A Bad Boy is Good to Find (30 page)

“Smart move,” murmured Lizzie, eyes on the windshield.

Con chuckled. “Yeah. Anyway, they have to match it up with something of the old man’s. I think they have a lock of his hair from when he was a baby or something creepy like that. They get the results back tomorrow.”

“How do you feel about being related to him? To the guy who abandoned your mother to her death?” Lizzie turned to him, eyes flashing. She knew he’d caved under pressure and shown the letters to the news media, who’d slavered all over them. He also suspected Lizzie thought there was something pornographic about him splashing his unsightly family history all over the press.

“I hate him,” he said with conviction that tightened his voice. “He didn’t want to leave his precious crap to Mom. Only reason it’s coming to me is because of some old will he couldn’t change. I hope the bastard rots in hell.” It felt good to get that off his chest after playing nice for the cameras all morning.

“So I guess you’ll be giving all his money and possessions to a charity for battered women?” said Lizzie archly. She wasn’t looking at him, but he could see her raised eyebrow.

“Maybe.” The prospect of inheriting the house still seemed weird. Wrong. Damn he loved the area, though. Now he’d gotten over all those ancient fears, the thought of living back down here on the bayou held a lot of appeal.

“Are you serious?” Lizzie’s head snapped round.

“I don’t know. I barely know my own name right now.” He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, the firm leather and metal something he could at least hold on to.

“Your name’s Conroy Beale, unless the story’s changing again.” Her tone was cool.

What was eating her anyway? He’d hoped all that hot sex they’d enjoyed lately would mellow her out a bit. He also hoped that after he told her the good news that she’d get her money without having to marry him, they could pick right back up where they’d left off in the early hours of this morning. Either that or she’d be pissed as hell he’d gone to Maisie behind her back. He was hoping for the former.

A surge of warm anticipation tightened his pants and he smiled at her.

“What are you smiling at?”

“You.”

“Don’t miss the turnoff!” called Rog. “It’s the next right.”

The storage facility was an old one. Long corrugated metal buildings set deep off the road in a weed strewn lot.

“Shouldn’t think there’s anything still in there.” Lizzie scratched an itchy bug bite on her arm. “It’s hardly protected by armed guards is it?”

“There’s a security guard in the office, though he’s about a hundred years old. He’s the one who told me where number four was. Says it’s this whole building.” Patches of red rust-preventative paint were crudely daubed over the peeling pale blue powder-coat of a building at least two hundred feet long.

The van door slammed and Maisie strode toward them, Dino close behind with the camera on his shoulder.

“What have we here, I wonder?” She rubbed her hands together.

Lizzie crossed her arms and hung back, as usual.

Rog sidled up behind her and whispered in her ear. “Maisie told the news crews we weren’t coming until five, she wanted to scoop them.” He chuckled.

“Conroy,” Maisie intoned, adopting her “on air” glow. “We’re about to uncover yet another legacy of a forbear you never knew existed. How do you
feel
?” She leaned into him, eyes glittering.

“I don’t know.” He ran his hand through his hair.

The lord of the manor’s shirt was coming untucked. Amazing Con wasn’t coming right apart at the seams considering all this drama she’d dropped him into. Could they just go get married? Was that too much to ask?

“You have the key?” Maisie asked in deep, sonorous tones.

Lizzie rolled her eyes.

Con held it out. They strode toward the door, Dino following. A nasty twist of anticipation toyed with the contents of Lizzie’s stomach.

Con reached down to the ground to insert the key and grab the handle of the giant rolling door. Then he seized it and pulled hard.

The door came up about a foot, then stopped. “It’s rusty.” He tugged at it. It budged up a few more inches, then stuck again.

Lizzie instinctively took a step forward to go help, then held herself in check.

Con yanked on it again, pulled it up a few more inches, then levered himself under it and threw it up all the way with an audible grunt.

“Holy shit.”

Con and Maisie disappeared in the dark doorway with Dino. With the blazing afternoon sun bouncing off the metal building, Lizzie couldn’t make out what lay inside the unlit interior. She hurried forward.

As she peered into the vast gloomy chamber, she saw shadowy hulking shapes, spaced at regular intervals, covered with dark tarps.

