Franco's Fortune (Redemption Book 2) (15 page)

“What did you do?” she asked.

“I called the state authorities and told them they
could do an audit anytime. To refuse an audit is a serious offense.
The auditors came the next day. I went into Mac’s office with them.
Our tech guy met us there too because we needed to get into Mac’s
computer. I looked around the office and found a credit card
statement from the charity’s account among some papers on Mac’s
desk. I was shocked to see Mac had used the charity’s credit card
to charge a golf membership at one of the most expensive clubs
around. Alarms started going off in my head.”

He closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck,
then looked at her. “Mac’s desk was locked and I couldn’t find
anything else, but my instincts told me there was a lot more. He’d
gotten careless with the credit card bill and left it lying around.
I figured I’d find more evidence if I dug deeper. And the auditors
needed to see everything.”

“Let me guess,” she said, trying to ease the
tension. “A locked desk didn’t stop you.”

He shot her a you-know-me-well smile that warmed her
insides. “I picked the lock and found other statements showing he’d
charged trips to Vegas, even charged for hookers, for God’s sake,
on the charity’s credit card. You should have seen the looks on the
auditors’ faces when I handed them the credit card statements.”

“Hookers? Charged to a charity for kids. That’s
reprehensible.”

“Tell me about it.” He released her hand and slid
back to study her. “When I saw that I got sick to my stomach.”

A thick rope of disgust coiled in Jo’s stomach as
well. “What did you do?”

“The auditors went over the books and took Mac’s
computer back to their offices. They built a good case against him.
Mac finally called his assistant, but Henry was under strict orders
not to tell Mac about the investigation. When he got back from
Hawaii, we were ready for him.”

She frowned. “Did they think you were in on the scam
too?”

“They suspected me at first. Mac’s assistant assured
them I didn’t have any hands-on dealings at the charity. I showed
them the contracts Mac and I had signed stating I was a blind
partner and didn’t manage the charity or the kids’ center. They
could also see I was as shocked as they were at what we found.”

He pushed up from the sofa and stood. “I need that
drink now.”

After he’d poured himself a brandy, he leaned
against the bar and sipped his drink, his attention focused on the
wall behind Jo. Fine lines of tension etched his mouth, and his
skin stretched taut over his high cheekbones. She missed his
closeness and his heat. She shifted in her seat, fighting the
twinge of hurt that formed a hollow ache in her chest. He’d put
distance between them. He wanted to be alone with his painful
memories. She wanted to comfort him, but he didn’t need her or her
comfort.

“So, what happened when you confronted him?” she
asked finally.

He looked at her. “I wanted to talk to him alone,
give him a chance to explain first. I’d hoped he had some good
reason why he stole from the kids. He blew me off, said it was no
big deal, that he’d repay the money. All he’d say was he’d gotten
over his head with some gambling debts, and the temptation of all
that money was too hard to resist. He could pay off his debts and
still have plenty of money. He’d also started using again.”

“Using?”

“Cocaine.” Disgust flashed over Franco’s face.
“Besides the actual theft of the money, Mac had no idea, or didn’t
care, that if this had gotten out, all our good work would have
been destroyed.” He shook his head. “Can you see the headlines?
‘
Needy kids’ money used for booze and hookers’
.”

“I doubt that would have gone over well.”

“Ya think?” His tense features belied his flippant
response.

“Wasn’t it in the paper anyway when he got
arrested?”

“There was a little bit about it, but Mac’s parents
managed to keep the more damaging details out of the papers. So no
one except those of us involved knows the whole truth.”

He sipped more brandy, then held the glass firmly
between his hands and stared at the amber liquid. “Why didn’t I see
it coming? After three years, I still don’t have the answer.”

She stood then and went to him. Maybe he didn’t want
her comfort, but she wanted to give it. When she reached him, she
took the drink out of his hand and set it on the bar. He opened his
arms and she went into them, settling herself between his legs and
resting her head on his chest. He stroked a hand up and down her
back.

“Mac begged me not to press charges,” he said.
“Promised he’d make it up to me and the charity.” He pulled away.
“The choice wasn’t mine. Even if it was, I would have turned him
in. It wasn’t just me he’d hurt. He’d betrayed the kids. I couldn’t
forgive him for that.”

