Family & Fortune (The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod Book 5)

by Tracy Ellen

  My body froze in place, my face almost in Luke’s lap. Part of my brain noted it would be nice to stay down here and rest my head on his strong thigh, but only if I didn’t care to prevent WWIII.

  “Oh well.” Kenna blew Mac off with the airy unconcern that drove my eldest sibling crazy. “Don’t be so uptight. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

  “I’m not being uptight,” Mac retorted through clenched teeth. I didn’t have to see her face to know her freckles were starting to pop. Nothing makes Mac madder than accusing her of being uptight when she’s uptight. “And yes, Kenna, when you agree to do something, it actually does matter.”

  Kenna chuckled, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound, and it meant the gloves were coming off. “Maybe everybody else thinks they have to do what you say, when you say it, and how you say it, Mac, but get over yourself. You are not the boss of me.”

  As I returned upright to stop their bickering from turning into a knock-down, drag-out, Luke smoothed a hand down my back and stood up. “Anabel, did you have a chance to show anybody the blueprints of my gift to you?”

  “No, she didn’t,” Anna answered for me, looking back and forth between Luke and me. “What blueprints?”

  Reg put his arm around her. “I didn’t tell you about the project, Anna, because Luke swore me to secrecy, but I’ll be doing a job for him after New Year’s.”

  “A secret project?” Anna squealed in excitement. “What is it?”

  “Luke, did I hear you say it’s your birthday present to Anabel?” Stella inquired, perking up with interest.

  “I did.” He raised a brow at me. “Is that alright if I take everybody outside, Anabel? I’d rather show them all out there where they can see what the project will be.”

  “Sure,” I replied, jumping up. I didn’t look at my two older sisters, but I was disappointed our nice time together was marred with their pettiness. The urge to crack their heads together was strong.

  “Lead the way.” Tre J jumped up, too, and gripped my shoulder.

  When I glanced back at her in question, Tre shrugged a little in sympathy. Maybe she was using that new talent she’d told me about recently and calming the caged beast in my eyes. I grimaced ruefully in reply.

  We all followed Luke into the foyer. He brought the tube containing the blueprints and waited patiently for us all to get into our shoes and jackets. Everyone was talking at once, ignoring Kenna and Mac who still exchanged glares. Luckily for them, they said nothing more.

  In the confusion, I met Luke’s eyes and blew him a kiss. I mouthed a silent, but sincere, “Thank you.”

  He stared back at me and his eyes softened. I once believed the affection reflected in his gaze was wishful thinking. Probably because it vanished the instant Luke saw me paying attention. Now I knew it was love. It was still a fleetingly tender glance, but I treasured each one for the gift it was.

  I didn’t know him then, so it was easy for me to forget Luke had been in the military for most of his adult life. He neither looked nor acted like the typical soldiers I’ve known. By that, I mean buzzed hair, upright, and all squared away. He didn’t brag or talk casually about his years of service. After hearing all the accolades Carter Ogelbachen had heaped upon Luke at the infamous Banquet of Revenge, I’d become curious enough to investigate.

  Reading up on the subject of what it took to be a Delta Force operator was eye opening. Most Delta Force operators that applied (after being invited) for selection process were recruited from Special Forces. So first I slogged through the unfamiliar military acronyms to comprehend the mind boggling amount of schooling and training involved to complete Special Forces work.

  Their arduous training courses took place over the better part of a year. The modern Army has a need for Special Forces troopers to fill their ranks. With that in mind, the training’s geared towards the instructors helping soldiers because they want them to succeed. Even with that benefit, the training is so difficult most soldiers scrub out. Only a fraction of the soldiers make it all the way to be selected Airborne Rangers or Green Berets.

  In the Delta Force selection process, the exact opposite was true. Instructors do everything in their power to cause the troopers to fail. Even though they’re Special Forces, the majority still can’t hack Delta Force training and scrub out. The troopers that do reach the end may have physically excelled the course, but that still didn’t guarantee selection if it was determined they didn’t fit the bill for the minutest of psychological reasons. A man had to be beyond peak physical condition to survive Delta Force training. His character and leadership skills had to be judged superior to survive selection, as well.

