Leah Vale - The Marine

Still, she hesitated. “I’m not sure it’s my place to tell you what I know about the Lost Millionaires.” She wasn’t one of the McCoys’ advisors. Yet.

His rigid stance collapsed under the weight of his incredulity. “Lost Millionaires?”

“That’s what Joseph called you all while coordinating efforts to track you down after learning of your existence when Marcus’s will was read last Wednesday, June twelfth.”

His eyes slid closed. “Just tell me.”

She refolded her hands. “While none of this is for public consumption, mind you—”

“Imagine that.”

“Yes, well…”

He opened his eyes, and she fought the unusual urge to squirm beneath his hard, blue gaze.

Something furry brushed against her bare shin and made her jump. She glanced down in time to see a cat in the guise of a small ring-tailed lemur, its eyes as startlingly blue as its owner’s, cozying up to her. “You have a cat.”

“Yes, I have a cat.”

Momentarily derailed by the reality of a macho military type like him owning something so…fluffy, she just stared at it. It stared back.

“You were saying?” Major Branigan’s deep voice returned her focus.

She shifted her leg out of the way and met his equally inscrutable stare. “Apparently, Marcus McCoy indulged in several short-lived, clandestine relationships that resulted in children being born—all boys thus far, interestingly enough—”

“And he paid each mother a million dollars to keep the identity of her illegitimate baby’s father a secret, even from the kids themselves, right? Or was my mother simply a better negotiator than the rest when it came to her ‘consulting fee’?”

The pain in his sharp tone made her stomach tighten.

“No—” Lynn was forced to clear her throat against her unexpected and unprecedented empathy. Why in the heck should she feel for him? His mom had scored herself a butt-load of security.

All her mother had ever scored was her next high—Lynn blinked to cut off the thought and refocus. No ties, no limits.

She lifted her chin. “No,” she repeated. “All the women were paid the same sum and given the same conditions.”

His stance relaxed almost imperceptibly. “And this Alexander McCoy…?”

“Actually the maid’s son. Raised by the McCoys to believe he was Marcus’s brother.”

“So much for the McCoy stores’ motto—‘Don’t trust it if it’s not from the real McCoy.’”

Worried about the distaste in his voice, she nodded slowly.

“Unbelievable. At least my mom was always straight up with me about the circumstances surrounding why my father wanted to remain anonymous and where the money she’d used to start her architecture firm had come from.” He shook his fist holding the letter, eyeing it. “Admirable bunch.”

The McCoys were, but Lynn let his sarcasm pass and simply lifted a shoulder. What he thought of them wasn’t her concern.

“What about the other two guys?”

“One is a rancher in Colorado. The other, a contractor, lives in Dependable and was easy to contact.” Because he, too, had managed to land his rear in jail, Lynn had discovered when she’d checked in after arriving here. Merely a charge for disorderly conduct, and easily resolved. Something she’d hoped the major’s would be, too.

Determined to make it so, she continued. “Joseph had hoped to notify you all simultaneously, but I was delayed in getting all the pertinent information I need surrounding your case. We thought it best for me to have everything before contacting you.”

Thank goodness the next phase in his hearing process was also delayed because of a clogged court docket and the fact the primary witness—the driver in the car he hit—couldn’t be present yet. The woman was stuck in a hospital bed, in traction. Unfortunate for the woman, but it bought Lynn time. Time she apparently was going to require.

Relaxing his grip, he uncrumpled the paper. “So why name his sons in his will and blow the family-secrets closet wide open?”

“Joseph believes Marcus finally saw the error of his ways.”

Branigan raised his gaze to hers. “Did you know this Marcus?”

“Yes. He frequently worked with those of us in Legal preparing contracts for suppliers or for developers who wanted the McCoys to open new stores. Though more often than not, he teleconferenced or e-mailed because he was usually off somewhere handling client relations.”

“And now everyone knows the sort of ‘handling’ he liked to do.” The major gave her a quick once-over, his meaning clear in his sharp eyes.

Lynn kept her mouth shut. While she’d caught Marcus looking a little too long at her breasts and legs and he had always indulged in mild flirtation with her—as well as with a lot of other women at McCoy Enterprises—things had never progressed further. He’d either learned his lesson, or he’d considered her and the other ladies to be too close to home. He had left one other woman from Dependable, besides the maid, pregnant and rich but that woman had been the last of his fertile flings.

They hoped.

The major reread the letter. “Seems he didn’t have very good relations with grizzly bears.”

“Apparently.”

He looked her dead in the eye. “So why do you think he claimed us—the ‘Lost Millionaires’—in his will? Especially after going to such expense years ago to cut himself loose from his duty and responsibility?”

Lynn didn’t blink. “I can’t begin to speculate.”

Oh, but she had. Endlessly. And she had her theories. None of which she was going to share with the man she’d been sent to bring into the McCoy fold without scandal.

Marcus realizing the error of his ways certainly wasn’t one of her theories. Nor was guilt. That wasn’t his style—even if he’d placed his illegitimate sons in his will because he fully expected to live a lot longer than he had, a reasonable assumption on his part considering how robust Joseph still was at nearly seventy-five years of age.

Major Branigan tossed the letter onto the table. “Doesn’t matter why. I’m not going to be attending some family reunion anytime soon.” He turned and walked to the tall windows in his attractively decorated living room with its view of the distant ocean.

He was so tall and well shaped beneath his white T-shirt and jeans that Lynn had to admit she preferred the view she had from where she sat. Which was saying something, because she sure as heck wasn’t a card-carrying member of the Pocket Watchers of America.

She’d never even spoken with the girls who’d wasted their time checking out the back pockets of the boys’ Levi’s in school. Her focus was normally on her schooling or work. But the major was work.

Fortunately, the tension radiating from every lean, hard inch of the man squashed any pleasure that checking out his butt might have given her.

The breadth of his shoulders expanded as he inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. “Even if I were free to leave town, I still wouldn’t be interested. I’m a Marine, ma’am.”

“Not for long if you’re convicted. I’m sure you’re well aware of the fact that you’ll be dishonorably discharged before you can say ‘ooh-rah.’”

His hands fisted at his sides again. “That’s hoo-rah. And what happens to me is none of your business.”

“Your grandfather, Joseph McCoy, has made it my business. He’s not about to let a grandson he’s just found out about go to jail if he doesn’t have to.” An attitude that had shocked her, given Joseph’s morally upstanding reputation.

The major turned slowly to face her, his jaw hardened with the sort of determination only a decade in the Marines could give a man. “I said yes when the cops asked if I was driving that truck the night of the accident. I’m afraid Mr. McCoy is out of luck.”