Sweet Fortune (25 page)

Hatch raised his brows. “Interesting. You, naturally, are going full steam ahead.”

Jessie shot him a quick glance and then returned her attention to her food. “I think something happened to frighten Mrs. Attwood.”

“Then she should go straight to the police,” Hatch said flatly.

“Probably. But I don't think she will. She was scared, Hatch. I could feel it. I suspect that someone from DEL warned her off. She said it had all been a misunderstanding. But I don't believe a word of it.”

“Christ.” Hatch shook his head, knowing a losing battle when he saw one. “So what are you two up to here?”

“Just poking around,” Alex explained. “Trying to find out what's going on at DEL. Our main goal at the moment is to see if we can find out anything at all about the money. But I'm also curious about this climate program they're running.” He punched some more keys.

“Why?”

“I've got a buddy up at the university who's into this kind of thing. I know for a fact his programs aren't projecting any ten-to-fifteen-year disaster scenarios. I'd like to see what he says about these DEL projections. I'm going to download them onto some diskettes and have him take a look.”

Jessie spoke up around a mouthful of potato salad. “We want to see if they're genuine scientific projections or some kind of fake theories designed to fool potential investors.”

Hatch groaned. “What are you going to do if you do manage to prove the program is a deliberate fraud?”

“Well, I suppose we could go to the authorities with the information,” Jessie said slowly, obviously thinking through the situation. “After all, fraud is fraud. We can at least get DEL closed down.”

“And how is that going to help Susan Attwood?” Hatch asked quietly. “If she's a part of this fraud, she's guilty of a crime. Do you really want to push things that far?”

Jessie gave him a stubborn look. “I just want to see if she's working with DEL of her own free will or if she's been duped. Please try to understand, Hatch. I can't seem to let this go now. I've gone too far with it. I have this feeling that there's something terribly wrong and that my client's daughter is in some kind of danger.”

“You've been playing psychic investigator too long.” Hatch turned back to Alex. “Can you do this without alerting anyone on the other end?”

“I think so,” Alex said confidently.

“No footprints that would lead anyone back here to you and Jessie?” Hatch clarified, wanting to be absolutely certain on that point.

“Heck, no.” Alex pulled his attention away from the screen long enough to squint briefly up at Hatch. “Does this mean you're going to help us?”

“It doesn't look like I've got a whole hell of a lot of choice, does it?”

Something clattered to the floor behind Hatch. He turned his head in time to see Jessie bending down to pick up the plastic fork she had just dropped.

“Want some potato salad?” she asked brightly.

A long time later Jessie stirred amid the tangle of sheets, stretched out one bare foot, and encountered Hatch's leg.

“You awake?”

“Yes.”

“I've been thinking,” she said softly.

“About what?”

“About you. I haven't thanked you yet for staying on the case. I know you're not exactly thrilled with the idea of me pursuing the investigation.”

“That's a mild way of putting it.”

“Well, thanks anyway,” she mumbled.

“Jessie?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Your Aunt Glenna talked to me today.”

“Good grief. Why on earth did she do that?”

“She wanted to point out that I'm really not the kind of man you should marry. Even if it would be convenient for all concerned.”

Jessie was startled to find herself annoyed. “Aunt Glenna said that?”

“Yes.”

“I know Aunt Glenna means well, but sometimes she thinks that because she's got a degree in psychology she knows what's best for the rest of us. It can be irritating.”

“But you agree with her, don't you? You told me yourself that I'm not the kind of man you would ever marry.”

“Let's not get into that subject, Hatch. It's nearly three in the morning.”

He grunted. “Did you know that your aunt and your father once had a brief affair?”

“Really?” Jessie was wide-awake now. “Are you sure?”

“Vincent told me about it this afternoon. He implied that was one of the reasons he helped her pay her way when she went back to college. He felt he owed her something.”