  After understanding Luke’s adult background more clearly, it wasn’t surprising he rarely allowed an emotion to show that wasn’t calculated. For all I knew, maybe he didn’t even feel those emotions, either.

  I didn’t kid myself that I knew every facet of Luke, but I believed one of the reasons he was attracted to me was because I effortlessly saw the real man beneath the mask he wore. I may worship the ground he walks on, but Luke has his flaws. He’d probably done some heinous things in his career as a Delta Force operator that a civilian could never truly comprehend, even if they sympathized as I did. But somehow, some way, from the minute we’d met and beyond the sexual attraction, I got who Luke was at a level where those particulars didn’t matter.

  It was amazing, considering how I’d first fought my feelings, but inside me resided a deep, abiding trust in Luke that was the bedrock in my newly discovered soul.

  Who cares if it made logical sense or not?

  I agree, there could be a lot worse things to build a future on than rock solid, undeserved, blind trust.

  Watching him considerately take Stella’s arm down the stairs, I smiled and let out a deep breath. Trailing behind everyone down into the lobby, I locked up the apartment. They all trooped out the main doors to walk outside to the back parking lot. Luke had my enthused brother to help narrate this go around. I could see them through the lobby windows. They were both pointing to something higher up on the building and their rapt audience was nodding their heads in response. Then they disappeared out of my view.

  Before I joined them, I took a quick peek into Bel’s to check on business. There were several customers browsing and a few more sitting in the Laissez Fare café. I waved to my store manager, Billy Carlson, who was training one of the new part-timers on the cash register system.

  Turning back into the lobby, I almost walked straight into a man’s broad chest. Tilting my head back, I smiled at the welcome sight of Patrick “Hood” Martin towering above me.

  Based off his enigmatic smile behind the well-groomed goatee, I was looking forward to some good news from the twin brother of my car mechanic, Pete Martin.

  “Hey Hood! Come over here.” I hurried him into the far corner of the wide lobby where we could have some relative privacy and not be overheard by any passing customer.

  “Hi, Junior. Don’t worry, I saw your sisters walking towards the back, so we should be okay for a few minutes.”

  I clapped my hands and asked eagerly, “Quick tell me. Did you find anything?”

  Hood was the metal sculpture artist who had created the umbrella chandelier in my foyer. He was also the man I’d sicced on the ex-cousin to find out if Crazy had any proof of Jazy and Tre’s illegal horse rescue operation.

  A couple of years ago, I assisted Hood to recognize his dream of starting his own business with a sizeable investment in his start-up company. While Hood was grateful for my cash, that was our business partnership. It was not the reason Hood was willing to help me with my personal problem with Crazy.

  When Hood had approached me for money, he was in need of private investors for his business. Released from prison only months before, Hood had a felony record and couldn’t get loans if his life depended on it.

  Had I not grown up with Pete and Patrick, I doubt I would have taken the chance to invest my money in the fledgling business
of a bank robbing ex-con, either. However, when you know the person behind the one-dimensional label and the reason he robbed the bank, it becomes quite a different story.

  The twins were two grades ahead of me in school. Pete was known as the hard worker, a Steady Eddie type while Hood was the whiz kid with mercurial moods.

  It started in grade school when Hood developed a fascination for unlocking anything that was locked, never mind if it was his or if he had a key. In middle school, he had a reputation for being able to steal anything under lock and key, whether it was in a house or a business.

  By his late teens, Hood was something of an urban legend in Northfield. The word was Patrick Martin was a robber, even though he was never arrested. In fact, Hood was taking welding classes at Dakota County Votech while holding down a part-time sales job. But the talk persisted and the legend grew. We never hung around in the same circle of friends, but I was aware of him checking me out from afar whenever our paths crossed.

