Franco's Fortune (Redemption Book 2) Page 2

  “He’s a PI slash bodyguard, an ex-SEAL our firm uses when we need someone investigated or if some hotshot CEO on the East Coast needs protection. As you well know, considering that Logan caught the perp trying to bring down this company five years ago, our security firm specializes in corporate espionage and protection. What Logan did for Callahan Construction got our firm lots of high profile cases. Harris has guarded some major CEO’s. So have I. You’d be surprised what kinds of trouble those guys can get themselves into.” She folded her arms across her chest. “We haven’t lost one yet.”

  A soft female voice diverted Franco’s attention to the doorway. “Franco. Excuse me.” His assistant, Ruth, stood there, a frown on her face.

  “What is it, Ruth?”

  She looked at Jo then back at him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier. You didn’t tell me you had an appointment.”

  “Jo’s a friend,” he lied. Might as well start the charade now, in case he decided to go along with this crazy scheme. “What’s up?”

  “There’s someone else here to see you. He says his name is Harris. He doesn’t have an appointment either.”

  “It’s okay, Ruth. Show him in.” These people really were determined to take over his life.

  A barrel-chested middle-aged guy, gray-haired and dressed in a well-cut black suit, sauntered into the office. Jo stood and nodded to the guy. “Harris. It’s good to see you again, man.”

  Harris gave an imperceptible nod toward Jo. “You’re lookin’ good, darlin’. But then you always look good.”

  An arrow of jealousy hit Franco like a shot between the eyes. He definitely wasn’t thinking straight.

  Hand held out, the guy headed toward him. “Hello, Mr. Callahan, I’m Harris. I assume Jo’s been fillin’ you in.”

  “A little.” Franco came around his desk and shook the man’s hand. “Harris what?”

  The other guy grinned. “Just Harris.”

  “Call me Franco.” He looked over to find his assistant hovering in the doorway. “Everything’s fine, Ruth. You can leave us. Would you shut the door please?”

  Still frowning, Ruth softly closed the door.

  “Please sit, Harris.” Franco gestured to a second chair facing his desk. The burly Harris lowered himself into the chair. Jo sat down as well. Franco eased into his chair and shifted his gaze between the two of them. Was something going on between them? He dismissed the thought, and tamped down another hit of ridiculous jealousy. The guy was old enough to be her father and didn’t seem like Jo’s type, whatever that was.

  “Franco doesn’t like the idea of my pretending to be his girlfriend and living with him,” Jo said with a glance at Harris. “He says I’m not his type.”

  “Why not?” Harris shifted in his seat. “Any man would want this lady on his arm.” Grinning, he edged forward, his brown eyes on Franco. “I could move in with you if you don’t want Jo.”

  Franco brushed a hand over his hair. He didn’t see any way out of this mess. If he wanted to stay alive, he’d have to go along with their plan. But a choice between Harris and Jo? A no-brainer.

  He grabbed a pen from his desk and squeezed his fingers around it, pressing away his annoyance. “I don’t like this whole situation. I like my privacy, but I am in a jam. Privacy isn’t worth much if I’m not alive to enjoy it. So, it looks like I have to go along with you. No offense, Harris, but I don’t think anyone will believe you’re my girlfriend.” He dropped his pen and gave Jo what he hoped was a pointed look. “Jo can play the part, but I’m not so sure anyone’s going to believe that either.”

  “We’ve already been through that, Callahan,” she muttered.

  Did he imagine the twinge of hurt in her voice? A spasm of regret tugged at him. “Remember what we agreed.”

  Her clear green eyes, shadowed now, met his. “I said I’d do it. Sheesh. You don’t believe me?”

  He gave her his most flirtatious grin, trying to put the sparkle back in her eyes. “No, not entirely.”

  “What am I missing?” Harris asked.

  “Franco wants to glam me up so people are more likely to believe I’m his latest girlfriend.”

  “You, glammed up?” Harris laughed. “That I’ve got to see.”

  Her faced pinked.

  Franco had never known her to be so sensitive. He missed his sparring partner, yet this new side of Jo made him want to take her into his arms and comfort her. That was a thought he needed to diffuse.

