"God, I hate that man," Andi muttered.
"Right with you, sister." They paused outside the restaurant, Habanero. "We have a private investigator on the case. Dee Wakefield will find something incriminating."
"I hope so."
As the hostess led them to their table through the crowded, brightly decorated dining area, Andi let out a deep breath. They couldn't change the facts. Their mother carried Ingo Hunter's child. If the baby turned out to be a boy, he would inherit the bulk of the Benedict fortune.
The money didn't matter to her or her sisters. Their grandfather left each of his female heirs a hefty trust fund. But Thomas Benedict had very specific ideas. Women were put on the earth for a man's pleasure—and to produce male heirs. Try as he might, he sired only one child. Ironies of ironies, a girl. Wilhelmina Carlotta Benedict, Billie to the world, proceeded to have four children. Again, all girls.
Poor Grandfather. Andi felt little sympathy for the cold, imperious man. His dream of a male-dominated Benedict empire never came to fruition.
However, if Billie was pregnant with a boy as she claimed—knowing their mother, Andi had sufficient doubts—Thomas, aided by Ingo Hunter, might just have the last laugh.
Andi took her seat, shaking off the dreary thoughts. Right now, she was interested in a more pleasant subject. Destry's love life.
"You met Patton Bland at a nightclub?" The thought seemed incongruous. "He doesn't seem the loud music and strobing lights type. But I suppose everyone has hidden depths."
Destry ordered a margarita—extra salt. Her sister was a tequila girl. But unlike their night on the town, one drink at lunch wouldn't lead to any unwise dating.
An afternoon filled with work still ahead of her, Andi settled for a glass of Chardonnay.
"If poor Patton's depths are hidden, they go way deeper than I could find. He was at the club for a bachelor party—his brother's. Doesn't approve of the ritual, by the way."
"And you still went out with him?"
"He looked kind of appealing without a tie. Aided by a booze-induced haze," Destry defended herself. "Besides, I don't blame him. The whole night before the big day bachelor/bachelorette bacchanalia ritual is a mystery to me. I don't disapprove, live and let live. But what's the point? A hungover wedding party?"
Soon, they'd have two weddings to attend. Happy occasions for them and their sisters. Calder and Bryce were blissfully in love and rapturously engaged. Parties were a given. But, as with everything the Benedict sisters did, they would put their own spin on the tradition.
Andi didn't attempt to hide her grin, poking Destry in the arm. "You went out with a lawyer."
"Once. And never again." Destry chuckled, at herself as well as her date. "Poor Patton. Dull as dishwater. When he kissed me good night—"
"You let him kiss you? On the lips?" The story kept getting better and better.
"Curiosity did me in. What if, contrary to all indicators, he turned out to be a first-class kisser? You never know. Just in case, I didn't want to miss out."
"And?"
"Mushy and slobbery." Destry grimaced. "Eager. Like a big puppy without the cute factor.
They gave their orders to the waitress. Andi would have felt sorry for poor Patton. Except, he wasn't a naïve boy. He lived in New York, one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the world. Over thirty, he had a good job. Rubbed elbows with educated, sophisticated adults. If he hadn't learned a thing or two about something as basic, and potentially wonderful, as the art of a proper kiss, he was a lost cause and didn't warrant sympathy.
The food arrived, hot, fragrant, and plentiful. They shared bites from each other's plates. The refried beans were good, but nothing special, they decided. The tostada was wonderful, the Spanish rice a delight. But the winner was the huevos rancheros.
"Yum." Destry scooped up the last bite. "Definitely a keeper. Next time I'm in the city, a return trip to Habanero will be on my to-do list."
"Next time?" Andi's smile slipped. "When are you leaving?"
"Tomorrow. Early."
Andi was surprised. When Destry left on one of her jobs, she rarely gave advanced notice. One minute, she was home; the next, she was off on what she liked to term an adventure. What she actually did varied from assignment to assignment. As did the length of time she was away and the level of danger involved.
