A Bad Boy is Good to Find

chapter 21

They never did get around to combing Lizzie’s hair, and by the next morning it was a rat’s nest of tangles. Raoul was actually breaking a sweat trying to get a comb through it at the dressing table in the bedroom.

“Girl, whatever did you put in it?”

“River water,” murmured Lizzie.

“You washed it in the river? Your hair doesn’t need washing every day. You could have waited. And why didn’t you use conditioner?”

Lizzie chewed her lip to stop a sly smile sneaking across her face.

Raoul tut-tutted. “I’ll have to talk to that boy. He’s interfering with my professional responsibilities.” He spritzed more detangler on it. “Can you believe all the fuss they’re making over him?”

“What fuss?” Maisie had whisked Con away while Lizzie was barely awake.

“The local paper ran a last-minute story about him that’s out this morning. Got a big picture of him on the front page looking like a movie star. Has a whole bit about his tragic past and how he might be the missing heir to this place. They’re eating it up like shrimp étouffé. ”

“I guess it’s a slow news day.” Lizzie chewed her brioche, wondering why she suddenly felt nervous.

“Phone’s been ringing off the hook ever since. Some other news stations want in on the act. There are vans from Baton Rouge and New Orleans out in the driveway.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it? All the more chance he’ll find his brother.” So why did her stomach feel so queasy?

What would this brother be like if he was still alive? Not many people would have Con’s sunny disposition after a childhood like that. Maybe what that a*shole lawyer said about calling the local prisons wasn’t so far off the mark.

She took another bite of brioche.

“Nervous about meeting the in-laws?” Raoul read her thoughts.

“I’m nervous about everything,” she confessed. “Con never told me any of that business about his family. It was a horrible surprise. What’s next?”

Raoul stopped combing. “Hey, if that was your story, would you tell it to the beautiful girl you wanted to marry?”

Lizzie bit her lip. “I don’t know.”

“You probably would. You’re the up-front, in-your-face type. I like that about you.” He started combing again. “And that’s why you’re perfect for Conroy. Some girls would have just let sleeping dogs lie. Who cares where he’s from, right? He’s cute.” He winked. “But not you. You’re not that easy.”

No? She’d been ready to tie the knot when he was a virtual stranger with a past she’d unwittingly invented. Sucker.

Raoul paused again, held her gaze in the mirror with those all-seeing almond-shaped eyes. “I know why you’re here.”

Lizzie’s stomach tightened. To make fifty thousand dollars fast.

“You have all kinds of reasons you think you’re here for.” He leaned in and she could smell his expensive cologne. “But you’re really here because you needed to know all about Conroy. The good, the bad and the ugly.”

Did I? She had no idea anymore. Hadn’t it been just a cruel joke? Maybe it always was more than that. About getting under Con’s smooth, tanned skin and seeing what made him tick. And now that she had…

She was crazier about him than ever.

“Keep your head still. What are you doing?” The comb tangled in her hair as she sprung from the chair.

“I need air!”

“You need detangling, sweetheart. I wouldn’t go downstairs with all those cameras looking like this if I were you.”

She collapsed back into the chair, heart thumping. “I really do love him.”

“I know.” He sprayed more detangler on her hair.

“But,” she hesitated, watching his sharp profile in the mirror. “He doesn’t love me,” she said softly.

“Oh, yes he does,” Raoul replied without breaking his combing rhythm.

“No, really, you don’t understand—” She groped for the right words to explain without giving too much away.

“Sweetheart, there are a lot of things I don’t understand, but one thing I know for sure, that boy is head over heels in love with you. Now sit still or we’ll be here all day.”



Lizzie came downstairs to find everyone outside, in front of the house, filming Con and his supposed ancestral estate.

She stood in the hallway, wondering why no one had asked her to come on camera. Gia crashed in through the front door, running.

“Gia, am I having another dress fitting this morning?”

“Um, I don’t know. I need to find something. Ask Maisie.” And Gia darted past her.

