Hooper, Kay - [Hagen 09] (3 page)

"No. I should have taken one of your father's guns
from the cabinet in the study," Francesca decided. Her black
eyes snapped. "Yes! Then I could shoot that bastard."

Jennifer winced, but more because she remembered what
had been going on in the study tonight than out of any real dismay at
her mother's words. Long experience with Francesca's way of
reasoning made her appeal to her mother's maternal feelings
rather than her good sense. "You'd be arrested for murder, and
I'd be all alone. Do you really want that?"

"My baby!" Francesca sat on the arm of her
daughter's chair and hugged her tempestuously. "Of course, I
would never abandon my baby – even to shoot that man in the
heart. But we must get our Belle back, Jennifer. We must!"

"We will," Jennifer assured her. "I've
promised you that. Mother."

"Vendetta."

"Well, the American version, anyway."

Francesca looked at her suspiciously. "You sound
like your father, my baby. How can you wish for less than that
despicable man's blood? He killed your father and stole our
home!"

Jennifer didn't deny the accusations, even though she
could have pointed out that no one had forced Rufus Chantry at
gunpoint to play poker, much less to put up the deed of Belle Retour
when he had lost practically everything else. She had loved her
father, but gambling had been his weakness and she knew it too well.

"We'll get even with Kelly, Mother. And we'll get
Belle away from him. I promise. Just please promise me that you won't
do anything yourself. I have to come up with a plan, and if you try
to steal, I mean
take
anything else out of the house. It'll
just make it more complicated for me."

Francesca looked doubtful. "If you say so, but I
cannot wait much longer for revenge."

Much later, as she lay in her small bedroom and stared
at the dark celling, Jennifer accepted the fact that she was now on a
deadline. Her mother's patience these last years had indeed been
remarkable, and due partly to the fact that she and her daughter had
gone to Italy to spend months with her family after the death of
Rufus. A return to her native land had reminded Francesca of
Just who and what she was.

She was Italian, and her family was known for at least
one vendetta that had lasted half a century. So Francesca would be
content to wait for her revenge – as long as she was sure she
would get it.

Jennifer was half Italian, and though the years in
expensive schools had added a ladylike polish to her cool blond
looks, under the surface her mother's blood ran strong in her. And
without the calming influence of her father, who had been quite adept
at handling the tempests of Latin temper and impulsiveness, Jennifer
knew she was apt to be reckless.

But she
wanted
revenge, and no amount of sensible
thought had changed that. She wanted her home back, she wanted to
prove Garrett Kelly a thief and a cheat, and she wanted to keep her
mother out of it If at all possible.

Which was why, of course, she had crashed the party at
Belle Retour tonight in search of her wayward mother. And thank God
she had found her before Kelly knew either of them was there.

Remembering that, Jennifer suddenly recalled the big
stranger with the laughing violet eyes. A thief? What had he taken
from the safe? Who was he? She remembered his kiss, and shivered
suddenly, unsettled.

Just a stranger, of course, and she wasn't likely to see
him again. Still, she couldn't help wondering what he had taken from
the safe. . . .

In a large hotel on the outskirts of Lake Charles, Dane
Prescott turned from the window of his sitting room and lifted a
questioning brow at the man seated on the couch. "Well?"

"It's a beauty all right." The man was turning
a counterfeit plate over in his hands. "Someone with real talent
made this. And you took it out of Kelly's safe?"

"Yeah. I've never heard a whisper of his name
connected with counterfeiting operations; how about you, Skye?"

"No. But it wouldn't be the first time a pristine
reputation covered something dirty." He looked up
suddenly. "Or the opposite. You did say Raven had gone back
to New York?"

"First thing this morning." Dane smiled. "She
knows you're here backing me up, but she doesn't know who you are."

Skye shook his head. "We've been running this scam
for too many years," he said. "It can't go on forever. I
figure our time's running out."

"Probably," Dane agreed. "We'll have to
see if we can pull it off one more time. This is a case that demands
both of us work on it. I can get into Kelly's house, I may even be
able to look around a little, but if we're going to tie Kelly to a
counterfeiting operation, we'll need more than the plate. If he's
printing money himself, where's the press? How's he passing the
fake money?"