"Should I worry?" Andi always worried when her family was out of touch. She had to ask even though she knew the question, for the most part, would go unanswered.
"I'll be fine." Destry laid her hand over Andi's. "Aren't I always?"
What could Andi say? She knew what drove her sister. And yet, because their fathers were as different as night and day, she could never fully understand.
Like Calder and Bryce, when she and Destry were children, they spent summers away from New York. Four sisters. Four different fathers. Hardly a Norman Rockwell painting. But they survived because they had each other. The promise they would be back together come fall made anything bearable.
In Andi's case, her vacations always seemed to coincide with her father's latest wedding. By the time she turned eighteen, she had witnessed Sterling Anderson say I do six times. Seven marriages—counting her mother—seven failures. And six frilly dresses in the most off-putting pastel shades known to man.
Andi's keen sense of fashion still cringed when she thought of the from taffeta to tulle and everything in between monstrosities. Her father chose women with terrible taste in clothing. A match to his terrible taste in women.
Strange how Sterling's last marriage took place during the final summer Andi was legally bound to spend with him. By the next year, she was in France studying fashion design, and her father was divorced—again. She didn't know why he stopped after number seven. She never asked, and he didn't volunteer a reason.
One fact was irrefutable. The single life suited him. A weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. No wife equaled a happier Sterling Anderson.
"Any word from your father?"
Eyes trained on her empty margarita glass as if the mention of Miller Destry made her long for another swig, Destry sighed.
"My father, no. But the F.B.I. left a message."
"What?" Andi's shouted exclamation aroused interest from the other diners. She lowered her voice to a more conspiratorial level. "When? What did they want?"
"This morning. And you know as well as I what they wanted. A clear path to my father."
"But, you don't know where Miller is."
"Exactly what I told Agent Burg. Who, by the way, was tight lipped about what exactly my father is wanted for this time." Absently, Destry tapped her glass with her index finger. "Seemed surprised I didn't know anything."
"Surprised or disbelieving?"
Destry met Andi's gaze and smiled, her eyes sad.
"The feds always doubt my Little Miss Innocent routine."
"Not a routine," Andi reminded her. "The truth."
"Where my father is concerned, yes. Say what you want about Miller, he never shares the details of his less-than-reputable activities."
"Plausible deniability." A term, thanks to Destry's father, the Benedict sisters learned at an early age.
"Dear old Dad." Cynicism dripped from Destry's tongue. "He'd throw me under the bus in a heartbeat. However, he makes certain I never have enough information to return the favor."
Andi knew the truth. Destry chose to stay in the dark about her father's varied activities. If she ever decided to dig under the surface, she couldn't keep the information to herself.
"One day, Miller will go to prison for more than a few months at a stretch. For all his faults, and there are many, I refuse to be the person who helps the feds finally bring him down. They can do their own dirty work."
Frustrated, Andi struggled for something to say. She hated Miller Destry with a passion. But, for all his faults, his daughter loved him. Or, if Destry were brutally honest, she wanted to love him. Because
her sister couldn't quite summon up the emotion, she was left with one thing—a warped kind of loyalty.
"I can't completely understand your relationship with Miller."
"Any more than I can understand how you feel about your father." The shadows lifted from Destry's face. "Or Calder about her dad."
"Or Bryce about hers," Andi finished, chuckling. "One thing Billie gave us besides different fathers? Our lives are never dull."
"And yet, we're nothing but lucky." The smile on Destry's lips widened, her eyes a little misty. "Our parents set us up in what some might call an untenable situation. On paper, we should hate each other. At best, maintain an antagonistic tolerance. Yet, the only people in the world I can't do without are my sisters."
"You won't make me cry." Close, but Andi blinked back the tears. "How many people know that under your tough-as-nails exterior, you're pure marshmallow fluff?"
"Three," Destry admitted. "Four, if you count Mrs. Finch. But, our erstwhile housekeeper/surrogate mother hasn't seen me cry since I was in diapers. You, Calder, and Bryce can't say the same."