Cars.

Con and Maisie pulled back a tarp on one of the larger ones to reveal an immense, very ancient car—headlamps the size of soccer balls, seats like plush leather sofas and no windshield. Con’s jaw hung open.

“It’s in perfect condition,” said Maisie. “I wish I knew what model it is.”

“It’s prewar Peugeot Phaeton.” Con’s voice sounded strangely breathless. Maybe it was the echo of his voice bouncing off the metal walls and high metal ceiling.

Maisie gave him a surprised look. She strode over to another car with a silver molded cover on it and started to peel back the edge. Con stroked his fingertips lovingly over the buttery paint of the Peugeot. Lizzie had a feeling it wasn’t going to be donated to a women’s shelter anytime soon.

“Conroy, come here! Even I know what this one is.”

He took another corner of the silver tarp and they peeled it back. “A Rolls Royce Silver Ghost,” they said in unison.

Rog let out a low whistle, which summoned a frown from Dino, who was still filming, silent as a shadow.

Lizzie lifted her hair off her hot neck. So Grandad left a bunch of cars behind. Big deal. Of course, it was kind of a coincidence the old man was a car nut like Con. Then again it wasn’t a coincidence at all if they shared the same DNA. A lust for molded steel was probably encoded in the Y chromosome.

Con had opened the sideways folding hood of the Silver Ghost and was staring at its gloomy innards with manic concentration. “It’s the original engine,” he breathed at last. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Whatever!
Lizzie crossed her arms and rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, Con closed the hood and looked around the unlit interior. “Lizzie, where are you?”

Still alive, not that you care.

Was she being petty? Probably. But heck, they’d come down here to get married, not to explore his ancestral legacy for crying out loud.

“I’m here,” she said quietly.

“Lizzie, will you come sit in it with me?” The mischievous expression on his face made her insides jump. Okay, so he did look like a cute puppy dog who’s found a new bone.

She walked forward, no faster than usual. No expression on her face. “Nice car.”

Con tilted his head to the side and let out a snort of laughter. “That’s the understatement of the century.”

He pulled on the gleaming chrome handle and opened the heavy door for her. She climbed in, dust tickling her nose. The leather looked a little dull but totally unmarred, almost new. She sat down as Con walked around and climbed in the other side, with a goofy grin on his face. “Holy shit. I never thought I’d get to own one of these.”

“Watch your language, you’re on TV. Besides, if I still had money, maybe I’d have bought you one.” The steering wheel stuck right out on a long pole.

“You wouldn’t believe how much this is worth.” Con ran his fingers over the smooth wood dash.

“Before or after I respray it for you?”

Her little joke cracked Con’s smile into a huge grin and he leaned forward and kissed her. Naturally, being Con, he nailed her right on the mouth, lips hot on hers before she even had a chance to close them.

Chemistry boomed through her and suddenly her hands were clutching at his shirt, her tongue was in his mouth, his fingers were winding into her hair—

“Ahem.” Maisie’s deliberate throat clearing made her blink.

She jumped back. “How do you do that?” she hissed.

“What?” Con’s lips were moist and his dark eyes shone.

“Nothing.” She hoped her dark blush wasn’t visible in the dim light. The hickey on her neck had begun sizzling, and she tugged her hair down to cover it.

Maisie approached the window, and Con rolled it down. “These cars are worth a fortune. Conroy, you are a very lucky man.”

As Maisie turned to say something to Dino, Lizzie narrowed her eyes. “So, Conroy,” she said, in an impersonation of Maisie’s interviewer voice. “Will you be giving these fine automobiles away to charity?”

Con rested his palm on the smooth round head of the stick shift and looked up at her, dark eyes wide. “Hell, no.”

Chapter 22

“S
o they think this guy is your brother?” Lizzie was almost more nervous than Con. Neither of them had touched the plate of chips and salsa set out to stave off starvation back at the house.

“Yes.” Con stared out into the gloom. “Eyewitness News said they interviewed him at the station, and he’s on his way over right now.”

It was dusk, and despite a large electrical crew working most of the day, the lights still weren’t back on. Everyone sat out on the darkening patio, rubbing bug repellant on sunburned flesh and mixing hard lemonade with a jug of vodka and two cartons of Paul Newman’s pink lemonade.

