THE BRAVO BILLIONAIRE

by Christine Rimmer

  Joleen reappeared in the doorway, the little boy in her arms again. "Mama," she said, "we have got to get movin'."

  "Yes, yes. I know. In a minute – where was I? Ah. Lorraine and men. Now and then, I'd try to set her up with someone nice? But she would never agree to go out with anyone. She'd just say that all she wanted was to get by from day to day, to raise her little boy the best she could."

  Jonas said casually, "Do you think you could give us Dekker's phone number?"

  Joleen caught her mother's eye and gave a quick negative shake of her head.

  But Camilla only waved a slender, beautifully manicured hand. "Honestly, Joly. Our Dekker is a grown-up man. He can take care of himself." Camilla turned to him again and confided, "He's like one of the family. We all love him madly."

  "Of course," repeated Jonas. It seemed the appropriate response.

  "The last few years, he and Joly are like that." Camilla held up two fingers, crossed. "Best friends. Thick as thieves."

  "I understand."

  "She's too protective of him."

  "Mama. Dekker is a very private man. And we are gettin' later by the second. We are due at the florists ten minutes ago. And I've got one of my best customers scheduled for a weave, shampoo, cut and blow-dry in—"

  "Settle down, sugar." Camilla patted her daughter's arm. "You'll have yourself a heart attack sure as you're standing here."

  "Mama—"

  "Try the phone book." Camilla winked at Jonas. "Dekker has a detective agency. A-1 Investigations."

  * * *

  They found a phone book in a kiosk at a gas station not far from Camilla Tilly's house. Dekker Smith's place of business was the third listing under "Investigators" in the Yellow Pages directory.

  A-1 Investigations even had an ad: Surveillance. Background Checks. Missing Persons. Civil. Criminal. Domestic.

  The address was just a few blocks away.

  Emma said, "Do you think we should call first?"

  "Why? To give him a chance to tell us he doesn't want to talk to us? No, I think we're better off just trying it face-to-face right up front."

  * * *

  A-1 Investigations was up a dim flight of stairs over a coin laundry. The sound of spinning dryers hummed through the wall as Jonas and Emma climbed to the second floor. At the top, a narrow hall confronted them, the walls slathered with gray enamel paint so thick it gave the impression of melting. The floor was speckled green linoleum. Dekker Smith had Suite 202

  , the second door on the right.

  "Do we knock, or just go on in?" Emma asked when they stood before the door.

  As if he knew. "When all else fails, fake it." He tapped his knuckles twice against the pebbled glass in the top of the door.

  A man's voice called from the other side. "It's open."

  Jonas gestured Emma in ahead of him.

  They entered a large room with a desk, a row of four-drawer file cabinets and some chairs. Along one wall, Jonas spotted a copy machine and a fax machine, a water cooler and a coatrack. A computer sat on the desk. There was an inner door to the left of the desk, one that probably led to a bathroom or possibly a closet. The desk faced the entrance door, with the room's single broad window behind it, a window that fronted the street below. Sounds of traffic leached in through the window: a horn honking, a bus braking – that long hydraulic squeal. Under the traffic noise, the dryers on the first floor kept up their soft and steady roar.

  Beside him, Jonas heard Emma gasp. He ignored the sound. Just as, at first, he refused to look at the man who sat behind the desk.

  Jonas studied the room instead, taking it all in. It was functional. A base of operations. A place to keep records and take care of whatever bookkeeping A-1 Investigations required. Personal touches were minimal. A couple of framed certificates on the wall – no plants, no photos of friends and family.

  The man behind the desk rose from his chair. "I'm Dekker Smith. How can I help you?"

  Jonas looked at him then, saw a man of about his own height, with dark hair much like his. A man with blue eyes and a cleft in his chin. A man who bore a powerful resemblance to himself. No wonder Camilla Tilly had asked him if they'd met before.

  But more than the resemblance to himself, Jonas saw a man who was the mirror image of his father. As he shook Dekker Smith's hand, Jonas had to fight the disorienting sensation that he was reaching down three decades to clasp hands with a dead man.