"Your secret is safe with us. Marshmallow." Andi winked.
"Mm." With a sigh, Destry sobered. "Speaking of soft spots. I have some news."
"Unless you know for a fact the world will come to an end in the next thirty seconds, keep anything dour to yourself."
"Dour." Destry slowly rolled the word off her tongue. "Good word."
And by the look on Destry's face, accurate. Andi rubbed her forehead. She had so many irons in the fire, one more wouldn't kill her. But now and then, she wished she could throw caution to the wind and take a day off. From her business. From the need to be the lodestone that kept her family grounded through one drama after another. Just once, she wanted to pull the covers over her head and pretend the world didn't exist. If only for an hour or two.
Their mother, the definition of self-absorbed, left them to raise themselves. As the oldest, Andi gladly took on the role of protector and advisor. Though only a few years separated the four of them, she was the one her younger sisters looked up to.
The one time her emotions got the better of her—when she let a man get close enough to put a massive crack in her heart—she refused to fall apart. Yes, she cried. She couldn't hide her pain from her sisters—even if she'd wanted to. But, Andi did what she always did in times of strife. She refused to crumble. Not then. Not now. Not ever.
A sixth sense told her trouble was on the way. A certain kind of trouble—all six-foot-three, two hundred pounds of him. She knew the day would come. Even agreed to let him back into her life. But prior knowledge didn't keep her heart from pounding like a jackhammer.
"You didn't have to go to such elaborate methods just to tell me Noah's back in town." Andi was tired of her sisters acting like the mere mention of her ex-fiancé's name would send her into a tailspin. "Instead of food, I'm surprised you didn't give me a bullet to bite on."
"You suggested lunch, not me," Destry pointed out. "But you're right. Bryce, Calder, and I wanted one of us to be with you when you heard the news."
Taking a deep breath, Andi unconsciously stiffened her spine. Her expression cool, calm, and collected. Anyone who glanced her way would see a woman in complete control. Destry wasn't fooled for a second.
"We can tell him to go to hell." Her sister warmed to the idea. "Noah Brennan can't be the only cyber-security/money expert in the world. Dee must know someone else who can dig into Ingo Hunter's financial situation."
"He's the best." In spite of herself, and her wounded heart, Andi felt a spark of pride. "Noah worked his butt off to make a success of himself."
"So did you." Destry wasn't as willing to make even an inch of concessions where Noah was concerned.
"Not the same situation." Andi's feelings were jumbled, but not her sense of fair play. "I had a trust fund to fall back on. And my sisters for moral support. Noah had nothing and no one."
"Wrong. He had you," Destry reminded her, eyes blazing. "Until the jerkwad tossed you over for what? Money? The cover of Forbes magazine?"
The term tossed you over didn't sit well. Noah broke their engagement. Period. His reasons were a mystery since he didn't choose to share them. She wasn't worth more than a terse text followed by silence. The knowledge still rankled.
Andi was over the heartbreak, but the way Noah ended their relationship stung her pride. A fact she couldn't hide from Destry. Damn it.
"We all agreed Noah is the best person to help us dig deeper into the mystery of Ingo Hunter. Is more money the scumbag's only motivation? More power? Until what happened to Bryce, we thought he wasn't a physical threat. Now?" Andi shrugged. "Too many question marks. We need all the help we can get."
"Okay."
"Really?" Eyes narrowed, Andi studied Destry's face. An excellent poker player, her sister could hide her feelings better than most. "You'll let the subject of Noah drop? Just like that?"
"You say his return won't bother you. I take your word." Destry's nonchalance morphed into protective sister mode. "However, if he does anything to upset you, I'll—"
Andi interrupted before she had to hear the gruesome details. "If Noah has the power to upset me, the problem is mine and mine alone. Right?"
"We'll see." As always, Destry stopped before she made a promise she couldn't keep.
"Yes, we will."
As Andi signaled for the check, she said a silent prayer. For all her big words, she didn't know how she would react when she met Noah face to face for the first time in three years. Anger seemed likely. And a touch of regret for what might have been.