  Jo straightened and looked at him with a sober expression, all business now. “We’d better get started, map out our plans. And we have questions for you.”

  He nodded. “Go ahead.”

  “I need my tablet.” Jo strode to her duffel bag and knelt to open it. She slipped a tablet out and powered it up as she walked back to the desk.

  As she settled into her chair, Harris dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a few pieces of wrapped hard candy. He held them out to Jo and Franco, who both declined. Harris unwrapped a piece and popped it into his mouth.

  “Since I gave up smoking a few years ago, I’m never without this candy,” Harris said.

  Jo grinned at Harris. “Candy is better than cigarettes, my friend.”

  Fingers poised over her tablet, she turned to Franco. “What’s happened since your car was blown up? Any more phone calls?”

  “A couple,” he said. “The guy always threatens to kill me if I don’t give him the money.”

  Harris bit down on his candy. “What money?”

  Franco let out a frustrated sigh. “I have no idea. Believe me, if I knew, I’d give him the money to save my life.”

  “Is it always the same person who calls?” Jo asked

  “I think so.”

  Jo typed in some notes, then looked at him. “What are the police doing?”

  “They can’t trace the calls. They’ve set up extra patrols in my neighborhood, but the police are short-staffed and can’t give me a lot of protection.”

  “More reason you need us,” Jo said. “Anything else?”

  “I’ve already told the police, but here goes. I came out of my house last Saturday morning to go for a run and a black Escalade drove by. Someone fired shots from the car.”

  “What?” Jo’s head came up. “They blow up your car, then fire shots in your direction?”

  He waved away her concern, if that was indeed what it was. “They didn’t hit anywhere near me. I figured it was another threat. If they’d wanted to kill me, they would have.”

  “No more going anywhere alone and no more morning runs until this is over,” she said. “Tell us everything, and don’t leave out anything.”

 

  Jo flopped on the beige silk comforter in Franco’s spacious guest room and put her hands behind her head, staring at the ceiling, painted white in stark contrast to the dark green walls. Harris had driven her in his bullet-proof Town Car to Franco’s Delancey Street townhouse fifteen minutes ago, then left to return to Callahan Construction, where he’d settle in to keep Franco safe while he was at work. She smiled, thinking how uncomfortable Franco was over this whole situation.

  He wasn’t used to anyone giving him orders, that was for sure. But if he wanted to save his life, he’d learn to listen to Harris and her. They made a good team.

  Despite the work Franco kept insisting he needed to get back to, she and Harris had grilled him for forty-five minutes, getting the names of his friends, acquaintances, business associates, past and present, and former girlfriends. No one was above suspicion. He’d squirmed a little when they’d asked about his women. Surprising that he didn’t have a woman in his life now.

  For the first time since she’d known him, Franco Callahan was available. She tamped down the pleasure that began to build in her. But she couldn’t stop herself from wondering what it would be like to kiss him. Then her mind veered to imagine the feel of those full lips on her mouth, trailing down her body. Fear slammed into her, shattering the fantasy. She couldn’t go there. She knew where it led—knew the hurt and the guilt.

  She slid from the bed before her mind could betray her again with dreams of what could never be. She’d been sent here to do a job. Forcing her thoughts back to their elaborate plans, she unpacked her duffel bag quickly and put her clothes in the dresser drawers. The one closet in the room was bigger than her bedroom back in Tucson. Now it was empty, but soon it’d be filled with the kinds of clothes Franco insisted she needed. Anxiety twisted in her gut. Haute couture wasn’t her style. She’d look like a fool. Her face flushed at the thought of Franco laughing at her.

  In an effort to keep busy and focus on her job, Jo decided on a quick tour of the large townhouse, decorated with modern furnishings. Entering the room next to hers, she saw it was a media room, outfitted with the latest TV and sound system and comfortable-looking chairs, perfect for TV or movie viewing or listening to music.