  Images of his father flooded his brain. Harry Bravo, laughing, swinging a very young Jonas off the floor. Harry frowning, not pleased with something Jonas had done. Harry solemn and serious, imparting some small bit of wisdom to his oldest son…

  It was one coincidence too many. It was the final coincidence. The one that turned all the other coincidences inside out and revealed them for what they actually were.

  Not coincidence at all. But an answer to the question that had haunted Jonas for three decades now, the question that had killed his father and helped to send his mother over the emotional edge.

  Jonas knew at last what had happened to his vanished brother. Russell Bravo had survived to grow to manhood, after all. One of his kidnappers had renamed him Dekker Smith and raised him as her own.

  * * *

  Chapter 21

  «^»

  Beside him, Emma was way too quiet.

  Jonas glanced at her. She looked a little pale, but she forced a smile for him.

  Dekker Smith said, "You are…?"

  He made himself speak to the man who looked so eerily like his father come back to life. "Jonas Bravo – and this is my wife, Emma."

  Emma and Dekker Smith exchanged greetings, then Dekker said, "Have a seat." He led them toward the desk and gestured at the two molded plastic chairs facing it.

  Jonas and Emma sat. Their host went back around and reclaimed his seat behind the desk.

  There was a silence, an extremely awkward one. Jonas realized he didn't have a clue where to begin. For some reason, he found himself thinking of Marsh, that first day – was it only two days ago? It seemed like a year – or two. Or a hundred.

  Marsh, sitting in the wing chair in Jonas's office at Bravo, Incorporated, muttering, "Damn. I can't believe it. I'm here. And now I don't know where to begin…"

  At the moment, Jonas found it easy to understand exactly how Marsh must have felt.

  Emma seemed equally at a loss. She sat to his left in the hard plastic chair, looking down at her hands – which were folded demurely in her lap. Even her short, curve-hugging, fire-engine-red dress looked somehow subdued right then.

  Dekker Smith granted them a patient smile. "I know how it is. When you need a private detective, it's usually something serious. Something it's hard to discuss with a stranger. But the problem is, if you don't tell me what you want me to do, I can't help you much, now, can I?"

  Damn. The man thought they were here to hire a detective. Apparently, he hadn't picked up on the resemblance. But then, he had no reason to be looking for one.

  "This is … a personal matter," Jonas said.

  "I understand," said Dekker Smith. "And you have my word. Everything you tell me will be kept strictly confidential."

  "I'm sorry. I guess I'm not making myself clear. I don't need a detective."

  Dekker Smith frowned. "Then fill me in. What are you doing here?"

  Jonas swore. "There is just no easy way to do this."

  Dekker Smith said nothing.

  So Jonas said it straight out. "I have reason to believe that you and I are brothers."

  Dekker Smith didn't move – except for his right eyebrow. It inched toward his hairline. "I don't have a brother."

  "May I … tell you a story?"

  "I think maybe you'd better."

  * * *

  Jonas told it all. From the events of thirty years ago that had been public knowledge from the first, to the dream that had haunted him ever since, the dream he'd finally remembered just the night before. He told the parts of the story that Mar
sh had filled in for him. And also what they'd found in the ramshackle house where Blake Bravo had lived.

  When he was done, another silence ensued.

  At last, Dekker Smith said, "So. Lorraine is the name of the woman you believe was your uncle's accomplice in the kidnapping of your brother – the name you remember because you dreamed it."

  "That's right," Jonas replied flatly.

  Dekker picked up a pencil, turned it in his fingers, then dropped it to the desk again. It rolled toward Jonas and stopped just short of falling to the floor. "You found my mother's name in some old address book of your uncle's. Since her name was Lorraine, you naturally assumed the two Lorraines were the same."

  "It was a lead. We followed it, that's all."

  "A damn weak lead, if you ask me."

  For the first time since they'd exchanged introductions, Emma spoke. "You know, Mr. Smith. Jonas is only tryin' to get to the truth here."