One thing she knew for certain. She stopped loving him long ago. Thankfully, she could say without hesitation, her heart was safe from the charms of Noah Brennan.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
~~~~
NOAH BRENNAN DIDN'T expect a parade as he stepped off the plane. But a little part of him—the part he'd ruthlessly shoved to the back of his mind for the past three years—hoped for… something.
"Idiot," he muttered under his breath as another passenger jostled his way past Noah's inert form.
"Move it or lose it, fella," the man groused, frowning.
Nothing like a New York insult delivered in a distinctive Brooklyn accent, Noah thought as he did as the man suggested—he moved.
Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Noah weaved through the crowded airport. Intent on getting from point A to point B, his subconscious kept a lookout. Foolishly, his heart rate ticked upward every time he caught a glimpse of blond hair.
You can look all you want. She won't be here. Even if she cared enough to find out when your plane arrived, Andi Benedict wouldn't cross the street to spit on you, let alone roll out the welcome wagon.
Noah made his bed a long time ago. Used his free will and left New York for Los Angeles. His plan wasn't to leave Andi as well. But when faced with another professional failure, he took the coward's way out, convinced his decision to break things off was the right one. He talked himself into a path of action and hadn't swerved from his objective.
Success was his. But, the more power he attained, the more he wondered if a fat bank account was worth what he'd lost in the exchange. The well-worn saying was true. Money couldn't buy happiness.
Noah slipped on a pair of sunglasses as he exited the artificially lit airport and into the bright summer sunlight. You really are a fool. From a boy who had nothing to a man who had everything. Every dream fulfilled. Trouble was, the boy of his youth had yet to meet a tall, gorgeous blonde with eyes green enough to put the hills of Ireland to shame.
Dreams, like people, change with time and experience. Noah knew he'd missed his chance. No, not missed. He once had the perfect woman—perfect for him. Ego and ambition got in the way.
I could have had it all.
Noah sighed as he tossed his backpack into a taxi. He was too much a realist to expect a second chance. And too much a fool not to hope—deep
down—for something he didn't believe existed. A miracle.
~~~~
"SORRY I DIDN'T have time to meet you at the airport."
Noah looked around the hotel room/office. Hardly the kind of place he'd expect one of New York City's most in-demand private investigators to live. On the other hand, the low-key digs were exactly perfect for a down to earth, take no crap woman like Dee Wakefield.
"You're busy." Noah shrugged. "And I don't need anyone to help me hail a cab."
Propped against a small, secondhand desk, Dee crossed her long legs at the ankles, the heels of her scuffed, black-leather biker boots planted firmly on the faded, threadbare carpet. One side of her mouth quirked upward as her dark eyes danced with suppressed mirth.
"From what I hear, you have people to take care of all the humdrum details of your life. Short of wiping your ass."
"Funny." Noah's lips twitched while his expression remained neutral. "Like you, my time is valuable. Short of my ass—and other parts of my body—I learned to delegate. Eliminates a lot of headaches."
Dee ran a hand through her short, spiky hair. Today, the ever-changing tips were colored cobalt blue.
"Must be nice," she scoffed. "Unlike you, I can't afford to delegate."
"Bullshit."
Noah couldn't say how much Dee made in a given week, but he knew enough about her business to say without equivocation, she could afford a better place, a better car, a new pair of boots—if she wanted to crack open her wallet. The fact she was careful with her money made him like her all the more. However, he wouldn't let her play the poor as a church mouse card without a call out.
"Okay," Dee conceded good naturedly. "I like the way I live. Comfortable and lived in is my style. Who needs fancy?"
Dee didn't say a word as she eyed Noah up and down. Her sharp gaze took in everything from his Italian leather shoes to the more than any human should pay a stylist haircut. He'd developed a taste for the high life. His money, his choice. Unapologetic, he met Dee's gaze head on.
Three Wishes: A Second Chance at Love Contemporary Romance (The Sisters Quartet Book 3) Page 17