Lizzie didn’t want to come out the front door into the shot, so she went out the back door and crept around the side of the house. Four TV vans with satellite dishes on top cluttered the long oak-lined drive. Con stood in front of a camera, next to a reporter in a bright blue suit. Dino crouched off to one side, filming the interview, and Maisie hovered next to him with her clipboard in her hands and an expression of fierce excitement on her face.

She tapped Maisie on the arm and pulled her out of earshot. “Maisie, what’s going on?”

“The Eyewitness News team has been putting pressure on all the right people. They found an old will attached to the property.” Her pale eyes gleamed with manic intensity. “It leaves everything to the owner’s firstborn child. Since it seems Con’s mother was the only daughter of the owner, and she’s dead, it all belongs to Con.”

Lizzie snuck a glance at the gleaming white façade with its double tier of balconies. Holy crap. No real surprise, though.

“The trust is almost completely empty, and they’re starting an investigation into what happened to the money, as apparently there was almost two million in there when the old man died seven years ago. But—” Maisie glanced at Con, “they’ve uncovered other assets in storage, valuable antiques apparently, though at this point no one knows exactly what they are.”

Lizzie didn’t know what to say. Her brioche churned in her gut. “Any word on his brother?”

“Eyewitness News say they’ve had a slew of calls, but what with the inheritance they expect most or all of them are cranks wanting to get their hands on some money. They’re weeding through them.”

“So, um, the wedding, is it still on track for tomorrow?”

“The wedding? Oh, Don wants us to run with this inheritance story and get to the wedding after it’s died down a bit. He thinks this is fresher and will generate more buzz. Roger’s inside rough-cutting some promos already. It’s a perk that Con’s so great looking. I think we’re going to get a lot of attention with this show.”

Now if we could just recast the leading lady… Lizzie heard a subtext that made her glance down at the outfit she’d carefully chosen. She’d put some weight back on, and both the sage green capris and the turquoise blouse were a little snug. She’d have to keep her face to the camera so they didn’t see a panty line.

Not that it was a pressing problem right now.

Another thought occurred to her. “The lawyer said we probably couldn’t stay into next week. He said it was booked.” What if they decided to drop the wedding altogether?

“Bullshit. That good old boy is sweating bullets right now with the attorney general’s office breathing down his neck. It’s Con’s house, darling! He can stay here the rest of his life if he wants.” Maisie squeezed her wrist. “Isn’t it wonderful!”

“Oh, yes,” she said weakly. “Wonderful.”

The lord of the manor looked very handsome and earnest, talking with the reporter. What on earth were they gabbing about for so long? She couldn’t hear a word.

For someone who’d wanted nothing to do with the past, with the letters, with any claim to the house, Con had slipped into his new role with alarming ease, and she was getting left out in the cold. Or more accurately, in the sweltering, armpit-soaking heat. The blue cooling machines had been carted away, apparently given up as a lost cause. She probably wouldn’t get to feel cool again until she got back to New York.

If she ever did get back to New York.

Of course she was going back to New York. You’re not going to be living here by his side as lady of the manor. You’ll be lucky if he even goes through with the damn wedding now. He certainly doesn’t need the money. He can sell this pile for a pot of cash and cruise off into the sunset in a brand new gold Mercedes with a brand-new golden-haired mama by his side, no sugar even required.

She realized she was chewing her nail and pulled her hand sharply away. Damn, it was hard to breathe in this humidity.

Was it possible that Raoul was right and Con really did love her too?

Making love. What a funny expression. They’d done it three times last night. But amidst all the moaning and heavy breathing there had been no professions of undying love.

He was horny.

And she’d gone soft on him.

Sucker.



“Maisie, do you have a minute?” Con wiped his forehead with his sleeve. Where was Lizzie?

“Shoot.”

“Any word on Danny?”

“They’ve had eighty-three calls and more than three hundred emails, though a lot of those are just people who are interested but don’t know anything. I think eight different people have claimed to be Danny.”

Con swallowed. Would he even know Danny after ten years’ absence? He sure didn’t look anything like his scrawny fourteen-year old-self. “Anyway, the PA is updating me every half-hour. They’re going to run something again on the evening news. The story is a local sensation.”

He took a deep breath. “Could I ask you something in total confidence.”