  Dekker Smith turned his hard blue gaze on Emma. "Maybe that's so." He looked at Jonas again and said quietly, "My mother raised me on her own. She was a good woman and she did the best she could. She was not a criminal."

  Emma leaned forward in her chair. "Look, I know this must be hard for you, but—"

  Dekker Smith cut her off. "I have a birth certificate. It's authentic, complete with the seal of the state of Oklahoma. I was born in Tulsa. My father's name was Smith. Dekker Smith, same as mine. And yeah, a name was all that he gave me. My mother picked up and left the bastard a few months after I was born. But make no mistake. Dekker Smith was my father. And Lorraine Kelsey Smith was my mother. I am sorry for what you've lost, but I'm not it. I'm not your brother. And that is all the truth I can give you."

  "Maybe you ought to go look in a mirror, Mr. Smith," Emma suggested way too sweetly. "Go look in a mirror and then come back and look at Jonas, and then maybe you'll understand what we're talkin' about here."

  Dekker Smith didn't even blink. "Is there anything else?"

  Emma started to speak again. Jonas beat her to it. "No," he said firmly. "I guess that's about it."

  Beside him, Emma shifted tightly in her chair – but she said no more.

  Jonas took out a business card and picked up the pencil that had rolled to the edge of Dekker's desk. Quickly, he wrote down the main number at Angel's Crest, as well as the number to his cell phone. Then he set both the card and the pencil back on the desk.

  As if on cue, the phone rang. Dekker picked it up. "A-1 Investigations. Can you hold? Thanks." He put his hand over the receiver and looked straight at Jonas. "Goodbye," he said.

  Jonas and Emma rose together and turned for the door.

  * * *

  They rode most of the way back to Marsh and Tory's house in silence. Then, just as Jonas turned on his blinker to get off the interstate, Emma asked softly, "What now?"

  He shrugged. "We have a nice evening with Marsh and Tory and little Kimmy. And tomorrow, we go home."

  "But—"

  "But nothing. I've found my brother. Do you realize that I never expected that would happen? Deep down, I always believed he was dead. Now I know he's not. He's not dead. And that is a fine thing. Not dead…" He let the words trail off, then added, "But he's also not really Russell anymore. He's someone named Dekker Smith now. He grew up next door to Joleen Tilly. And the woman he truly believes was his mom was Joleen's mom's best friend. He has a whole damn history, and that history is not the history of Russell Bravo. It's the life of Dekker Smith."

  "You're saying we should have expected him to deny what we told him?"

  "Hell. I don't know if we should have expected it. We did what we did and he … well, his response was understandable. Imagine it from his point of view. After all these years, to be told he's not who he thinks he is, that his 'mother' was really a kidnapper's accomplice, that he was the pawn in a sick psychopath's disgustingly effective revenge scheme. I can see why he chose to simply reject it all outright."

  "Maybe he will call you."

  "Maybe. And maybe he's already torn up that card and tossed it into the trash."

  * * *

  The next morning before Kimberly went to school, Jonas and Emma said goodbye to Marsh and his family. Marsh promised that as soon as he and Tory could swing it, they'd come to L.A. for a visit. The two men embraced.

  Jonas said, "You're welcome at Angel's Crest. Any time. The door is always open."

  Emma and Tory were whispering to each other. The women hugged and then Kimberly had to hug both Jonas and Emma.

  "Don't forget those bodyguards," Tory teased.

  "They're meeting us at the airport," Jonas told his cousin s wife as he and Emma got into the car.

  "Tory's having a baby," Emma told him once they'd pulled out of the driveway and headed toward the interstate.

  "Is that what you were whispering about?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "When is this baby due?"

  "In the summer."

  Something in her voice alerted him. He glanced at her, but she had turned away. She was staring out her side window. "Emma?"

  "Hmm?"

  "Are you okay?"

  "Fine." She looked at him then. He saw the sheen of tears in her eyes.

  "What? What's wrong?"

  "Jonas, you have come a very long way. Do you know that?"