"His infamous poker games?" Skye suggested.

"Maybe. I may have that answered by tonight. We've
got to nail it down, though."

"Agreed." Skye looked thoughtful. "By the
way, I've got the answers to those questions you called in last
night. Belle Retour is owned by Kelly, legally. It was officially
listed as a transfer for 'debts owed.' For that. you can read poker
losses."

"He won the plantation?"

"Four years ago, from Rufus Chantry. The place had
been in his family for two hundred years. Chantry was apparently a
compulsive gambler, or at least close to it. He lost the plantation
and everything else he owned in a single high-stakes poker game. Two
months later, he died of a heart attack. He left behind a widow who
wasn't allowed to take anything but her clothes out of the house, and
a daughter who was in college at the time."

Dane was looking very intent. "A daughter?"

"Yeah. Your guess about the portrait was on target.
Jennifer Louise Chantry is the great-granddaughter of the woman in
the painting. She's twenty-six, a commercial artist, and lives with
her mother in a small house that was once a part of Belle Retour. Her
father deeded it to her on her sixteenth birthday, apparently for a
studio."

After a moment, Dane said reflectively. "I don't
think I like Garrett Kelly very much."

"He was certainly a dyed-in-the-wool bastard about
the plantation. Mrs. Chantry, who's
very
Italian, by the way,
wasn't even allowed to take her jewelry. Kelly maintained that every
last rock was part of the 'house and contents' signed over to him by
Chantry, and the law backed him up because the insurance inventory of
jewelry listed everything as a part of
the family
property
rather than Chantry's personal belongings, assigned historical
value."

"I'm surprised she didn't sue him on that one,"
Dane commented, frowning.

"I bet she wanted to. Word has it she's a
combustible lady. She didn't go to court over it, though, and I
couldn't find out whose idea that was." Skye rubbed his nose,
suddenly amused. "I managed to get a bit of gossip from some of
the locals this morning. It seems most everyone in the area has been
waiting, with baited breath, for Mrs. Chantry either to haul off and
deck Kelly, or else to stab him when he isn't looking."

Dane lifted an eyebrow. "She's that Italian, huh?"

"In spades. And people around these parts figure
she's waited as long as she can stand it to get even."

Skye grinned. "We're sitting on a powder keg here."

"Maybe. But I'm not willing to pull out. How about
you?"

"Oh, I'm game."

"Good." Dane went over to the compact bar to
fix two drinks, then carried them to the couch and sat down. Handing
one to Skye, he said thoughtfully, "We have to find out about
that security man of Kelly's, Brady Seton, and if Kelly gave him
orders to try and get to Josh Long. If so, why? What's his game? We
also have to find out what Kelly's doing with a counterfeit plate, If
he's running a press somewhere, if he's passing the money and how,
and if he's on his own."

"Tall order," Skye commented.

Dane nodded, but said, "The counterfeiting business
first, I think. If we can get Kelly tied to that, it'll give us a
lever to find out what his Interest is in Josh Long."

"So what's your plan?"

With a wry laugh, Dane replied, "To do what we do
best, of course."

* * *

Jennifer tried to concentrate on the advertising layout
she was working on, but her mind wandered. She looked around the tiny
extra bedroom that had become her studio without really seeing it.
Vendetta.
Her mother meant the word in its fullest sense: a
blood feud, an all-out, hell-for-leather taking of revenge, no matter
what the cost.

The problem was, a part of Jennifer wanted that as well.
She tried to temper the desire, assuring herself that no blood need
be spilled, that just getting the plantation back would be enough.
But the few times she'd seen Garrett Kelly she had been unsettled by
the powerful urge to leap at him and scratch his eyes out.

Her mother would have approved wholeheartedly.