“Of course,” she whispered, moving closer. Her eyes shone. “What is it?”

“Well,” he shoved his fingers through his hair. “I was wondering if, maybe,” he hesitated, his stomach tight. Where had Lizzie gone? “If maybe this story about me trying to find my brother might be enough to earn Lizzie the fifty thousand.”

Maisie’s eyes narrowed and her head cocked to the side like a coyote that just heard a rabbit in the bushes. “You don’t want to go through with the wedding?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that maybe…the timing isn’t right.”

“I can see your point.” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Your life is about to change very dramatically, so maybe now is not the time to make any permanent commitments.”

Maisie’s ill-concealed glee at his request deepened the unease in his gut.

“I’ll have to have another chat with Don. We did line up a lot of donations for the wedding, people who are expecting sponsor credit and that kind of thing, but he loves this new long-lost heir/missing brother story. Perhaps we can use the wedding stuff for a follow-up series? A takeoff of The Bachelor, where beautiful young women compete for your—”

“Oh no, no that’s not…Um, no. I was just hoping that Lizzie could still get her money if we didn’t do the wedding.”

“I’ll talk to Don. Obviously, the series will need a climax, but since we’ve got two options—you inheriting this place and you finding your brother, I don’t think it’ll be too much of a problem.” She leaned into him, conspiratorial. “Thanks for coming to me, Conroy. I appreciate your trust. I won’t breathe a word to Lizzie.” With a look of compassion, she capped her pen and walked off to talk to one of the news crews.

Con sagged with relief. He hated himself for letting it all come this far. Lizzie didn’t deserve to have her wedding—a once-in-a-lifetime event that should be a person’s most cherished memory—be a cheap fraud for cold cash. He cared for her far too much to marry her under false pretenses. He’d brought her to this low point, and he’d get her out of it without her throwing away her dignity and integrity. If he was going to marry her it would be the real deal, from the heart, and for ever.



“Did Michiko manage to alter the dress yet?” Lizzie couldn’t understand why everyone seemed to have forgotten the reason they were all here.

“Um, I’m not sure.” Maisie seemed preoccupied, scratching something off her clipboard.

“What?” Yes, the power was still off, but surely even if the wedding didn’t take place tomorrow as planned, it would be the following day or the day after that.

“This story about Con’s family is taking up everyone’s time for now. I just got the go-ahead to visit the storage facility where part of Con’s inheritance is being held. We’re heading out there right now.”

“Oh, I guess I’ll get changed.” Lizzie smoothed the front of her wrinkled shirt. She’d spent most of the morning lying on the bed reading a paperback.

“There’s no need. You can stay right here if you want. I’m sure it won’t be all that interesting. Probably just a dusty box of stock certificates or something.” Maisie scratched away at her clipboard.

“I’ll get dressed.” Alarm sizzled along her nerves as Maisie scurried off outside. Suddenly, she’d become totally irrelevant. No one had mentioned a single word about the ceremony. The arbor hadn’t been decorated as planned; there had been no discussion of the intimate wedding banquet happening after the ceremony. It was all Con this, Con that, Con’s brother, Con’s legacy. What about her? She was going to be Con’s wife for crying out loud!

Well, not really. Her breathing quickened. As far as Con knew, they were still getting a divorce right after the wedding as she’d decreed when she came up with this crazy idea.

She hadn’t breathed a word about her fresh hopes that maybe they could forget about the divorce and…

Live happily ever after?

The house phone rang.

Where the heck was everyone? Probably outside doing more interviews. It certainly was peaceful inside with no power until the phone started ringing. The polished black antique had a painfully loud bell-driven ring. Was no one going to answer it? Her nerves were fraying.

She picked it up. “Hello.”

“May I speak to Maisie Dixon please?”

Ah, she’d know those clipped pompous tones anywhere. “Hi, Dwight, it’s Lizzie.”

“Lizzie, thank goodness. I can’t get hold of Maisie. I’ve left several messages on her cell but she hasn’t returned them.”

“She’s been insanely busy. I’m sure she just hasn’t had time.”

“May I speak to her?”

“Actually, I can see her through the window and she’s talking on her cell right now. Do you want me to give her a message?”

