. Everything was falling down around her ears, she could be back in jail any minute; someone, maybe the man before her, had murdered her husband. Yet she stood there in the sunshine as though she was just having an afternoon chat with an old acquaintance, mouthing platitudes, conditioned so well over the years not to feel that she’d maybe forgotten how.

  And yet she couldn’t stop herself from reacting to him, no matter how little sense it made. Maybe you never really forgot the first man who moved you.

  Even if it had all been an illusion.

  She swallowed. “Are you back to stay?”

  “For now. The cops have me on the same leash as you. We’re still trying to figure out who set the fires, I’ve got to finish some renovations on Red, and there are my parents to take care of, and Frannie—”

  “What?”

  He stared down at her. “I’m sorry about your husband.”

  How was it she wasn’t?

  Frannie shook her head like a dog shaking off water. “I have to go.” She moved blindly past him toward where Josh had pulled up to the curb, his car idling as he waited for her, coming to pick her up after a visit to his girlfriend.

  She got into the car, consciously not looking back.

  Josh wasn’t so subtle. He shot a glance over his shoulder at Roberto. “Who is that guy?”

  “Someone I used to know a long, long time ago,” she said.

  And only then did she begin to tremble.

  Chapter Three

  The sun had long since set when Roberto stretched out on the couch, a Scotch at his elbow, a magazine propped up on his knees. He could hear the rush of the wind outside, the restless tapping of branches against the windows. He looked at the page, not registering the words, thinking only of Frannie. How many times over the years had he imagined her face? How many times had he thought he’d heard her voice?

  He was grateful he was staying in the mother-in-law’s addition to his parents’ adobe, a separate space with its own entrance, affording him privacy where he could at last think about what had come to pass.

  Funny how the two days he’d spent in police custody seemed like a flash, but the time he’d stood talking to Frannie—a minute? Two?—stretched out to become all-consuming. And yet he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he felt.

  For a time after he’d left Red Rock all those years ago, he’d drifted, picking up work when he ran out of money. Picking up women, too. But time after time, night after night, he’d filled his hands with warm, willing female flesh, and found it wanting because it wasn’t the right flesh, because it wasn’t the right female.

  Because it wasn’t Frannie.

  And he’d grown to hate her because he could never get away from the shadow of memory. All it would take was a whiff of scent, the sound of some stranger’s laughter on the breeze to bring it all back. Because she was there, always there in the back of his mind, like a splinter that had worked its way so deep that the body could only form scar tissue around it. And part of him knew that no matter how much he might curse her inconstancy, her fickleness, her betrayal, that splinter of her would always remain somewhere inside him.

  He’d settled, finally, in Denver, thrown himself into building a successful construction business. A man could make a million, then more when work was all he focused on. There had been women, of course, women whose laughter brought a smile to his eyes. But they never shared his house. And they never lasted, because eventually they ran into that scar tissue, that place inside him that could never be theirs.

  He’d seen enough of the world since he’d left Red Rock to know that disappointment lay around every corner. He’d just learned it a little younger than most, and for that, perhaps, he should’ve thanked her. She’d helped him grow a skin of hardness and cynicism that had served him well over the ensuing years.

  And he was full of crap, because all he could do was remember her face and feel an impotent fury at the thought of what might have been. But then what was he supposed to have expected from a young girl who’d grown up with wealth and privilege? A young girl who’d never been tested, a young girl who took the easy way because the easy way was all she’d ever known?

  Except that was crap, too. He knew some of what she’d been through; he knew it hadn’t been easy. So why, why had she thrown everything he’d given her of himself back in his face? Why had she cast aside everything they might have been together for a lifetime of unhappiness with an SOB like Lloyd Fredericks?

  And why, after all of it, did he still want her?

  In a burst of fury, he sat up and slapped the magazine down on the coffee table.

  In time with the sound of the impact came a sharp rap on the outside door. Roberto frowned. Almost eleven o’clock. Jorge had taken to assuming he could come by whenever he liked, but this was taking it too far. Roberto wasn’t in the mood for any more questions and it was time to tell Jorge so.

  He crossed to the door and yanked it open. Only to see Frannie standing there.

  “What the…”

  She pushed past him, striding into the room without waiting for an invitation, a little gust swirling in after her. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, whirling on him. “Why did you come back?” Her eyes blazed blue, her hair flew around, full of static electricity from the wind. There was something of the witch in her then, something wild and uncontrolled. And her energy and agitation whipped up his own.

  He closed the door. “You always just blast into people’s homes?”

  “You left. Why didn’t you just stay gone?”

  “What makes you think that’s any of your business?” he countered.

  “I don’t need you here. I don’t want you.”

  “And I don’t want you. I came back because my family needed me here. It d
oesn’t all revolve around you, you know.”

  “I learned a long time ago that nothing about you revolved around me,” she retorted. “But what I don’t understand is why you decided to get mixed up with Lloyd. All these fires, these cryptic notes floating around? Is that you?” she demanded, taking a step closer with each word until she was just inches away from him.

  “Me?” He stared at her incredulously. “You think I’m behind all of this? Setting a fire at my parents’ restaurant?”

  “I don’t know what you’re capable of. I obviously never did. A man’s been murdered and they had you in jail over it.”

  He turned away and reached for his glass of Scotch. “In case you’ve forgotten, chica, they had you in jail, too.”

  “You can’t possibly think I killed him.”

  “You make a better suspect than I do.”

  “You know I didn’t do it,” Frannie snapped.

  “I’ve been wrong about you before. But yes, I do.” He took a swallow of the Scotch and set the glass down. “And just for the record, I didn’t kill Lloyd, either. But I may have seen who did.”

  Was it his imagination or did she tense? “Is that why they arrested you?”

  “They never put me under arrest. They were just asking questions because I came across what appears to be the murder weapon. Which is what got you out. You ought to be thanking me.”

  She raised her chin. “I didn’t need you. They would have let me out eventually.”

  “They had you in jail for two weeks. When, exactly, were they going to let you loose? Especially when you wouldn’t even deny it.”

  “I couldn’t,” she burst out.

  “Why the hell not?”

  She didn’t answer him; instead she paced away, shaking her head.

  “Why did all of this have to happen? Everything was going to be better, I had it all planned. Josh was going to go off to college, I was going to leave Lloyd. Everything was going to be okay, finally. But then it all started flying apart, and on top of everything else, you have to come back.” Frannie rounded on him. “Why are you here?” she cried, pushing at his chest. “It was done, it was over. Why didn’t you just stay gone?”