THE BRAVO BILLIONAIRE

by Christine Rimmer

  "Damn right it has."

  Her eyes widened. He said it.

  "I had the dream."

  Her smooth brows drew together.

  He insisted, "I did."

  "But you're…"

  "Not standing in the middle of the room trying my damnedest to suck in air? Not falling over, passing out?"

  She nodded, slowly, her eyes full of wonder, of growing hope. "That's right. You're not."

  "I remember it all. Everything. About the night Russell was kidnapped. I remember what happened in Russell's room, I remember the kidnappers."

  "Kidnappers?"

  "That's what I said."

  "There was more than one, then?"

  He nodded. "My uncle Blake. And a woman. A woman named Lorraine."

  * * *

  Chapter 20

  «^»

  In the morning, as soon as Kimberly left for school, Jonas told Marsh and Tory everything he'd told Emma the night before.

  "I'm so glad you finally remember what happened that night," Tory said sincerely, when Jonas had finished telling the tale.

  "But?" Jonas prompted, already knowing what she was going to say next.

  "Well, I just wish you had more to go on than the woman's first name."

  "So do I," he said. "But we'll go back to Blake's house this morning, look through his files again, this time with the name Lorraine in mind." It didn't sound all that promising, really. And they all knew it. He shrugged. "It's worth a try."

  "We have a computer here, in the other room," Marsh reminded him. "And it does have a Zip drive. We could look through everything without having to go out to that shack, if you want to."

  Jonas vetoed that suggestion. "We should check for a Lorraine in the file cabinet, too. And then we did mean to look through the rest of the house. We might as well just go on out there."

  Tory left for her shop at nine-thirty. Marsh got a call from his manager at the new Oklahoma City branch of his limousine service a few minutes later. There was some crisis that just couldn't wait. So Marsh gave Jonas a garage-door remote and a key to his and Tory's house, along with more keys to the shack where Blake Bravo had lived.

  "I'll join you there as soon as I can get away," he promised.

  "No," Jonas said. "Go on and take care of your business. Emma and I can handle things for today. We'll meet back here this evening. You'll get a full report on what we found." Assuming, he couldn't help adding silently, that we find anything at all.

  "You're sure?"

  "Go to work. We'll be fine. You're only a phone call away if something comes up that we can't handle without you."

  At a little after ten, Jonas and Emma turned into the dusty driveway that led to Blake Bravo's house. They parked the rental car behind the ancient pickup and headed for the house. Once inside, they went straight to the office, where Jonas booted up the computer and began scanning files and running searches.

  Emma checked through the tall file cabinet behind the desk. She started with the A's, reading the label on each manila folder, seeking one with the magic first name, Lorraine, on it. She reached the Z's a half an hour later. He heard her close the bottom drawer and heave a long sigh. "Nothing in here that I can find." She came up behind him, put her hands on his shoulders. "Sorry."

  "As if it's your fault," he teased, but he didn't take his eyes off the screen.

  She brushed a kiss on the top of his head. "I'll just go on and start looking around the rest of the house."

  He patted her hand. "Good idea."

  She slipped out the door and into the hall. He could hear her, faintly, in the kitchen – the rattle of flatware as she opened a drawer, the clatter of pots and pans, the sharp click as a cabinet door anchored shut.

  She returned to the office maybe twenty minutes after she had left it. He became aware of her presence before he looked up and saw her hovering in the doorway.

  He shut down the file he'd been scanning and glanced her way. "What?"

  She was holding what looked like an old address book, a black one, dog-eared and worn. She had a smudge of dirt on the end of her nose and she was smiling so broadly, the little beauty mark on her cheek had slipped completely into hiding. "I found this in the junk drawer in the kitchen. You know, in with the box knives and scissors and screwdrivers and rusty nails, under a stack of maps and grocery store coupons that expired months ago."

  "And?"

  She came toward him, flipping the book open to the page she had marked with her thumb. She held it out and pointed. "Look."

  He read the name she pointed to aloud. "Smith, Lorraine." He met her shining eyes again, watched a shiver of excitement go through her. He understood that shiver. He felt just the same way – though he knew he probably shouldn't allow himself to get too worked up. At this point, it was nothing more than a first name that matched the name in his dream. It was more than possible that Blake had known more than one Lorraine in his life.

