In The Arms of a Donovan: A Sexy BBW Billionaire Family Series Romance (The Donovans Book 13)

by A. C. Arthur

  “Like I said, I need to find my father,” he said, this time in a tone with absolutely no respect for the assholes who decided now was the time for racial profiling.

  “Your father’s down that way with the medics,” cop number 2 said, offering Brandon’s wallet back to him, but not bothering to extend an apology.

  “What happened?” Amber asked, immediately coming to Brandon’s side and touching a hand to his arm. “Should I call someone for you?”

  Her cell phone was in her hand, the screen already lit. Brandon figured she’d been ready to record the altercation with the police. It was a damn shame that this was the state of the world now, where civilians had to tape everything in order to protect their civil rights.

  “Talk to someone down there,” the first cop said, full of attitude as he turned and walked away.

  Cop number 2 shrugged his shoulders and told them, “Bomb squad’s up at the house right now. They’re sweeping the property. Nobody can go in right now. Lead detective is down there getting a statement from your father.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Brandon said with disgust as he walked away from the cop.

  When they were a few steps away he said to Amber, “Give me your phone.”

  “What? Oh, yeah, you need to call your sister and brother,” she was saying as she handed her phone to him.

  “No. I want to text myself the badge numbers of those two assholes so I’ll have them when I file my official report first thing tomorrow morning.”

  She didn’t say anything while he sent the text. She hadn’t even asked why he hadn’t used his own phone to store the information. His phone was in his pocket but with all that was happening he’d simply remembered seeing hers in her hand and asked for it.

  Albert was sitting on a bed inside an ambulance. There was a man dressed in a dark suit kneeling in front of him, a notepad and pen in hand. Another uniformed officer was standing right beside the open doors of the vehicle as if he actually thought a sixty-two-year-old man who’d suffered a heart attack a week ago was going to make a run for it.

  “Dad!” Brandon called to him. He kept moving forward even when the uniformed officer stepped in his path. “That’s my father and I want to know what’s going on,” he told him.

  “He’s my son,” Albert said. “Leave him alone, he’s my son.”

  The cop in the suit nodded to the uniformed officer and Brandon stepped into the cab of the ambulance, sitting immediately beside Albert.

  “What happened? Are you alright?” he asked, looking at him to see if there was any blood or injuries.

  “I was in my room when I heard the breaking glass,” Albert began. “At first I thought it was you trying to cook dinner so I just shook my head at how hopeless you are in the kitchen to be so smart with numbers.”

  His father had the nerve to chuckle when Brandon was struggling to keep from punching one of these cops and shaking his father to get the story out of him faster.

  “Then I heard it again and again. I started down the steps and that’s when I saw the spark of fire. It came right through the front window,” Albert told him.

  “What came through the front window?” Brandon asked.

  “A Molotov cocktail, “the suit-wearing cop said. “Five of them thrown into first floor windows all around the house. I’m Detective Michaelson.”

  Brandon looked at his outstretched hand and decided to shake it before thinking too hard on it at the moment.

  “You’re saying someone threw bombs into the house?” he asked the detective.

  “Fire started pretty fast,” Albert said shaking his head. “Good thing I was so close to the door. I got out fast. A car was driving by—Will Hanner’s son coming from his parents’ house way back there—he called the cops and stayed here until they came. The sprinklers turned on pretty fast. I hope there’s not a lot of damage.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Brandon asked his father.

  “Couldn’t remember the number. Damn cell phones. You get everything all stored in them and there’s no need for you to ever remember a phone number again.”

  Brandon shook his head. “So are you feeling okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

  Albert shook his head. “No. I’m fine. Just waiting to get back into my house.”

  “That’s probably not going to happen tonight, Mr. Donovan,” the detective told him.

  Brandon had pulled his cell phone out of his pocket by that time and was sending a text to Brock and Bailey.

  “You’re coming home with me,” he said.

  “What? No. That’s not necessary. I can go back once they put the fire out.”

  The detective shook his head. “Mr. Donovan, we’re going to need to treat this house like a crime scene, at least for another few hours. It might be better if you let your son take you someplace else.”

  “Because you think whoever did this might come back,” Albert said to the detective. “She won’t.”

  “Dad,” Brandon began.

  “No,” Albert said as he shook his head. “I know who did this and she won’t come back. Not until she knows everybody is gone. She’s pissed now that I’ve seen him and still haven’t claimed him. That’s why she’s coming after me now. I’m the only one that’s seen him.”

  Brandon let out a heavy sigh because he knew exactly who his father was talking about.

  Detective Michaelson lifted a brow, then held his pen and pad ready to write as he asked, “Who is ‘she’? Do you know who did this Mr. Donovan?”

  “Her name is Roslyn Ausby,” Albert told him without hesitation. “She has history with our family and she’s striking back, the way she always promised to do.”

  “Let’s go, dad,” Brandon said. He reached for his father’s arm to help him out of the ambulance.

  “I’m going to want to get more details about this Roslyn Ausby,” the detective told them. “But your father told me he’s just coming home from the hospital so I’ll let you take him home tonight. Just write down your name and address and I’ll stop by your place tomorrow.”