“Um, yes. She left me a message saying she won’t be able to meet me in the Berkshires this weekend as planned.”

“Oh, right. We’re kind of stuck here. A power outage has delayed everything.” That and Con’s past exploding in my face.

“It’s imperative that I speak to her. I’ve been trying to schedule some time with her for weeks now. Months, in fact. She’s been so busy I haven’t been able to… Anyway, I’m coming down there. I’m flying into New Orleans early this evening, and I’ve chartered a car to bring me there. I’m on my way to the airport right now, in fact.”

“Okaaay.”

“According to my itinerary, I should be arriving between 7:00 and 7:15 p.m. central time.”

“I’ll let her know.” Lizzie tried not to laugh. Maisie with her clipboard and Dwight with his “itinerary” really were a perfect match. So self-satisfied and snooty they deserved each other. “See ya later, Dwight.”

He’d love the lack of electricity. And the heat and the bugs. She chuckled. And Maisie probably wouldn’t be too excited about being distracted from her work either. How long had they been engaged? They couldn’t schedule time to have sex, let alone get married. In fact the very idea of them having sex… She shuddered as a vision of reptiles mating crowded her brain.

She pushed up the lower sash of the window. It went up smoothly. The sash-cord must have been replaced in the money-hemorrhaging renovations.

“Maisie!” she called out. About forty feet away, Maisie squinted at her, her phone still pressed to her ear. “Dwight called. He’s flying down today. Got something important to tell you.”

Maisie muttered something into her phone. She strode toward the window. “Today? You mean he’s arriving tonight?”

“Yup. On his way.” She smiled cheerfully.

Maisie’s perfectly smooth forehead wrinkled. “What on earth for? It’s not like I won’t be back next week.”

“He said he’s been trying to schedule time with you for ages, but you’ve been too busy.”

“He knows my job is demanding.” Standing right under the window, Maisie glanced at her clipboard. “It’s my time to build my career. He understands that.”

“He sounded very anxious to see you.”

Maisie’s face brightened and got a strangely distant look. “I have a funny feeling he’s finally going to set the date.”

“Of your wedding?”

“Yes. We’re always waiting until the timing is just perfect, and then of course we’re both so madly busy—” She paused and pressed her pen to her mouth. “I wanted to get married last June, but his company was in the midst of a merger and he had an important bond deal to close. Of course it’s given me more time to research and plan and develop a truly impressive guest list…”

Lizzie glanced sideways into the drawing room, where opened boxes of linen napkins and fine stemware lay gathering dust.

“That’s it, I’m sure of it. We’re going to set the date.” Her eyes gleamed like ice cubes.

“Speaking of which, um, what day are we planning to do my wedding?” Lizzie’s voice came out kind of high and squeaky.

“Um,” Maisie tucked some hair behind her ear. “Has, um Con said anything about…No?”

“Con? What are you talking about?” The knot in her intestines tightened a notch.

“He has been terribly busy. Well, I must go. I need to get directions to the storage facility as we’re driving out there right away. As I said there’s no need for you to come.” Maisie was already turning away and fingering her phone.

“I’m coming.” She slammed down the window for emphasis. Suddenly she didn’t feel like letting Con out of her sight for a single instant.



Con had planned to tell Lizzie the wedding was off on the way over to wherever the hell they were going. Maisie had the okay from Don, and he wanted to get that one mess straightened out. Things were so out of control right now he didn’t know which way was up. People were talking about the house like it was his, and the story about his father and what he’d done to his mom was out there in the news and complete strangers with cameras were asking him questions about things he’d never even dared to think about let alone talk about and…

“So you guys think it’ll be a big chest of treasure or something?” Roger’s jovial voice from the backseat drew him back to reality. As soon as Rog climbed into the car, Con knew his news for Lizzie would have to wait.

“What exactly is it supposed to be?” Lizzie looked distracted and nervous, playing with her watch.

“I don’t know. Some stuff in a lockup. The documents they found didn’t have a list of specifics, just a key.” Con drew the key out of his pocket and dangled it from its soiled string. “Hope it’s not a bunch of skeletons or something.”