“I know. You did the right thing.” She placed her
hands on his shoulders. “I assume they sentenced Mac to a minimum
security prison.”

He nodded. “His parents felt I shouldn’t have called
in the auditors, that I should have waited for Mac, then come to
them for the money. They said I should have hushed everything up,
like they’d always brushed away Mac’s screw-ups. But I couldn’t. I
would have been at fault too if I’d covered it up. And I couldn’t
have lived with myself if I’d done that.”

“You did the only thing you could. You said he
embezzled almost a million dollars. He spent all that on golf
memberships, vacations, junkets to Vegas, and hookers?”

Franco shook his head. “The auditors found bills for
a quarter of that. Mac told us he’d spent it all, but we never
found where he might have spent it. Whenever the authorities
questioned him about the rest of the money, he clammed up. I
replaced half the money out of my own funds and plan to replace the
rest over time.”

“Do you think he stashed it away?”

He frowned as understanding dawned in his eyes. “The
money. Whoever is after me wants money. The money Mac stole? But
who else knows we didn’t account for it all? How would DiGiacomo
know?”

The familiar rush of discovering a lead pulsed
through Jo. “You said Mac died in prison. How?”

“He was stabbed.”

“You don’t expect murder in a country club
prison.”

“Prison is prison I guess. Mac could be an ass at
times. He probably pissed off the wrong person.”

Excited now, she pulled free. “I need to do a little
research, find out who Mac’s cellmate was, find out who killed Mac
and why.”

Franco took her hand and pulled her back into his
arms. “I want to help.”

“You do?”

“Of course. We’re partners, aren’t we?”

Her heart melted. He needed her. “I guess we
are.”

“Okay, partner, where do we start?”

“I need to check my resources online. What’s Mac’s
full name?”

“Robert MacIntyre, the third.”

She pulled free again and grabbed his hand, heading
for her laptop. “Let’s go.”

“Whoa, there,” he said, pulling back. “First you
change into something less sexy. I can’t concentrate with you
looking so hot.”

At the desire in his eyes, her body melted along
with her heart. She kissed him lightly on the lips, grabbed her
purse from the table and strode out of the room, a smile on her
face. He thought she was sexy, but his willingness to follow her
lead in investigating Mac acknowledged his acceptance of her
security expertise. And that was sexy as hell.

***

A
fter a fitful sleep, Jo
had woken an hour ago. Now at four in the afternoon, the house was
tomb-quiet. Although it was Sunday, Franco had gone to one of his
construction sites. The police had caught two teens breaking into a
shed where copper wire was stored. Harris, who usually spent the
daytime hours of Saturday and Sunday at the house while Jo slept,
had driven Franco and left a note telling Jo where they’d gone.

Restless, lonely, and missing Franco more than she
cared to admit, Jo ambled into the kitchen, put her gun on the
granite-topped center counter, then slid onto one of the stools.
She folded her arms on the counter and stared out the back window.
The shade was up, letting in the pale light of an early spring
afternoon. She could see the dogwood tree, its pink blossoms
beginning to wither and fall off to make way for the green leaves
of summer. Kind of like her life without Franco, dried and dead,
except without the promise of a bright future once she returned to
Tucson.

She straightened, eyes wide. Lack of sleep was
distorting her mind and causing her to think crazy thoughts. And
yet, last night, held in Franco’s arms after he’d told her about
Mac, consoling Franco, kissing him, they’d shared a new intimacy,
an intimacy as much spiritual as physical. She closed her eyes,
feeling his heat wrapping around her as it had last night, his
hands and mouth on her. He’d needed her, and she was glad she’d
been there for him. Truth hit her like a bullet between the eyes.
She had feelings for him. Strong feelings. She rested her head on
her arms, her eyes closed, as if she could stop the awareness from
spreading—but it was no use. She had to admit she’d been attracted
to him all along, from the first time she’d seen him—cocky,
arrogant and sexy—at Logan and Doriana’s wedding.