  When I was a senior, I learned firsthand that Hood did have a criminal bent. He acted on the crush he had on me and robbed Bel’s Books to show off. In his defense, he brashly came into the store first thing the next morning to confess before NanaBel had a chance to call the police to report the crime. Hood returned every penny of the money he stole. He also convinced my grandmother that she needed to invest in a new security system, which happened to be what he sold. Before Hood left the bookstore that morning, he’d made a sale and he asked me out on a date.

  NanaBel affectionately called him a cocky hoodlum. She may have bought the security system he recommended, but my grandmother would have been less than thrilled if I’d been interested in dating Patrick. It was a moot point anyway because I’d begun dating Mad Mike and had eyes for nobody else. But I did like Patrick as a friend and it was then I nicknamed him “Hood.”

  He moved to the Cities and we lost track for the next few years, but I’ll never forget how shocked I was to hear that Hood was part of a gang arrested for a bank robbery up in Richfield. Despite his stunt at Bel’s, I never figured him for a guy who would get involved in something as heavy, and stupid, as bank robbing. Not that Hood was caught during the actual robbery. No, the bank heist was a complete success. Unluckily for Hood, one of his partners was busted for a different crime a few months later. The dude turned on his fellow bank robbers to get out of trouble.

  About three years into Hood’s prison sentence, I was paying for a repair on Lady Liberty and chatting with Pete as he printed my invoice. As always, I asked how Hood was doing. Whatever the reason, maybe I’d caught Pete in a particularly low moment or he knew I genuinely liked his twin, but he suddenly confided the whole story behind the bank robbery. It was pretty heart breaking.

  Hood wasn’t living a life of crime in the Cities, but had done the bank job out of desperation because their single mother was fighting cancer. She needed an experimental treatment offered at a hospital in Houston or she would die within months, but it wasn’t covered under her crappy health insurance plan.

  In their early twenties, neither Pete nor Patrick had that kind of money, nor did they have the relatives or credit history to get a big loan. So Hood did what he had to do to get his mother the money. He lied to Pete and his mom, telling them he’d miraculously gotten a loan after all. Hood robbed the bank, their mother got the experimental cancer treatment in Texas, and that treatment was credited for extending her life for another five years.

  Hood told Pete the truth after his arrest, but swore him to secrecy. Mrs. Martin took great pride raising her sons on her own with no father and no hand outs from the government. The loyal sons did not want their parent subjected to a public backwash of shame, pity, or ridicule that she was the reason her son had stolen the money and was rotting in prison. It was terrible enough that his mother privately knew her extended life was at the expense of Hood’s freedom.

  Luckily, Hood got out of prison on supervised parole earlier than they all ever expected. It gave him some precious time to spend with his mom before the cancer came back with a vengeance. I thought the family’s one solace was Mrs. Martin passed away with the knowledge both her sons were on the right road in life and doing well, despite the past.

  NanaBel was retired and off traveling at the time of Hood’s release from jail, but he had visited me immediately at the bookstore.

  That was when I found out exactly how instrumental NanaBel had been in Hood’s early release from prison. She had quietly hired an attorney to look over Hood’s case, since he wasn’t able to afford private counsel when he was arrested.

  Hood had already spoken with my grandmother by phone to offer his sincere thanks. During their phone conversation, my grandmother explained that while she appreciated Hood’s gratitude, if it wasn’t for my badgering she wouldn’t have helped him get released from prison. My grandmother claimed it was due to my stubbornness that she had finally promised to look into the situation.

  Hood, no longer the lanky boy I remembered, but a full-grown man almost unrecognizably filled out with buff muscles, long hair, and tats, professed his undying gratitude in my office with tears in his eyes.

  I’d embarrassingly waved off my grandmother’s claims. “Sure, I may have exerted a little gentle pressure for NanaBel to use her extensive contacts to get the ball rolling, but geez Louise, I hardly think you can call that badgering and stubbornness.”

  Thankfully Hood had not cried, but smiled instead. “You’re busted, Axelrod, because your grandmother told me you offered to break your piggy bank to help.”