“Too right. I never know what’s going to happen around here lately.” Rog shifted his long body in the Jeep’s tiny backseat. “So the house is really yours?”

“So they tell me. There’s an old will involved, dating back to when the house was first built. The house goes to the oldest male of the line, failing that to the oldest female. Primogeniture or something, it’s called. They did a DNA test on me to make sure I’m who I say I am.”

“Smart move,” murmured Lizzie, eyes on the windshield.

Con chuckled. “Yeah. Anyway, they have to match it up with something of the old man’s. I think they have a lock of his hair from when he was a baby or something creepy like that. They get the results back tomorrow.”

“How do you feel about being related to him? To the guy who abandoned your mother to her death?” Lizzie turned to him, eyes flashing. She knew he’d caved under pressure and shown the letters to the news media, who’d slavered all over them. He also suspected Lizzie thought there was something pornographic about him splashing his unsightly family history all over the press.

“I hate him,” he said with conviction that tightened his voice. “He didn’t want to leave his precious crap to Mom. Only reason it’s coming to me is because of some old will he couldn’t change. I hope the bastard rots in hell.” It felt good to get that off his chest after playing nice for the cameras all morning.

“So I guess you’ll be giving all his money and possessions to a charity for battered women?” said Lizzie archly. She wasn’t looking at him, but he could see her raised eyebrow.

“Maybe.” The prospect of inheriting the house still seemed weird. Wrong. Damn he loved the area, though. Now he’d gotten over all those ancient fears, the thought of living back down here on the bayou held a lot of appeal.

“Are you serious?” Lizzie’s head snapped round.

“I don’t know. I barely know my own name right now.” He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, the firm leather and metal something he could at least hold on to.

“Your name’s Conroy Beale, unless the story’s changing again.” Her tone was cool.

What was eating her anyway? He’d hoped all that hot sex they’d enjoyed lately would mellow her out a bit. He also hoped that after he told her the good news that she’d get her money without having to marry him, they could pick right back up where they’d left off in the early hours of this morning. Either that or she’d be pissed as hell he’d gone to Maisie behind her back. He was hoping for the former.

A surge of warm anticipation tightened his pants and he smiled at her.

“What are you smiling at?”

“You.”

“Don’t miss the turnoff!” called Rog. “It’s the next right.”



The storage facility was an old one. Long corrugated metal buildings set deep off the road in a weed strewn lot.

“Shouldn’t think there’s anything still in there.” Lizzie scratched an itchy bug bite on her arm. “It’s hardly protected by armed guards is it?”

“There’s a security guard in the office, though he’s about a hundred years old. He’s the one who told me where number four was. Says it’s this whole building.” Patches of red rust-preventative paint were crudely daubed over the peeling pale blue powder-coat of a building at least two hundred feet long.

The van door slammed and Maisie strode toward them, Dino close behind with the camera on his shoulder.

“What have we here, I wonder?” She rubbed her hands together.

Lizzie crossed her arms and hung back, as usual.

Rog sidled up behind her and whispered in her ear. “Maisie told the news crews we weren’t coming until five, she wanted to scoop them.” He chuckled.

“Conroy,” Maisie intoned, adopting her “on air” glow. “We’re about to uncover yet another legacy of a forbear you never knew existed. How do you feel?” She leaned into him, eyes glittering.

“I don’t know.” He ran his hand through his hair.

The lord of the manor’s shirt was coming untucked. Amazing Con wasn’t coming right apart at the seams considering all this drama she’d dropped him into. Could they just go get married? Was that too much to ask?

“You have the key?” Maisie asked in deep, sonorous tones.

Lizzie rolled her eyes.

Con held it out. They strode toward the door, Dino following. A nasty twist of anticipation toyed with the contents of Lizzie’s stomach.

Con reached down to the ground to insert the key and grab the handle of the giant rolling door. Then he seized it and pulled hard.

The door came up about a foot, then stopped. “It’s rusty.” He tugged at it. It budged up a few more inches, then stuck again.

Lizzie instinctively took a step forward to go help, then held herself in check.

