A Man Like Morgan Kane (10 page)

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"Andwe both know that you're certainly no Prince Charming, don't we, Morgan?" She tried to pull her wrist out of his tenacious grasp, but he held fast. They glared at each other across the table. "I allowed Claudia to fill Anne Marie's head with nonsense about you because I knew what those idiotic Morgan stories meant to Claudia. Since I assumed that my daughter would never meet you, I didn't think the stories could hurt her. And they won't, if you don't encourage her. If you don't give her any false hopes or make promises you can't keep. If you—"

"Who are we talking about, Beth, you or your daughter?" Morgan slid his thumb across her wrist, then down inside the palm of her hand.

Bethanyshuddered, the very touch of his skin against her skin igniting quivers of arousal in the depths of her femininity. "Don't try to use Anne Marie to get to me. I won't allow it. Don't encourage her romantic fantasies about the two of us."

"What about my romantic fantasies?" He caressed the center of her palm in a slow, circular motion.

"After the way you kissed me last night, I had a difficult time going to sleep. All I could think about was crossing the hall to your bedroom. Tell me, did you lie awake wanting to come to me?"

The kitchen door swung open and Anne Marie flew in, quickly assessing the situation as she glanced from her mother's flushed face to Morgan's somber face and then to Bethany's manacled wrist.

"Good morning." Anne Marie smiled at Morgan while she bent over and kissedBethany's cheek. "So, what are you two going to be doing today while I'm registering for school?"

Morgan instantly released his hold on Bethany, who drew her hand against her chest and rubbed her wrist.

"I'm going to the Galleria boutique today,"Bethanysaid. "With Lisa in the hospital, I'll have to take over some of her workload temporarily."

"If you're going to be doing more work than ever, how are you and Morgan going to do any investigating?" Anne Marie opened a cabinet and removed a small glass. "I thought the two of you'd be running around all overBirminghamtogether, gathering information and questioning people and … well, you know, all that private eye stuff."

"I'll be conducting a private investigation," Morgan assured her. "But at the same time, I'll be with your mother twenty-four hours a day to protect her.Dundee's, the agency I work for, can do a lot of the leg work using the computer. Our main objective, after keepingBethanysafe, is to compile a list of other possible suspects and then dig deep enough to discover which one actually murdered Farraday."

"Well, that list of suspects is going to be a mile long." Anne Marie opened the refrigerator door, pulled out a carton of orange juice and poured the juice into her glass. "There had to be dozens of people who hated Jimmy and wished him dead. The only people who liked him were the people who didn't really know him."

Loud, repetitive knocking came from the back door. Anne Marie jumped.Bethanygasped. Morgan tensed. All three heads turned.

"Oh, it's probably just James," Anne Marie said, then downed half her orange juice while she walked over and grasped the doorknob.

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"Don't!" Morgan shouted.

Anne Marie's hand froze on the knob. "What's wrong?"

"From now on, don't assume you know who's on the other side of the door," he said. "Ask first. And be sure you know and trust the person. Understand?"

Anne Marie shook her head affirmatively, her nose crinkling as she frowned. The insistent knocking continued.

"Hey, what's going on?" a young male voice demanded. "Open the door, will you?"

"It's James," Anne Marie said, "Is it all right if I let him in now?"

"Who is James?" Morgan asked.

"He's mother's stepson, James Farraday, Jr.,"Bethanysaid. "He and Anne Marie are good friends. He's come by to drive her to school today."

"He's a senior at Mountain Brook High," Anne Marie told Morgan. "Dropping me byRedmontAcademy is a bit out of his way, so I don't want to keep him waiting too long."

"Let him in." Morgan watched while Anne Marie opened the door and stepped back to allow Farraday's son to enter the kitchen.

"What took you so long?" James asked. "I could hear y'all talking, so I knew you were in the kitchen."

"Morgan wanted to make sure you were who I thought you were," Anne Marie said. "Come on in. I haven't eaten yet. Do I have time for some toast?"