Con hadn’t touched a drop. He kept leaping up and pacing about. Lizzie put down the alcohol-free lemonade that was making her stomach feel even worse and fanned herself with a paper napkin.

“They’re here!” Rog called around the side of the house.

“Dino, get into position,” said Maisie, leaping up with her clipboard.

Con rubbed his mouth nervously with his hand. Lizzie instinctively went up to him and put her hand on his shoulder. He looked almost startled to see her. “It probably isn’t even him,” he said, blinking.

“Maybe not,” she said softly. “But it can’t hurt to meet the guy.”

“What if I don’t recognize him?”

“It’s been a long time; I don’t think anyone would expect you to. Come on.” She linked her arm though his and led him around the side of the house. A blitzkrieg of lights had been set up near the Eyewitness News van camped there, and Lizzie saw the reporter having a microphone attached to her lapel and the back of her waist.

A pickup truck pulled in behind the news van.

“Do you suppose that’s his truck?” whispered Lizzie, as they hung back in the shadows.

“Could be.” Con’s voice was barely audible. The door of the truck opened, and someone got out. A big guy. Bigger than Con. It was hard to see much in the mauve semidarkness.

“Come on, Con,” hissed Maisie behind them. “We need you in the lights.”

“I’ll just wait here,” whispered Lizzie.

“No way.” Con tugged her hand. “I need you.”

A funny warm feeling smothered her jangling nerves and tightened her hand around his as they stepped cautiously toward the lights.

The reporter fiddled with her mike and said something to the cameraman. She gestured to the large man who’d climbed out of the truck.

He didn’t look anything like Con.

She squeezed Con’s hand.

As he stepped into the light, she saw the man had sun-bleached hair and rough-looking features. Totally unlike Con’s dark hair and aristocratic profile. Nut brown skin, a worn T-shirt, dirty jeans and pale rubber boots completed the contrast.

Lizzie bit the inside of her mouth. There was no way this could be the guy. Was Con feeling the same pinch of disappointment?

Con made a strange sound and let go of her hand. He said something she couldn’t understand. The big man let out a long, colorful curse, stepped forward and embraced him in a bear hug.

Lizzie stepped back out of the light. Did Con really think this was his brother? Wasn’t he supposedly called Tiny because he was so small?

Headlights raked over her as another car pulled into the driveway. Dwight? Timing was never his strong suit. Gia rushed forward to intercept him.

Con and the big man had pulled back slightly to stare each other in the face. Con said something, but again she couldn’t make it out. Too much emotion in his voice.

“You did what you had to do,” said the other.

Con was crying. Tears glittered on his cheeks, and she could see his shoulders heaving. She bit her knuckle, suddenly horribly embarrassed for him, with all the lights and technicians and cameras and total strangers standing around gawking.

Shouldn’t they all get out of here and leave him in peace? She started to back away as the brothers embraced again, even tighter.

Tears stung her eyes and she bit down harder on her knuckle, drawing pain, anything to distract from the uncomfortable mix of sensations boiling inside her.

“Lizzie.” A hissed voice from the darkness made her spin around. A long narrow face topped by a thick head of wheaten hair emerged from the gloom.

“Dwight?” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and walked away from the lights and cameras..

“Why are you shooting out here in the dark?”

“No power in the house. Con’s meeting his brother.”

“Who?” Dwight wrinkled his face impatiently.

Did Dwight not even know about Con? A chill trickled through Lizzie as she remembered how she’d kept Con a secret from everyone. Her own prize, her dream, that she didn’t want anyone to trample on. Or was it because deep down she knew he wasn’t one of them and they wouldn’t really accept him?

He’d be one of them now, though, as heir to this place and a fortune in vintage sheet metal.

Shame seared through her at the superficial thought. She didn’t deserve someone like Con, who’d been through so much and emerged a warmer, nicer person than she’d ever be.

Dwight tapped his foot impatiently on the tarmac. “Where’s Maisie?”

Lizzie shook her head and gulped. “I don’t know. She’s out here somewhere. They’re in the middle of shooting, though, so you might want to go wait inside.”