She raised her head. What was she going to do now?
After the lead Lynn had given them proved false, the police had
gotten another lead on DiGiacomo’s location. They might be bringing
him in soon. If it turned out he was the perp, the threat would be
over and she’d have to leave. She’d say goodbye to Franco and that
would be it. A small seed of hope blossomed in her chest. Maybe
he’d ask her to stay.

“Jo Fortune, you are a fool.” Franco had needed her
last night because his painful memories had made him feel
vulnerable. Once the cops caught whoever was after him, Franco
would be his old arrogant self and he wouldn’t need her. Wouldn’t
care if he saw her anymore.

She grabbed her gun, tucked it into the waistband of
her jeans at the small of her back and stalked out of the room,
heading upstairs to her bedroom where she stored her gun-cleaning
equipment. She’d clean her gun. That would help her focus on her
mission, on the real Jo, and not this lovesick creature with the
fancy clothes.

Back in the kitchen, she spread her gun-cleaning
equipment on the counter and sat. But she couldn’t concentrate.
This whole situation had conflicting thoughts tossing around her
head like leaves in a hurricane. Despite what the others thought,
she was no longer sure DiGiacomo was the only one after Franco.
Last night Franco and she had researched Mac’s prison record. His
cellmate, a former Wall Street trader, was still in the minimum
security facility. The inmate who’d killed Mac had been transferred
to a more secure prison. Nothing in their research indicated anyone
connected to Mac had any reason to kill Franco. DiGiacomo was the
logical suspect.

And yet, something wasn’t right.

There was the money. The person trying to kill
Franco wanted money. Lynn had said her husband didn’t need money.
More than half of what Mac embezzled wasn’t accounted for. Jo
rubbed her aching temples against a tension headache that was
beginning to throb.

She slid off the stool, poured herself a glass of
water, then pulled the bottle of aspirin from the cabinet and
popped three pills into her mouth. Her mind still whirling, she
downed the water and pills and set the glass on the counter. In her
distraction, she set the glass too close to the edge. It tottered,
then fell on the tiled floor and shattered.

Damn! She’d have to clean it up. When she’d finished
scooping the last of the glass shards into the dustpan, she opened
the garbage can and gagged. Something was definitely ripe in there.
She’d have to empty the can before it stunk up the whole
kitchen.

A few minutes later, after disengaging the security
system with the small remote they kept in the kitchen, she opened
the back door, plastic garbage bag in one hand, her gun in the
other, and cautiously peeked out. The iron garden gate was closed.
Other than the twittering of birds and the soft whisper of the wind
through the leaves of the dogwood tree, all was quiet. Jo hurried
out to the large waste company garbage can and deposited her
package, then ran back inside, locking the steel door behind
her.

She placed her gun on the cleaning cloth, then
washed her hands. As she bent to put a new plastic bag into the
metal can, a shuffling noise made the hairs on her nape stand on
end.

Straightening, she turned toward the doorway leading
into the dining room—and met DiGiacomo’s hard eyes. She froze, the
breath sucked from her. Then she breathed deeply, filling her lungs
with air, steeling herself.

“Well, what do we have here?” he snarled, an evil
grin spreading on his face. His dark hair had grown out from the
buzz cut he sported in his mug shot. He was bigger and more
muscular than he looked in the picture. The knife he held in one
hand screamed he meant business as his chest muscles bunched under
his black T-shirt. Dressed all in black, he reminded Jo of a
menacing bear. A bear she had to fight.

She pivoted toward the counter and her gun. He
grabbed her by the arm and swung her around, slamming her, face
first, into the wall, then, with his large, calloused hands, pinned
her against the hard plaster. She braced herself with her
hands.

“Bitch,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m gonna have
fun showing you who’s boss.”

Think, Jo, think.
Put him off, buy
time.
“How-how did you get in here?” The adrenaline rush gave
her voice a slight tremble.

He laughed, a nasty sound. “You think I’m stupid?
Ain’t no door in the world can keep Salvatore DiGiacomo out. I’ve
been watching this house. It’s easy, sits on the corner, sheer
curtains. Saw you go out back. Knew you were alone. Piece of cake
to break in while you were outside.”