“I'm stunned.” Jessie sat up against the pillows and wrapped her arms around her updrawn knees. “I can't believe those two would ever get together in a million years.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, she doesn't seem like his type. She's not colorful and sophisticated and outgoing like Constance and Lilian. She's not oriented toward art and design, the way they are. She's so serious all the time. And so clinical, if you know what I mean.”

“The affair didn't last long. Your father implied he was at a low point because of the divorce from Lilian and Glenna was getting over being abandoned by her husband. One thing led to another. Then, according to Vincent, they both came to their senses.”

Jessie turned that over in her mind. “I can see how it would happen. But it still seems strange, somehow.”

“I agree.”

“I wonder if Mom knows.”

“I doubt it. Vincent said he never told her or anyone else, and he doesn't think Glenna did either. I got the feeling they both regretted the whole thing.”

“Strange how you can know the members of your own family for so many years and still not know their secrets,” Jessie mused.

Hatch turned toward her, his face unreadable in the deep shadows. “Your aunt talked about you today.”

“Is that right?”

“She says you've become the intermediary between your father and the rest of the family because you're the only one willing to tackle him.”

Jessie shrugged. “You've said the same thing.”

“Yeah. But I don't have a Ph.D. in psychology to back me up. It was interesting hearing my diagnosis confirmed by a professional.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Hatch. You make me sound like some sort of nut case just because I'm the only one who ever figured out how to deal with Vincent Benedict.”

“I didn't mean that. And you're not the only one who can handle him. I can deal with him too.”

She slanted him an assessing glance. “That's true. I figured that was because you're so much like him that you understand how his mind works.”

“Maybe that applies to you too.”

“I'm not anything like him,” she protested.

“No? You're just as mule-headed stubborn as he is, for one thing. I can personally testify to that.”

Jessie got annoyed. “It's not the same thing at all.”

“It's okay, Jessie. I'm mule-headed stubborn too. But that's not my point.”

“What is your point?”

“After I talked to Glenna today I got to thinking about us and I want to make sure we have something real clear here. Whatever else happens, I want you to swear to me that you will not let yourself get pushed, urged, bullied, or otherwise forced into marriage with me in order to protect, defend, or placate anyone in your family. Agreed?”

“I've already told you, I have no intention of marrying you.”

“I know what you told me, but I happen to think the outcome is going to be a little different. I just want to make certain that when you do marry me, you do it for the right reasons, not because you feel you have to do what's best for the family.”

A soft warmth welled up in her. He looked so serious, she thought. “You're the kind of man who usually doesn't worry too much about the means as long as you get the end you want,” she noted carefully.

“In this case,” he told her as he pulled her into his arms, “I definitely care about both.”

“What are you trying to tell me, Hatch?” she whispered, her fingertips braced against his shoulders.

“That I want you to marry me because you damn well can't resist me,” he muttered, his mouth moving on her throat. “I want you to marry me because I did such a hell of a good job seducing you and making you fall head over heels in love with me. Got that?”

She caught her breath as she felt his body hardening rapidly under hers. “Yes. Yes, Hatch, I've got it.” She waited for him to volunteer the fact that he loved her, but he did not say the words that might have made the difference. And in that fragile moment she was afraid to ask for them.

“Swear?” Hatch prodded.

“I swear. If I ever do agree to marry you, it will be because I love you. But, Hatch?”

“Uh-huh?” He was nibbling at her earlobe now.

“I still have no intention of marrying you.”

“I haven't finished this damned courtship yet.”

V
incent Benedict was simmering. The initial explosion had dissolved into the customary roiling boil, which in turn was now all the way down to the mild, bubbling simmer.

Jessie was familiar with the pattern. She'd dealt with it all her life. Her father definitely had a problem with money, especially when it came to giving any of it away.

It was not that he was an ungenerous man; quite the opposite. Over the years Vincent had doled out thousands to his clan. But Constance and Lilian were right: he liked to attach strings. He liked to make certain the receivers were properly grateful and that they kept him posted on where every dime went. He felt free to make loud judgments on whether or not the money was being well-spent. He criticized, approved, or grumbled about what the recipient did with the money. And always he wanted everyone to remember where it had originated. Jessie routinely fielded the grumbles and complaints from both sides.