  Brandon looked over his shoulder after stepping down out of the cab and helping his father down as well. “My name’s Brandon Donovan. My address is a public listing.”

  He walked away then, clearly not in the mood to do the cops any favors at this time. Amber followed behind him.

  “Who’s this?” Albert asked when they made it to the car.

  “Hello, Mr. Donovan,” she said. “My name is Amber McNair. I’m a friend of Brandon’s.”

  Brandon had already opened the passenger side door and was waiting for his father to step inside. Albert shook Amber’s outstretched hand.

  “Nice to meet you,” he said to her, then he turned to Brandon and gave a little smile. “Pretty one you got there.”

  Then Albert jumped as Essie barked, probably her way of saying ‘thank you’ to Albert for the compliment to Amber.

  Shaking his head, Brandon closed the door behind his father and then waited until Amber and that dog were secured in the back seat. As he walked around to the driver’s side he looked down at his buzzing phone, Bailey and Brock had immediately replied to his text, both with calls that had gone to his voice mail already. Six months ago Brandon talked to his sister and brother, maybe once a week, sometimes more time passed before they spoke or sent a text or an email. Now, they seemed to be in constant contact, because something was constantly happening or being revealed. What was worse was that the man riding in this car beside him was to blame for that. His father had brought this drama into their lives and still, Brandon’s heart had stopped at the sight of those police cars and fire trucks because he’d immediately thought of his father having another heart attack, of getting sick and it being too late to help him. Just as he hadn’t been able to help his mother.

  #

  “You need to go grocery shopping,” Amber said as she closed another cabinet in his kitchen.

  It was a much smaller kitchen than his father’s open concep
t room with the two granite topped islands. Brandon’s kitchen had dark mahogany cabinets that he loved because they touched the ceiling giving him more storage for all the dishes and things his aunts constantly gave him for Christmas.

  “Just because you’re a bachelor doesn’t mean you have to live like one,” Aunt Alma had said one year.

  “And besides, think of how impressed your special lady will be when she sees you have good china in your cabinets instead of paper plates.” That had come from Aunt Janean, just this past Christmas Eve.

  Two days before all of their worlds had been turned upside down.

  He had an island too, a smaller one with what Bailey called “the ugliest marble” she’d ever seen on top. His floors were dark hard wood throughout the entire space and the kitchen opened to the dining room that he never used.

  “I haven’t been here in a few weeks,” he replied. “And the service I use has been on notice that I would call them when I returned from my trip. I’d planned to call them first thing in the morning.”

  Now, he looked at his phone again, typing in the reminder for eight a.m. tomorrow morning. He didn’t want to waste a second before getting in touch with them.

  “Well, your father needs to eat,” she told him. “He said he had his evening pills in his hand when he was coming down the stairs, so he stuffed them into his pocket. If they let you back into the house in the morning you can get his prescriptions, if not, you’ll need to contact his doctor immediately to get new ones. He shouldn’t miss a dosage.”

  Brandon typed another reminder as she spoke.

  “I can rent a car and I’ll find a grocery store since I’m sure you’ll have things to take care of in the morning. Is your brother and sister coming?”

  She was still talking when Brandon looked up to see her moving around his kitchen as if she’d just returned home from a long trip.

  “Ah, yeah. I mean, Brock was already scheduled to fly in tomorrow morning. We have, ah, an important meeting. Bailey’s on assignment so I’m not sure if she’ll be able to make it. I need to call them as soon as I get dad settled,” he told her.

  Tonight she had on black jeans and a black shirt tucked into those jeans, black sandals with a wedge heel and her hair was in a curly array. She looked wild and sexy and like she was prepared to cook dinner or wash dishes and then turn in for the night, at the same time.

  “Tell you what,” she said as she looked up at him. “Why don’t you go ahead and make your calls and I’ll make…I guess there’s enough in here for omelets. But your dad should probably have egg whites.” She paused and then shook her head. “But it’s more important that he eat something and take his meds tonight. Tomorrow we can think about the heart healthy things he should be eating from now on.”

  “You’re going to cook for my dad?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yep. He already told me that he hates your cooking.”

  There was a little chuckle from her then and Brandon frowned.

  “When the hell did he say that?”

  Amber put the carton of eggs on the counter. “When you were getting my bags out of the car and I walked him to the bathroom.”

  Brandon sighed, “I do okay,” he replied in his defense.

  “That’s why you have a meal service number on your refrigerator,” she said with a nod back to the lunch box shaped magnet on the side of his stainless steel refrigerator with the number to Make A Meal printed in bold green letters.

  Dragging a hand down his face Brandon tried to get his thoughts in order. On the one hand his family was obviously in danger, and on the other, he was falling for this woman, hard.

  “Well then, I guess you should go ahead and feed him since he doesn’t want me to do it,” he told her. “I’ll just be in the other room making some calls.”

  “Take your time, Essie and I will be just fine,” she told him.

  Essie?

  Of course the dog took that moment to make her little noises, alerting him to the fact that she’d been neatly set up on what looked like a baby pillow. It was actually a pink and green dog bed placed in the corner of the kitchen. Even the dog looked like she belonged here. With a shake of his head, Brandon made his way back to his office where he dropped down into one of his leather guest chairs with a sigh. There was simply too much going on in his life.