  "Well?" She let out a nervous, thoroughly charming little giggle. "What do you think?"

  He looked at the book again. "It's an Oklahoma City address. No area code on the phone number, so that's probably local, as well."

  "That's good. Isn't it?"

  "Emma. How the hell would I know?"

  "It's something, anyway."

  He reached out, rubbed his thumb over the smudge on her nose, once and then once more, until it was gone. "Yes," he said. "It is certainly something."

  "I think we should give Lorraine Smith a call."

  "So do I." He got his cell phone from the inside pocket of his jacket, then realized he'd need an area code, after all, since his phone had a California number. "Do you remember the area code here?"

  She did, and she told him. He punched it up, followed by the number in the old address book.

  After three rings a woman answered.

  "Hello."

  Jonas hit her with the name. "Lorraine?"

  "I'm sorry," said the woman. "There's no one here by that name."

  "Is this the Smith residence?"

  "No, we are the Bradleys."

  He reeled off Lorraine Smith's address, asked the woman if hers was the same.

  "No, it is not." Impatience now threaded her voice. "Is there anything else?"

  "Yes. I wonder. How long have you had had this number?"

  "I don't know. A couple of years. Who is this?"

  "Sorry to bother you." He disconnected the call, dropped the phone on the desk. "Looks like Lorraine Smith doesn't have this number anymore."

  "Who was it? What did they say?"

  He repeated the information the woman had given him.

  "Did you believe her?"

  "She seemed straightforward enough. I don't know. She could have been lying, I guess. No way to tell."

  Emma was staring at him. A look that said she had plans.

  He muttered suspiciously, "What?"

  "Let's go to Oklahoma City. Let's see what we find at Lorraine Smith's address."

  "There's more we could do here. Now that we have a possible address and a last name, we could—"

  "We can do it later." She gestured at the bleak room around them. "None of this is going anywhere. And I am sick of all this brown. It's enough to suck all the enthusiasm right out of a person. I need a little change of scenery."

  "Emma…"

  She grabbed his arm, yanked on it playfully. "Come on. Let's get out of here. Let's see what's happenin' at Lorraine's house."

  "Emma, if the woman doesn't have the same phone number, it's doubtful that she even lives there anymore."

  "You don't know that – yet. But you will. As soon as we go there."

  "I don't think—"

  She put a finger against his lips. "You said it. Don't think. Act. Do what I say. And do it now." She yanked on his arm again.

  "Wait. Let me check for an Internet connection."

  "Why?"

  "We can look up the address on Maphunt." He punched the right commands. But no luck. N
o doubt the phone and the service were both disconnected by now.

  "Jonas, will you shut that thing down and let's go?"

  He did as she ordered, then let her pull him from the chair.

  * * *

  They stopped at a convenience store for a map. As it turned out, Lorraine Smith lived, or had lived, or might live in an area called Mesta Park, near the heart of Oklahoma City, not far from the state capitol. It took them thirty-five minutes to get there from Blake's house.

  The neighborhood was an old one, with houses of all sizes, many of them in prairie-cottage style. Jonas guessed that the majority of the houses would have been built in the first two decades of the twentieth century. Some cried out for care, others had either been kept up or lovingly restored. Mature trees, mostly sweet gums and oaks, lined the streets and grew in front of the houses, providing generous patches of cool shade, their leaves just beginning to show the first hints of autumn's gold.

  Lorraine Smith's address was four doors in from the corner, a small one-story cottage, green clapboard with white trim and a red-shingle roof. Jonas pulled in at the curb and turned off the engine.

  "Looks friendly," Emma said.

  And it did. Plants hung in pots from the porch eaves. Lace curtains decked the windows. There was a swing painted a whimsical shade of pink. A cheery fall wreath of bright-colored leaves decorated with small orange and yellow gourds hung on the front door, which had glass panels in the center of it and more glass flanking it on either side.

  Emma was watching him.