"Yeah,sure." James glanced past Anne Marie, his piercing blue eyes focusing on Morgan. "Who's this guy?"

"He's Nana's son, Morgan Kane." Anne Marie grabbed a loaf of bread off the counter. "Morgan is mother's bodyguard, and he's also an investigator. He's going to find out who really killed your father."

James pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. "You're really a bodyguard, huh? And an investigator? Do you work for yourself or for some big outfit?"

"I work for Dundee Private Security, out ofAtlanta," Morgan said, as he sized up young Farraday. Tall and lean, with sharply chiseled features and short black hair, the boy sat there inspecting Morgan with the same thoroughness. The kid possessed a cocky self-confidence that reminded Morgan of his own youthful recklessness.

Anne Marie dropped two slices of bread into the toaster. "Anyone else want toast? How about you, James?" When she smiled at the boy, her cheeks flushed slightly and her cool gray eyes softened to a deep, warm blue.

Morgan remembered a time whenBethanyhad looked at him exactly the way Anne Marie was looking at James Farraday, Jr. An irrational urge to grab the boy by the collar of his cotton knit shirt overwhelmed Morgan. He wanted to issue a warning: no matter how much she adores you, this girl isn't yours for the
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taking. If you touch her, you'll answer to me.

Where had such paternal thoughts come from? Morgan wondered. From his own guilt? Or from some totally irrational need to protectBethany's child?

"None for me," James said, his gaze still riveted to Morgan. "Are you living here now?" he asked, then answered his own question. "Yeah, I guess you'd have to if you'reBethany's bodyguard. She needs somebody to protect her from the great Jimmy Farraday's idiot fans. Those crazy people. Calling her.

Sending her nutty letters. Then trying to kill her with that bomb."

"Come on, James." Anne Marie laid her toast on a napkin. "I can eat on the way." Holding the napkin-wrapped toast in one hand, she lifted her small bag with the other and draped the straps over her shoulder. "After registration, I'll go to Grandmother's with James and y'all can pick me up this evening."

"Have a good day, sweetheart,"Bethanysaid.

James shot up out of his chair, held out his hand to Morgan and said, "Nice to meet you."

Morgan shook the boy's hand. "Drive carefully."

James laughed. "Yeah, sure thing." He walked over, slipped his arm around Anne Marie's shoulders and opened the back door, then paused and glanced back at Morgan. "Hey, I hope you find the person who killed my father. When you do, let me know before you turn them over to the police. I'd like to give them a medal for taking the old man out."

"James!" Anne Marie nudged him in the ribs. "That was an awful thing to say about your father."

"Yeah, well, I just said what everybody's been thinking." James ushered Anne Marie out the back door.

Morgan turned toBethany. "Any chance Junior might have been the one to empty your gun into Farraday?"

"You don't honestly think that boy could have killed his own father, do you? James didn't get along with Jimmy, but that was Jimmy's fault. The man was a lousy husband and an even worse father. He ignored James all his life. My mother has given thatchildthe only real parental love and attention he's ever known."

"It's apparentthat Junior hated his father. Maybe he hated him enough to kill him. He sounded like he's glad his old man's dead."

"You hated your father, too. Remember?"Bethanylooked directly at Morgan. "But you never would have killed him."

"Yeah, I remember." Morgan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Even if Junior didn't kill Farraday, I think he bears watching. Just how much do you trust that boy?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean your daughter's got a thing for that cocky, young SOB, and if he decides he wants her, then he'll take her and to hell with the consequences. He could wind up hurting Anne Marie, breaking her heart and—"

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"Now, who are
you
talking about?"Bethanyasked. "James and Anne Marie or you and me?"

* * *

Late that afternoon,Bethanyleft the Galleria boutique in the capable hands of assistant manager, Shelly Harris, and went with Morgan to Maxine's office. Although she'd tried to go about her business as usual all day and forget about her bodyguard's presence, she had been constantly aware that Morgan was never more than a few yards away from her. While she had rearranged schedules and discussed with Shelly applicants for a new part-time sales clerk to fill in for her during Lisa's absence, Morgan made numerous phone calls, sent and received several faxes and "borrowed" her computer. Whenever she left her office, he followed her, but remained at a discreet distance while she dealt with delivery men, salesmen and customers.