Jennifer wanted to get even, but she didn't know hour.
All her efforts to prove Kelly had cheated in the poker game had come
to nothing. Her father had signed over the deed before reputable
witnesses; the law was on Kelly's side. And though Francesca
periodically accused the man of being the worst kind of crook,
Jennifer hadn't been able to find evidence that he was anything
but a model citizen with a taste for private gambling.

Vaguely, she was aware of the doorbell ringing. She just
didn't know –

"How dare
you!"

She heard those words from her mother and leaped up,
hurried out of her studio, down the hall and toward the front door.
That particular tone in her mother's voice was reserved for Garrett
Kelly, and if that man had dared to come here, her mother was
perfectly capable of killing him.

She stopped at the end of the hallway, knowing she
couldn't be seen by whoever was outside, while she could see clearly.
Francesca had the front door blocked with her stiff body, every angle
showing proud outrage. And Kelly's angry voice was perfectly audible
to Jennifer.

"You were both there last night, and don't deny it!
But I'm prepared to be generous. I won't press charges against you,
but I will have my property returned."

"Your property?" Francesca's voice rose to a
magnificent soprano, steady as a rock. "You soulless cur,
the bracelet is my property! Mine, do you hear? My dear husband gave
it to me, and I will not see it in your hands!"

"Bracelet?" Kelly sounded surprised, but his
voice quickly hardened again. "I don't give a damn about any
bracelet. I just want what you took from my safe."

"Your safe? It Is not your safe! It is my
husband's
safe, my safe, and my
daughter's
safe! It is our house!

You stole it from us, you thieving son of a – "

"Oh, for God's sake!" Kelly exploded. "Where's
your daughter? Maybe she knows how to talk sense."

Francesca drew herself up even more stiffly, and her
voice dropped suddenly, even and deadly. "You will not touch my
baby. You will not enter our house. If you come near us again, I will
cut your heart out."

After a long silence, Kelly said furiously, "This
isn't over. I'll get my property back."

"No," Francesca told him gently.
"We
will get
our
property back." She stepped back and slammed
the door, locking it with an audible click.

"Mother?" Jennifer moved forward, shaken by
the hatred – and the danger – she had heard in Kelly's
voice

Her mother turned to her, perfectly calm, and held out a
small ruby clutch purse. "You left this at the house last
night."

"I'd forgotten all about it." Jennifer took
the purse. "No wonder he knew we'd been there. I drove the car
partway, so I took my license."

"He's a horrible worm," Francesca said. But
she sounded content, and Jennifer knew it was because her mother had
definitely enjoyed the confrontation.

But Jennifer was worried. She hadn't liked the sound of
Kelly's voice; he had sounded both enraged and, curiously, panicky.
It was hardly a stable combination Realizing suddenly, she said
slowly, "What could have been taken from his safe? That other
man . . . perhaps he . . ."

"What man?" her mother asked curiously.

"Someone at the party." Jennifer's voice was
absent. "And he said something about not wanting anyone to
search for missing valuables. But, what was it?"

"I took nothing that did not belong to me,"
Francesca stated virtuously.

Jennifer nodded, again absently. "Yes. Mother, I
need to make a few calls, then I may have to drive into town."

"Fine, my baby. I shall read a book. And tonight,
we will have a celebration because I drove that worm from our door."

Almost wincing, Jennifer reflected that her mother's
celebrations tended to be hard on the stomach. Italian or not,
Francesca couldn't cook – but refused to stop trying. Still,
culinary pursuits kept her mother happily occupied, and Jennifer was
willing to put up with whatever was necessary to keep her happy.

Returning to her studio, Jennifer called a familiar
number and smiled as a bright voice answered.

"Jennifer! I saw you at the party last night. It's
a good thing that Kelly person was busy with his poker game in the
back parlor. What on earth were you doing there?"

"Guarding the family silver, Sharon," Jennifer
replied lightly.

"Oh, I've been doing that for you, sweetie. Why
else would I go to that awful man's parties?"

Sharon LaCoss had been Jennifer's best friend all
through school, and they were still close. Sharon also knew everyone
in the area, and she was infamous for her ability not only to spot a
stranger in her orbit, but also to find out exactly who the stranger
was within hours.