  "Say it," he recommended grimly. "Well, now. It doesn't look the home of a kidnapper, does it?"

  "And what, exactly, does the home of a kidnapper look like, Emma?"

  She wrinkled her nose at him. "Always so logical." She leaned on her door. "Ready?"

  He wasn't. He would never be. So he didn't bother to answer, just opened his own door and got out of the car.

  They went up the walk to the front porch side by side. Jonas rang the bell. In less than a minute, a woman was peeking out at them through the lace curtains on the inside of the door. She smiled pleasantly, opened the door and then pushed the glass storm door wide as well.

  "Yes?" She looked like anyone's favorite grandmother, with a strong, stocky body, friendly wrinkles that fanned out from her eyes and gray hair pulled back into a nice, tidy bun.

  Jonas quelled the urge to introduce himself. If this woman was his brother's kidnapper, uttering the name Bravo would be sure to put her on her guard.

  He manufactured a smile. "Hello, Lorraine." The wrinkles in the woman's forehead deepened as she frowned. "I'm afraid my name is Dotty." Her face relaxed again. "Oh, I know. You must be looking for Mrs. Smith."

  "Yes," said Jonas. "Lorraine Smith."

  Dotty sighed. "She passed – oh, three years ago now, I believe. I never knew her, sad to say. I'm just the one who bought the house."

  "Oh, bless her heart," Emma said. Jonas shot her a kook. Her face wore the sweetest expression of honest concern. "I am sorry to hear about Mrs. Smith."

  "Yes," agreed Dotty, and shook her head.

  "Well, look at us," declared Emma. "Where are our manners? I'm Emma." Emma reached for Dotty's hand – the free one that wasn't holding open the storm door. Dotty let her have it. "And this is Jonas."

  "Very pleased to meet you both," Dotty said, and seemed to mean it.

  "Jonas has been … lookin' for Mrs. Smith for a real long time." Emma patted the back of the older woman's hand, and then gently released it.

  Dotty said, "Oh. Well. As I said, she is gone now."

  "We're hopin' that maybe you can tell us a little about her."

  "I am sorry. I never knew her. You might try the Tillys next door, though." She gestured toward the house on the east side, a two-story gray Colonial Revival with a broad stone porch and leaded windows in the upper story. "Camilla told me that she and Lorraine were great friends."

  "Camilla Tilly," Jonas clarified.

  "That's it."

  "Thank you so much, Dotty," Emma said.

  "You are more than welcome." With one last sweet and grandmotherly smile, Dotty pulled her storm door shut and then closed the inner door after it.

  Jonas and Emma turned from the cheery fall wreath.

  "Well," Jonas said as they went past the pink swing, down the steps, and out to the sidewalk, "if this Lorraine is the Lorraine who helped to kidnap my brother, I can understand now why we didn't find her in any of those files in Blake's computer. No point in keeping track of a dead woman."

  He thought he heard Emma make a small noise of agreement in her throat as they turned onto the walk that led up to the house next door.

  A stunning dark-eyed blond woman who might have been anywhere from thirty-five to a decade older than that answered when Jonas rang the bell. The woman's mouth bloomed in the kind of siren's smile that had probably been dropping men in their tracks for decades now. "Well, hello."

  Jonas smiled back. "Hello, I'm Jonas Bravo. And this is my wife, Emma."

  "Very pleased to meet you," said Emma.

  The woman confirmed what Jonas had already assumed. "I'm Camilla. Camilla Tilly."

  Jonas nodded. "Mrs. Tilly—"

  "You call me Camilla."

  "I'll do that. Camilla, we're looking for information about Lorraine Smith, who used to live next door. Dotty told us that maybe you could—"

  "Mama, who is it?" Another woman appeared behind the first, a brunette. This one was definitely younger, perhaps Emma's age. She had the same big brown eyes as the older one. But where Camilla came across as relaxed and unhurried, this one wore a harried expression on her pretty heart-shaped face. She carried a little boy in her arms, one who looked maybe a few months younger than Mandy.

  "Jonas. Emma." Camilla continued to smile her thoroughly gorgeous smile. "This is Joleen. She is the oldest of my babies."