“Jesus H. Christ, those two women are never satisfied,” Vincent roared. He slammed a palm down on his desk and regarded Jessie with a baleful gaze. “They're like sponges, always soaking up more of my cash.”

“Dad, you know that's not true.” Jessie was slouched low in the chair across from her father. She had her legs stretched out in front of her and her thumbs hooked loosely in the pockets of her jeans. She was wearing a snug-fitting, long-sleeved black dance leotard with the jeans, and her hair was caught back behind one ear with a large silver clip.

“The hell it isn't true. What happened to all that cash I gave Connie and Lilian two years ago to open that damn furniture store?”

“It's not exactly a furniture store, Dad, it's more of a showroom they use to give ideas to their clients. Now they want to expand it. Turn it into a design store. They're going to specialize in avant-garde European furniture styles.”

“What's wrong with American furniture?” Vincent pointed to the wide mahogany desk in front of him. “Nothing wrong with good, solid American furniture.”

“Dad, Connie and Lilian do not have a lot of clients who are into Early American.”

“I'll tell you something, Jessie. That European crap is for the birds. I had one of those silly little Italian lamps in here for a few weeks and the damn thing broke.”

“Only because you tried to bend it in a direction it was never intended to go.” Jessie remembered the lamp. It had been a delicate device. Too delicate for her father's big hands. “And your opinion of Italian furniture has got nothing to do with the issue. The fact is that a lot of people like that style. Connie and Lilian cater to that crowd.”

“Probably the same crowd that eats sushi and pays good money to watch films that have subtitles,” Vincent grumbled.

“You hit the nail on the head when you said it's a crowd that pays good money for what it wants. Come on, Dad, you're a businessman. You know a business person has to cater to the client's taste. That's all the moms want to do. They've been very successful up to this point, and you know you're proud of them. Why not finance another expansion for them?”

“They treat me like I'm some kind of bank.”

“You want them to go to a real bank instead?”

“Hell, no.” Vincent turned a dangerous shade of red at that suggestion. “Damned interest rates are sky-high again. Like throwing money down the drain. Can't trust bankers, either. They won't stand by you. First hint of trouble and they call in the loans.”

Jessie grinned. “And besides, if the moms went to a bank, you wouldn't have a license to complain, would you? Be honest, Dad. You like controlling the purse strings in this family.”

“Somebody has to do it. God knows they all go through money like it was water. No common sense. No appreciation for the hard work involved.”

“You know that's not true. The rest of us just aren't as tightfisted about it as you are.”

“Yeah, well, maybe that comes from never having had to do without. Men like Hatch and me, we know what it's like to do without.” Vincent narrowed his eyes. “How come you never ask me for money?”

Jessie widened her eyes in mocking innocence. “Are you crazy? There would be too many strings attached, and you know it. You'd hound me constantly, asking me what I was doing with it, where I'd invested it, what I was buying with it. You'd probably want weekly and monthly reports. No, thanks.”

“You know your problem, Jessie, girl? You're too damn independent. Too blasted stubborn for your own good. When are you going to marry Hatch?”

Jessie blinked. “Don't hold your breath.”

“You're sleeping with the man, dammit. He told me so himself. If you can sleep with him, you can damn sure marry him.”

“I'll have to talk to him about kissing and telling. Gentlemen aren't supposed to do that.”

The door opened behind her and Hatch's voice cut in on the argument. “What's this about gentlemen?”

Jessie looked over her shoulder. “Dad says you've been chatting about my love life. I was telling him that gentlemen don't do that.”

“I believe I was making an unrelated point at the time,” Hatch said as he came into the room and shut the door behind him. In spite of the calm response, there was a faint tinge of ruddy color high on his cheekbones. “I was telling him not to interfere in our private life, as I recall. Isn't that right, Benedict?”

Vincent scowled at him and then turned back to Jessie. “Forget that. What, exactly, is the status between you two?”