Con yanked on it again, pulled it up a few more inches, then levered himself under it and threw it up all the way with an audible grunt.

“Holy shit.”

Con and Maisie disappeared in the dark doorway with Dino. With the blazing afternoon sun bouncing off the metal building, Lizzie couldn’t make out what lay inside the unlit interior. She hurried forward.

As she peered into the vast gloomy chamber, she saw shadowy hulking shapes, spaced at regular intervals, covered with dark tarps.

Cars.

Con and Maisie pulled back a tarp on one of the larger ones to reveal an immense, very ancient car—headlamps the size of soccer balls, seats like plush leather sofas and no windshield. Con’s jaw hung open.

“It’s in perfect condition,” said Maisie. “I wish I knew what model it is.”

“It’s prewar Peugeot Phaeton.” Con’s voice sounded strangely breathless. Maybe it was the echo of his voice bouncing off the metal walls and high metal ceiling.

Maisie gave him a surprised look. She strode over to another car with a silver molded cover on it and started to peel back the edge. Con stroked his fingertips lovingly over the buttery paint of the Peugeot. Lizzie had a feeling it wasn’t going to be donated to a women’s shelter anytime soon.

“Conroy, come here! Even I know what this one is.”

He took another corner of the silver tarp and they peeled it back. “A Rolls Royce Silver Ghost,” they said in unison.

Rog let out a low whistle, which summoned a frown from Dino, who was still filming, silent as a shadow.

Lizzie lifted her hair off her hot neck. So Grandad left a bunch of cars behind. Big deal. Of course, it was kind of a coincidence the old man was a car nut like Con. Then again it wasn’t a coincidence at all if they shared the same DNA. A lust for molded steel was probably encoded in the Y chromosome.

Con had opened the sideways folding hood of the Silver Ghost and was staring at its gloomy innards with manic concentration. “It’s the original engine,” he breathed at last. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Whatever! Lizzie crossed her arms and rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, Con closed the hood and looked around the unlit interior. “Lizzie, where are you?”

Still alive, not that you care.

Was she being petty? Probably. But heck, they’d come down here to get married, not to explore his ancestral legacy for crying out loud.

“I’m here,” she said quietly.

“Lizzie, will you come sit in it with me?” The mischievous expression on his face made her insides jump. Okay, so he did look like a cute puppy dog who’s found a new bone.

She walked forward, no faster than usual. No expression on her face. “Nice car.”

Con tilted his head to the side and let out a snort of laughter. “That’s the understatement of the century.”

He pulled on the gleaming chrome handle and opened the heavy door for her. She climbed in, dust tickling her nose. The leather looked a little dull but totally unmarred, almost new. She sat down as Con walked around and climbed in the other side, with a goofy grin on his face. “Holy shit. I never thought I’d get to own one of these.”

“Watch your language, you’re on TV. Besides, if I still had money, maybe I’d have bought you one.” The steering wheel stuck right out on a long pole.

“You wouldn’t believe how much this is worth.” Con ran his fingers over the smooth wood dash.

“Before or after I respray it for you?”

Her little joke cracked Con’s smile into a huge grin and he leaned forward and kissed her. Naturally, being Con, he nailed her right on the mouth, lips hot on hers before she even had a chance to close them.

Chemistry boomed through her and suddenly her hands were clutching at his shirt, her tongue was in his mouth, his fingers were winding into her hair—

“Ahem.” Maisie’s deliberate throat clearing made her blink.

She jumped back. “How do you do that?” she hissed.

“What?” Con’s lips were moist and his dark eyes shone.

“Nothing.” She hoped her dark blush wasn’t visible in the dim light. The hickey on her neck had begun sizzling, and she tugged her hair down to cover it.

Maisie approached the window, and Con rolled it down. “These cars are worth a fortune. Conroy, you are a very lucky man.”

As Maisie turned to say something to Dino, Lizzie narrowed her eyes. “So, Conroy,” she said, in an impersonation of Maisie’s interviewer voice. “Will you be giving these fine automobiles away to charity?”

Con rested his palm on the smooth round head of the stick shift and looked up at her, dark eyes wide. “Hell, no.”