  Joleen granted them each a nod, then spoke to her mother again. "Mama, we have to get going. Right now."

  Camilla turned to Jonas. "You will have to excuse us. It is go, go, go around here lately. My middle baby is gettin' married a week from this Saturday. Joleen is plannin' everything and we are knee-deep in florists and bakers and caterin' help."

  The little boy had started squirming. "Mama, dow."

  "Hush, now Sammy…"

  "Dow, Mama. Dow."

  "Oh, all right." Joleen bent and set the child on the floor. "Stay close," she warned. "We are leaving soon."

  He toddled off chanting a string of nonsense syllables. Camilla said, "Joly, honey, these folks want to know about Lorraine."

  Apparently, Joleen wasn't as trusting as Camilla and the woman next door. That pretty mouth flattened to a thin line as she flicked a wary glance from Jonas to Emma and back again. "What about Lorraine – and why?"

  Jonas hesitated, wondering how much to reveal.

  Emma stepped in. "A long time ago, Jonas's baby brother was kidnapped. They never found that baby. And recently, well, some information has come to light that has led us to hope that your friend Lorraine might have known somethin' about what happened way back then."

  "Well." Camilla was wide-eyed at the news. "What can I say? Lorraine never mentioned a kidnapped child to me, not in all the years that we were friends."

  "Lorraine died three years ago," Joleen said flatly. "So there is no way that she can help you now."

  "We know that," Emma pressed on gingerly, "but we were hopin' that, just maybe, you all might be able to tell us a little bit about her."

  "We don't have time for this. We are late as it is and we—"

  Camilla touched her daughter's arm. "Joly, now, please…" She shook her head.

  Joleen sighed. "Oh, all right." She turned a sheepish look on Jonas and Emma. "I'm sorry. Things are just crazy around here. Sometimes it seems like I'm runnin' as fast as I can to stay in one place. I get a little cranky."

  Jonas said, "We understand."

  "Let's try again," Joleen suggested.


  Emma beamed. "Good idea."

  Camilla suggested, "Would you like to come in?"

  Joleen winced. "Mama…"

  Emma answered for both of them. "No, that's all right. We can see you're in a hurry. If you could just tell us—"

  "I'm sorry. Excuse me. Sammy!" Joleen called. "Sammy, get back here…" She vanished from the doorway in pursuit of the little boy.

  Camilla was frowning. "Jonas, there is somethin' … familiar about you. Are you sure we haven't met before?"

  "No, I don't believe so – just a question or two?"

  The frown vanished. "Ask."

  "How did you meet Lorraine?"

  Camilla thought for a moment. "Hmm. It was some time after she moved in next door. She kept to herself at first, but eventually … you know how it is. You live next door to a person and one day you get to talking and then, before you know it, there you are. Friends."

  "And when did she move in, how long ago?"

  "Not long after we did."

  "You and…?"

  "Samuel." The big brown eyes turned sad, suddenly. "Samuel was my husband. He's been gone for ten years now."

  "I'm sorry to hear that. And you and your husband moved in…?"

  "Thirty years ago," said Camilla wistfully. "And Lorraine moved in the year right after. That was before Joly was even born. Dekker was only a year old."

  "Dekker? That would be your…?"

  "Oh, no. Not mine. Lorraine's. Her only son."

  Jonas's heart seemed to rise up and flip over in his chest. Lorraine had moved in twenty-nine years ago, along with her son. A son who was a year old at the time.

  The very same age Russell would have been.

  Jonas could feel Emma's eyes on him. He didn't dare turn to her. If they shared a look right then, they might give themselves away. Camilla would start asking the questions. And if Camilla started asking the questions, he'd end up having to explain a lot more than Camilla needed to know.

  And besides, he reminded himself, this could all just be coincidence. They didn't even know if they had the right Lorraine, for pity's sake.

  Camilla chattered on. "Lorraine raised Dekker all on her own. Her husband had left her. I think he must have been a real loser, that husband of hers. Abusive, you know? Though she would never talk about him. She'd just say, 'Milla' – that's what she always called me, Milla – she'd say, 'Milla, I have had all I ever need or want to have of men.'"