  He couldn't read her, so he asked, cautiously, "That's a compliment?"

  "It sure is. I am so proud of you. When I saw you hugging your cousin back there, it hit me. You're not the man I married."

  She was looking at him so tenderly – but still he sensed that something wasn't quite right. "That's good?"

  "It is wonderful. I believe you could raise Mandy all on your own now and do a bang-up job of it."

  "Well. Thank you."

  "You're welcome."

  He found he was absurdly pleased by her praise. And he decided that he'd read her wrong. Nothing else was going on. She'd been moved by the news of Tory's coming baby, and touched by the change in him.

  And he had changed. He could feel it, the difference inside himself. He had gotten to the root of the dream at last. Found his brother, as well as a cousin he hadn't even known existed.

  Both of the kidnappers were beyond the reach of human judgment – which meant they wouldn't be doing anyone else any harm. And his brother was alive and well, whether the man his brother had become chose to acknowledge him or not.

  The past had truly been put to rest at last. His only real regret was that neither of his parents had lived to see it happen.

  Jonas turned his full attention to the road ahead, his suspicion that something was bothering Emma already forgotten.

  * * *

  Home at Angel's Crest, Jonas and Emma went together to check on Mandy. They stayed in the nursery for over an hour. Mandy was irritated with them at first.

  "Where have you been, Jonah? I have been waiting and waiting and you didn't come. And you, too, Emma. You didn't come, too."

  They reminded her that they'd told her they were going on a little trip.

  "I like trips, too. I go with you."

  "We already went," Jonas explained.

  "You went on the trip and now you comed back?"

  "That's right."

  "Next time, I go."

  "We'll talk about that next time."

  "No. Next time, I go."

  Emma laughed then, and grabbed Mandy up in her arms. "We're here now, honey. And we're so glad to see you…"

  "You better give me a big kiss," Mandy said in a warning tone.

  "Good idea. Here it is, one giant-sized smackeroo comin' right at you…"

  After the visit to the nursery, they both went to work. There was a lot to catch up on. Jonas was in meetings until after six, then he had a dinner appointment he couldn't get out of. That lasted until nine.

  It was a quarter of ten by the time he finally climbed the stairs again at Angel's Crest. He went straight to Emma's rooms.

  She was waiting for him in the sitt
ing area, perched on the black and gold sofa, fully dressed in the same clothes she'd worn earlier in the day – a clingy purple skirt and skimpy silk top.

  The Yorkies and the cat had claimed the bed. The dogs sat up when they saw him and perked up their ears. He went over and gave them each a scratch under their whiskery chins.

  "Did you eat?" He left the dogs and approached her.

  She nodded. "Palmer sent up a tray a couple of hours ago."

  "Good." He stopped across the ebony coffee table from her and studied her face. She seemed … subdued, somehow. Too self-contained.

  What had happened that morning came back to him. How she had praised him for the way he'd changed, and shared the news that Tory was expecting another child. How he had wondered then what was on her mind that she wasn't telling him.

  He found he was wondering the same thing now. He unhooked his cuff links, bent and set them in a small Limoges dish on the coffee table. He began to unbutton his shirt. "I could use a good, hot shower."

  "Jonas…"

  He froze, his fingers at the second button of his shirt. He let a second or two elapse before he gave in and responded. "What?"

  She surged up, reached across the coffee table and put her hands over his hands, as if to stop him from undoing even one more button. "We have to talk."

  He didn't like the way she said that. "We do?"

  "Yes."

  "About what?"

  "Come over here. Sit down…" She tugged on his hands.

  He allowed her to guide him around to her side of the coffee table. They sat on the sofa, side by side. He waited. Whatever had to be said, he knew very well that he wouldn't be the one saying it.

  She cleared her throat. And then she confessed bleakly, "I love you, Jonas. I think I fell in love with you on our weddin' night. And it seems to me like, every day, I keep lovin' you more."

  He reached out, hooked his hand around her neck and brought her sweet face close to his. A single tear slid down her soft cheek. He rubbed it away with his thumb. "This is a problem?"