The Bravo Billionaire Part 23

Growing up in Alta Lobo, Emma had seen similar places, ramshackle run-down houses with a lot of junk around. But most people did something to try to make even the poorest house a home. They'd put a violet in the window, or some silly statue in the yard.

There was nothing like that here, nothing that would make this bleak place a home. Just junk and red dirt a shed, a house and an old pickup truck. The pickup wasn't even any kind of real color. It had a coat of rusting gray primer on it, and nothing more.

Marsh turned off the engine and muttered dryly, "As I think I might have mentioned, my father never cared a whole lot about living well."

They got out of the car, crossed the cleared s.p.a.ce and entered the house under the sagging overhang that served as a front porch.

It was no more inviting inside than out. The front door opened into a living room with brown carpet, brown chairs and a brown couch. The smell of mildew hung in the air and not a single picture graced the dingy walls.

"This way." Marsh led them down a dark, narrow hallway, past two bedrooms on the right. The hallway jogged left at the end. A few steps and they confronted a padlocked door.

Marsh had the key.

They entered Blake's "office." It consisted of a battered desk with a computer on top, a wall lined with metal bookcases, some scarred file cabinets, an old portable typewriter on a cheap stand, a window air conditioner and a closet. Emma opened the closet door. Like the metal bookcases, the closet was stacked high with old newspapers and magazines.

Marsh booted up the computer, then offered the squeaky swivel chair to Jonas. "Be my guest." Jonas took the chair. The computer required a pa.s.sword, which Marsh provided. "It's 'surprise.'"

Jonas typed in the word at the prompt and he was in. "Your father gave you the pa.s.sword before he died?"

"No. He gave hints. The hints were in certain things he said to me and of course, the word was pasted on the front of his sc.r.a.pbook. But he never told me directly. What fun would that have been for him?"

Jonas swore. "Your father had one sick idea of fun."

"You'll get no argument from me on that point."

Jonas began to explore the computer, checking through the different programs stored inside, scrolling through files, seeking some hint of something that would lead him to something else, some clue that might end up helping him to discover what had happened to a baby who had vanished three decades ago.

Emma went through the file cabinets, which Marsh said Tory had already looked through once. She found file folders full of clippings articles about everything from how to build your own storm cellar to a thousand and one uses for old newsprint. She found folders with Blake's bills in them utility bills, grocery receipts, bills for meals at places like Pizza Hut and Taco Bell. It looked as if the man had kept every piece of paper he ever got his hands on.

She also found folders with people's names on them. Most of the names she didn't know. But there was a folder for Marsh and one for Jonas. One for Tory and one for Kimberly. One for Blythe and one for Amanda. There were folders for other Bravos, too: Jenna and her sister, the three Wyoming cousins and their families and several more that Emma didn't recognize offhand.

As a rule, the folders with people's names on them were empty. But Blythe's folder held a couple of clippings, both of them less than a year old. And Jonas's contained one clipping, about some business deal he'd made back in March.

She showed the clippings to Marsh and Jonas.

"He probably planned to paste them into that book of his," Marsh said. "But he died before he got around to it."

The computer, like the file cabinet, contained hundreds of files labeled with people's names. In those files were phone numbers and addresses, notes about places of business, likes and dislikes, hobbies and pastimes. As in the cabinet, there was a file on Marsh and each member of his family and on Jonas and Blythe and Mandy.

"What was he plannin' to do with all this information?" Emma asked no one in particular after they'd been in that room for about an hour and a half, getting nowhere, looking through dusty papers and scanning computer files that seemed to have no other purpose than the secret invasion of other people's privacy.

"Whatever it was, he won't be doing it anymore," Marsh said. He was leaning over Jonas's shoulder as Jonas opened folders and scrolled through files. "I don't know about the two of you, but I find that very rea.s.suring."

"It's just too bad he didn't keep a file on Russell," Emma said. "Except in the sc.r.a.pbook, we haven't seen that name anywhere."

Marsh made a noise of agreement in his throat and glanced her way. She thought that he was thinking just what she was right then. That there was no file on Russell because he had died three decades ago. What would be the point in keeping track of the dead?

Jonas pressed his fingers to his forehead.

Emma put her hand on his shoulder. "That headache is still bothering you, isn't it?"

"It's all right, Emma." He gently shrugged her off. "We need a nerd," he said. "Someone who can get in here deeper than I know how to."

Marsh was nodding. "You're right. The old man must have deleted things, and maybe some of what he got rid of would be of use to us now. An expert might be able to retrieve it."