  It was true I had offered the Blood Money from my trust, but NanaBel never took me up on it. Instead, she’d gotten irritated with my gentle perseverance, promised she’d look into it, and made me swear not to bring the subject up again. I had no choice but to keep my word.

  By informing them of my involvement I don’t think it was my grandmother’s intention to set up a situation where I would have the Martin twins willing to lay down their lives for me, but that was the end result.

  I did have to thank her though, because it was handy to have a mechanic that dropped everything to put my vehicle at the top of the list to be repaired, and have a reformed criminal with mad stealing and artistic skills available for favors.

  I had already asked Hood to find and destroy any physical proof Crazy may have on Jazy and Tre, but that didn’t stop my plan to meet the un-cousin at the warehouse last night. I needed to find out what game she was playing. I suspected blackmail. There was no way Luke was right and Candy just wanted back into the family. I didn’t believe her promise not to cross me.

  When I arrived at the warehouse last night, it became obvious Crazy had thrown the secret note to me at Luke’s house as a ruse to get me to come to the surprise party. Anna’s verification this morning that NanaBel had assigned the ex-cousin that family duty was further proof. Crazy would do it for my grandmother, but she didn’t have to like it, which explained the childish note-throwing into my face. Why I ate the damn note will forever remain a mystery.

  However, I still believed Crazy intended to try and blackmail somebody. I didn’t buy for one nanosecond her only fun was sending the drunken farmer home to catch Jazy and Tre in the act.

  This morning in Bel’s lobby, Hood’s usually rather serious mien was split with a grin as he pulled out a manila envelope from inside his jacket. “I found everything.” He tapped the thick envelope. “In here are some very special commemorative 8x10 glossies.”

  “Wow, she made prints that fast.” I knew my instincts were right about Crazy. “Am I in any of the pictures?”

  “Nope.” He still had the funny smile on his face. “I found all the pictures stashed in a hidden wall safe in an office in the MacKenzie warehouse.”

  “You are the Hood.” I grinned in return. I’d have to wait until I had a chance to do some further investigating to be sure, but chances were good the ex-cousin did not know I was there on that farm Saturday night.

  He cracked his knuckles a
nd flexed his fingers. “It’s fun to know I haven’t lost my touch.”

  “I didn’t open a door to your dark side or anything, did I?” I asked lightly, trying to conceal the anxious guilt I’d been carrying since Sunday afternoon when I asked Hood to help me.

  I must not have concealed my anxiety well enough because he replied with a sarcastic drawl, “I’m hitting a Northfield bank tonight.”

  “Cocky hoodlum,” I retorted with a laugh.

  Zipping up his jacket, Patrick smiled before he asked curiously, “How come you didn’t worry about my dark side when you paid me to take care of Candy if anything happens to you or your family?”

  Yes, Hood was the man I’d given explicit instructions to when I first decided I was going after Candy for drugging my high school boyfriend and literally raping him ten years ago. There was a chance she’d retaliate. I needed back up to enforce my threat to the un-cousin that she’d be in a world of hurt if anything bad ever happened to me or my loved ones. Hood didn’t hesitate to swear she would pay exactly as I’d asked. Over his protests, I gave him money to guarantee it happened.

  “You’re no enforcer, you are an artiste. I figured you’d pay someone else to take care of your dirty work.” I smiled fondly and patted his arm. “That, my felonious friend, doesn’t trip your trigger like breaking into a place and stealing stuff.”

  He chuckled. “Can’t argue facts, but you don’t have to worry on my account.” Hood shrugged and added simply, “A promise to Mom.”

  “Holy crap, tell me asking for your help didn’t make you fudge on your promise to your mom?”

  “You’re a hottie, Bel, but not that cute.” Witnessing Hood’s crooked grin when I flashed him the finger, I understood how curly long hair and a goatee on an artistic-type man could be considered attractive. Buff muscles were a given. “It was Mom who made you the exception to the rule.”

  I sighed. “Your mom.”