  Two framed photographs on a side table snagged her attention, pulling her from visions of soft music and Franco. She strode toward the table and lifted one of the photos. Franco’s parents, Lena and Dan, smiled from the picture. Dressed casually in slacks and silk shirt, petite, dark-haired Lena looked the epitome of the stylish matron. Dan, an older, slightly shorter version of Franco, and dressed in slacks and a golf shirt, had his arm around his wife. A sophisticated, handsome couple, good parents who loved their children and grandchildren. Jo’s mouth tilted in a wry smile. She sure didn’t know anything about parental love. That had died along with her father.

  She set down the photo of Dan and Lena and picked up the other one, a picture of Doriana and Logan with their two kids—Josh, almost twenty-one and Lenamarie, three—taken in the backyard of their house in Tucson. Other than his black hair, Josh was the image of Logan, with chiseled
features and wide-set shoulders. He must drive the girls at college crazy. Little Lenamarie, named after her grandmother and great-grandmother, had Logan’s dark blond hair and Doriana’s golden-brown eyes. Joy radiated from the family’s big smiles. Jo doubted she’d ever find the kind of contentment Logan and Doriana shared. They were wonderful people and deserved all the happiness in the world.

  With a sigh, Jo set the picture back on the table. She strode to the windows, checking them as she had the windows in her room, making sure they were securely locked. From the rough outline Franco had given her of his house, she knew another bedroom plus his suite were on this floor. She’d check them all.

  On the ride over, Harris had told her that homes on Delancey Street were some of the highest priced and most historic homes in Old City Philadelphia. He needn’t have bothered. The street reeked of money, old money. Delicate trees, just starting to bud, formed a perfect canopy for the stately townhouses with their marble steps and high ceilings. Nothing in Tucson could compare.

  She descended the stairs, passing from the small foyer into the large living room. That room and the adjoining dining room were designer showpieces, the walls painted sage green. A cream-colored leather sectional and chairs dominated the living room, with a small teak wood bar tucked into a corner. Bottles of high quality liquor and wine lined mirrored shelves behind the bar. Tied-back ivory drapes over sheer curtains of the same color covered the large multi-paned windows. Museum quality paintings hung on the walls, and fresh flowers in pops of bright colors sat in exquisite Murano-style vases on glass-topped tables around the room. The dining room overlooked the enclosed backyard. A pale wood dining table that looked like it could seat twenty easily was flanked by high-backed chairs upholstered in sage green and cream. She stood between the two rooms and let her gaze roam. A real showplace, like something out of Architectural Digest. Dramatic and glamorous, yet somehow comfortable.

  A place made for seduction.

  Willing those thoughts away once again, she headed into the large kitchen, with its gleaming white walls, high-end stainless appliances and ceiling height cabinets. She tried the back door, making sure the deadbolt held. Someone had broken in through the back door and ransacked the place just two weeks ago. She shook her head at Franco’s admission that he hadn’t had a security system at the time and had had one installed last week. Damn the man! Living in a house like this with no security system. She’d get someone to replace the back door with a steel one. She checked the basement last. Satisfied all was secure there, she headed back to the kitchen.

  As she sat at the granite center counter to type in some notes, a sound permeated the quiet. She froze. There it was again. A key turning in the front door lock, then the door opening and closing. Jo hadn’t reset the security alarm. The hairs on her nape stood up.

  She glanced at the clock on the microwave. Franco wasn’t expected home for hours, and Harris would call when they were on the way. She pulled her Glock from the waistband of her pants. Cautiously she crept out of the kitchen, staying close to the walls, and made her way to the living room. Adrenaline pumping and her body on alert, she primed herself to fight. Hugging the dining room wall, she peered into the living room. A young dark-haired woman holding a huge tote bag stared back at her.

  “Who are you?” Jo raised her gun. “You’d better talk if you know what’s good for you.”

  Fear in her eyes, the woman dropped the bag and ran for the door. “Stop!” Jo shouted.

  Trembling, the woman turned around, her hands raised.

  “Start talking,” Jo growled.

  ***

  Chapter Three

  “Please,” the woman sobbed. “Mr. Franco give me key. He say all okay. I’m legal.”