  “Hey, it’s me,” he said after dialing his sister’s number first.

  “How is he? What happened?” Bailey asked immediately.

  “He’s good. Telling people he hates my cooking, so I’d say he’s doing just fine,” Brandon quipped.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” Brandon said. “Look, the cops are still at the house investigating but dad swears it was Roslyn. Why would she be here? Why come after dad?”

  “Remember that email from months back, she wants all of us to pay for their mistakes. In Miami they attacked Uncle Bruce and Uncle Reginald’s house. Parker was hit with the sex scandal, Savian was accused of murder. Aunt Carolyn was run off the road. It’s what they want, to keep coming at us,” Bailey said.

  She hadn’t mentioned their mother’s death and Brandon wasn’t going to bring it up either.

  “But we already know everything. Dane knows that now, that’s why he agreed to the meeting tomorrow,” he said.

  “We’re meeting with Dane,” Bailey said. “Not with Roslyn.”

  “They’re in this together,” Brandon continued.

  “Are you sure about that?” was his sister’s retort. “Devlin stayed in Houston, he’s been tailing Dane because we didn’t want him to run off before the meeting. After you sent me the text I called him. He said that Dane’s been in his hotel room all night. He’s had eyes and ears on him via the camera and bugs he planted in the hotel room earlier this week. Dane never left his room, so unless he hired someone to toss bombs into dad’s windows, he’s in the clear.”

  Brandon ran a hand down his face. “Of course he would hire someone to do his dirty work. He’s the CEO of a huge company, he’s not likely to go running around on other people’s property breaking windows or making Molotov cocktails. Dammit Bailey! What the hell is happening to us?”

  On the other end his sister only sighed. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I just don’t know.”

  #

  What the hell was she doing?

  Amber asked herself this as she cut the green pepper and onion she’d found in Brandon’s refrigerator. This wasn’t why she’d come here.

  What exactly had she come to Houston to do with Brandon?

  Was it sex?

  She’d never traveled out of state for sex before. That wasn’t to say that sex with Brandon wasn’t damn good. It just meant…that she’d never traveled out of state for sex before.

  “I don’t know a lot about him,” Jenise told her when she’d had lunch with her yesterday.

  “Neither do I,” Amber replied quietly, hating that was a fact and yet she’d slept with him so many times.

  “What I do know is that their family is going through a lot right now,” Jenise said. “There are things being said in the press as well as some truths they’re all having to face.”

  “Are they dangerous?” she’d asked.

  Jenise vehemently shook her head. “I’d heard about this family for years before I ever met any of them and all that was said about their loyalty and integrity is true. I love my husband and I’ve come to love the parts of his family that are here in Miami. I’ve met the others and I still say they’re a good bunch of people.”

  Those words made her feel better because Amber trusted Jenise’s judgement.

  “My father and Jazz don’t believe that,” she told her friend.

  Jenise looked shocked. “What do they think is wrong with the Donovans? Are they basing their opinion solely on what’s been going on lately?”

  “I’m not sure. I mean, I guess. Jazz mentioned the sex scandal and the charges against Savian. But my dad, he didn’t say anything specific, just s
omething vague about rich people buying their way out of trouble. I don’t know.” Amber sighed with the frustration she’d been experiencing as she’d thought constantly in the last week about her father and Jazz’s reaction to Brandon, a man they’d never met.

  “I think they’re good men. The Senior Donovans have been lucky to have good women standing beside them and I think the next generation is learning how valuable partnerships are as well,” Jenise said.

  Amber shrugged. “I guess I’ve done worse,” she said.

  Jenise waved a hand dismissing Amber’s words. “He’s nothing like Billy. Even though I don’t know a whole lot about Brandon, I can tell you that he is absolutely nothing like that idiot.”

  Amber had taken those words as Jenise’s seal of approval and with that she’d thought the last thing she needed to do was to see for herself if all this worry over how her family felt about Brandon was even worth it. She’d come to Houston to see if there was anything between them—anything worth pursuing, that is. Now, as she cracked eggs into a ceramic bowl and added salt and pepper she wondered if she was really ready for that answer.

  “Breakfast for dinner,” Albert said, coming into the kitchen. “My Darla used to love eating breakfast food at dinnertime.”

  Pushing her thoughts to the side, Amber smiled over her shoulder as she watched Brandon’s father ease slowly onto one of the stools in front of the island.

  “I like it too,” she told him. “I wish I had the makings for cinnamon waffles and some turkey bacon would be good too.”

  She saw his frown as she moved to put the remaining eggs back into the refrigerator. “Let me guess, you don’t like turkey bacon?”

  He shook his head. “If I’m going to eat bacon it had better be pork,” he said with absolution.

  Amber laughed. “You sound just like my dad.”

  “Then you father is a smart man,” he continued. “My Brandon’s a very smart man.”

  She nodded and continued to move about the kitchen. “He seems to be. I just met him on the cruise.”

  “And you’re already in his house cooking.”