Business had been brisk for a mid-week day, the shop often filled to overflowing.Bethanyhad quickly become aware of the fact that more than one customer had stopped by the boutique to get a good look at the woman accused of Jimmy Farraday's murder. Ignoring the rude stares and unpleasant whispers, she'd concentrated on her loyal, supportive clientele.

When Morgan and she arrived at Kane, Walker and Carson, Attorneys-at-Law, Maxine's secretary showed them into her office immediately.

Maxine shook hands withBethany, then turned to Morgan. "Good to see you again. How long has it been, fifteen or sixteen years? You've grown into quite a man. Your father would be proud of you."

Why the hell, after all these years, did his father's opinion matter? He'd quit trying to please the old man when he was about fifteen. He'd realized then that no matter what he accomplished, it would never be enough to suit his father. Henderson Kane had expected nothing less from his only son than perfection and complete acquiescence to his wishes. So instead of striving to gain his father's acceptance and approval, he'd done everything and anything to achieve the exact opposite. Smoking. Drinking. Dating little tramps from the wrong side of town. Getting himself expelled from school. And eventually getting himself arrested for attacking a policeman after he'd been stopped for reckless driving. What Morgan had gained over the years of rebellious behavior had been his father's rage and contempt.

"My father was proud of his nephew, Amery, and his protégée, you." Morgan assistedBethanyinto a chair in front of the massive mahogany desk that had once belonged to Henderson Kane. "Let's cut to the chase, Max. We don't need to waste a lot of your time, or mine and Bethany's time, either."

"Not as charming as you used to be, are you?" Maxine's lips curved into a mocking smile. She nodded toward the chair beside Bethany's. "Have a seat and let's get started. What do you need from me?"

"Other than the obvious—for you to give Bethany the best legal representation you can—not a great deal," Morgan said. "Since we spoke earlier today and I got most of the information I needed from you then, what I'd like for us to do now is compile a list of possible suspects. As soon as we have a list, I can get to work on narrowing down the possibilities. I've already talked to Hal Varner, the detective in charge of the Farraday murder case. Are you aware that he has some doubts about Bethany's guilt?"

"Yes, of course," Maxine said. "Hal has done everything he can to keep the investigation going, but the district attorney has blocked him at every turn."

"I think we may have an ally in Varner." Morgan unbuttoned his jacket, sat down and crossed one leg over the other as he relaxed in the leather chair. "We can count on him to work with us. Unofficially, of
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course.

"And I spoke to Pat Griswold, the FBI agent assigned to investigate the mail bombing. They don't have any leads in the case. They're assuming a crazed Jimmy Farraday fan sent the bomb, since its construction was so simple that a twelve-year-old could have put it together. But after I spoke to Agent Griswold, she agreed to check into the possibility that, if Bethany didn't murder Farraday, the real killer might have sent the bomb."

"My, my, my. You have been a busy boy, haven't you?" Maxine braced her hip on the edge of her desk.

"With Dane Carmichael's connections within the bureau, I'm sure you'll get all the cooperation you need from Agent Griswold."

"We're hoping that, since the FBI knows the package was mailed from the downtown post office, one of the employees might remember something suspicious. It's a long shot," Morgan said. "But it's all we've got right now."

"The person who made the bomb might not have been the person who mailed it." Maxine grunted.

"Well, what do you need from me, Morgan?"

"What I need, before I proceed any further, are the names of everyone either of you think might have had a reason for wanting Jimmy Farraday dead." Morgan glanced from Maxine toBethany. "Who's going to start this little accusation game?"

"I believe most people who really knew Jimmy either disliked him intensely or hated him," Maxine said.

"I didn't know him well enough to hate him. Personally, I just despised him."

"Who knew him well enough to hate him?" Morgan asked. "His wife, his son, his stepdaughter, his step-granddaughter and…"