  “Mr. Franco? Legal?” Jo lowered her gun. “It’s okay. I’m a friend of Mr. Franco’s.”

  The woman put her arms at her sides and backed away. Terror shone in her deep brown eyes. She blinked rapidly. No more than twenty-five, her long-sleeved T-shirt and ragged jeans hung from her skinny frame. With a shaking hand, she brushed back strands of black hair that had come loose from her ponytail.

  Pity for the woman tugged at Jo’s heart, but she tensed, ready to defend herself if needed. She’d learned the hard way that the most innocent-looking people could be the most lethal. “I won’t hurt you,” Jo said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I clean for Mr. Franco. See?” The woman pointed to the large tote bag she’d dropped. Her attention riveted on the woman, Jo reached over and picked up the bag, dumping its contents. Cleaning supplies fell onto the Oriental rug.

  Relaxing slightly, Jo blew out a breath. “Why did you try to run?”

  The woman folded her arms across her chest and backed farther away. “Mr. Franco’s lawyer say I okay. Please don’t send me back to Mexico. Family here.”

  The woman was truly frightened or she was one hell of an actress. Jo’s instincts told her to believe the woman. They’d asked Franco if anyone had keys and he’d said no. He’d lied.

  “No one’s sending you anywhere,” Jo said. She engaged the safety on her gun and tucked it back into her waistband. “Let’s gather up this stuff and you can leave.”

  “I have to clean.”

  “Okay, since you’re here you can clean. But you can’t come back for awhile.”

  “I no clean, Mr. Franco no pay.”

  “Don’t worry. He’ll pay.”

 

  Frustration had Jo pacing the living room, unable to keep her churning nerves under control. She’d double checked all the locks again, written her lists. She mentally ticked off the items that needed to be second nature while she was on this assignment. Gun with her at all times: check; security alarm set at all times: check.

  She’d probably worn a path in the expensive-looking Oriental carpet by now. She glanced at her watch for the hundredth time. A little past seven. Harris had phoned that he and Franco were on their way. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since the sandwich she’d had several hours ago. Food could wait. Her confrontation with Franco couldn’t.

  Twenty minutes and more miles of pacing later, she heard a car pull up. Over the rumble of the engine, doors opened and closed. Jo hurried to look out the door’s peephole, then disengaged the security alarm. Heavy footsteps raced up the marble steps, then the sound of a key turned in the lock.

  “See you tomorrow, Franco,” she heard Harris say as the door swung open.

  Franco entered the foyer and shut the door behind him.

  “Don’t forget to reset the alarm,” she said.

  He reset the alarm, dropped his briefcase on the hall table, loosened his tie, then sauntered into the living room. She followed. He turned. His gaze scanned her. Something hot and dark lit his blue eyes, something that stoked an answering heat in her.

  With an arrogant quirk of his eyebrow, he gave her a slow, sizzling smile. “You look a little perturbed, Fortune. Not enjoying your stay? Accommodations not to your liking?”

  She stalked toward him, not stopping until only inches separated them. “You jerk.” She jabbed a finger into his chest, suppressing a wince when her finger connected with hard muscle. “How do you expect us to keep you safe if you can’t be straight with us?”

  He grabbed her hand and held it before she could poke him again. “What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t know?” she asked, jutting out her chin.

  “Have no idea.” He still held onto her hand.

  She jerked free and stepped back. “You told us no one had keys to your place. What about Marissa?”

  “Marissa?” He swiped a hand over his short hair. “I left her a message the other day telling her I wouldn’t need her for awhile. That’s why I didn’t tell you. Did she show up here?”

  “She sure did, cleaning products in hand.”

  “I didn’t think she’d come. I didn’t want to take any chance on her getting hurt while those thugs, or whoever, are out there. Maybe she never got the message.” He narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t hurt her, did you?”

  “I didn’t. But I scared the poor woman half to death. And I took her key away.”

  “You had no right to take the key. I trust her. I’ll make sure she doesn’t come back until this whole thing is over.”

  “I guarantee she won’t come back. You lost your rights when those thugs threatened you. Right now, my job is to protect you and your job is to do what I say.”