"I know one or two bona fide computer geniuses," Jonas said. "I'll make a few calls tonight, see if one of them would be willing to fly out here tomorrow morning and have a look."

"Sounds like a plan."

"In the meantime, I see he's got a port here for a Zip disk. Maybe we ought to make a backup copy of everything on his hard drive just in case something happens to this computer."

"Good idea," said Marsh. "I think I saw some of those bigger disks around here somewhere..." He knelt and pulled several of them from one of the lower left-hand desk drawers. "Here we go." He set the fat gray disks on the desk. Jonas picked up the top one, removed it from its case and inserted it into the port.

Emma turned to the file cabinet again and started in on the N's. Marsh had already gone back to thumbing through the dusty stacks of newspapers and magazines. Jonas completed his task of copying the contents of the computer onto the Zip disks. Then he remained at the computer, scrolling through file after file.

It was after five when he sat back in the swivel chair. "That's it." He rolled his shoulders, as if to loosen the tension gathered there. "I've opened every file in this d.a.m.n machine at least every one I can manage to access. And I have found zero. Nada. Nothing at all that might get us any closer to figuring out what happened to my brother."

Emma had found nothing, either. She shut the bottom file drawer and brushed off her hands as Marsh tossed the magazine he'd been thumbing through back onto one of the dusty stacks.

Jonas rubbed at his eyes. "I can call around, as I said, for someone to get out here and have a closer look at this computer. But after that..."

Marsh sank to the edge of the battered desk. "We've kind of run out of places to search, haven't we?"

"Don't forget the rest of the house," Emma reminded them. "n.o.body's gone through the kitchen drawers, or your father's bedroom, have they?"

"No," Marsh said. "And you're right. We should go through the whole place. I would have guessed, if there were anything more for us to find, it would have been in this room. But you never know..."

Jonas stood. "We'll check the rest of the house tomorrow. And go through the shed." He shrugged. Emma thought he looked very tired and way too resigned.

He didn't think they were going to find anything. She could see that in the weary lines of his face, hear it in the flat tone of his voice.

At Marsh's house, they met Kimberly, as well as the little girl's cat, a good-natured gray tabby named Mr. Pickles. Kimberly was very pleased to learn she had a cousin from Los Angeles .

"I think we'll have to come and visit you, Cousin Jonas," Kimberly announced. "It'll work out great. We can go to Disneyland and Universal Studios while we're there."

Jonas said he'd look forward to that visit and really seemed to mean it. He told Kimberly about Mandy.

Emma watched him with the little girl, noted the warmth in his eyes and the openness of his smile. He really had come a very long way since their marriage. Blythe would be proud.

Now, if they could just find Russell...

But a day of fruitless searching had created serious doubts on that score. After Kimberly had gone to bed, the grown-ups made themselves comfortable in the family room and discussed the situation.

Jonas said, "I think we've already got all the clues Blake left for us."

Marsh concurred. "I'm afraid you're right. The sc.r.a.pbook and the diamonds. Just enough to rub our noses in what he did and nothing else. No way to track down your brother, no hint at all as to how to find out what the h.e.l.l happened to him."

"A whole new aspect to his revenge. He as good as confesses, but there's no way we can get to him, no way he pays for what he did, no way we ever learn where my brother is now."

"Right. The locked room, the computer, the files, the stacks of old magazines and yellowed newspapers. I'm sure it gave him a h.e.l.l of a good laugh, before he died, picturing me going through everything, imagining how it might go, if I decided to give up the diamonds and take what I knew to you or to the police. How we'd tear that office of his apart trying to find some indication of where Russell might be now..."

"And how we'd come up with nothing."

"Exactly." Marsh fisted his hand and tapped it on the arm of his char. "d.a.m.n. The old man brings new meaning to the word diabolical and I noticed you didn't try to contact your computer expert."

Jonas shrugged. "The more I considered it, the more it seems to me that there's no more in that computer than what we've already found."

Emma couldn't help speaking up then. "Come on, you guys. Don't give up yet. You never know. We still might find something."

Jonas sent her a tender, indulgent look. "Emma, it's not very d.a.m.n likely."

"Maybe it's not. But do you mind if I stick with a positive att.i.tude?"

"Be my guest. Tomorrow, we'll look through the rest of the house and that shed. And then on Thursday, I think it's time we turned over what we've got to the authorities. Let them do whatever they're willing to do at this point."

They went to bed at a little after eleven. Jonas didn't complain of his headache, but Emma could see it was bothering him. The skin beneath his eyes looked more bruised than ever. She asked him if he'd taken anything for it. He told her not to worry, that he was fine.

She knew very well that he was not fine.

And she also knew it wouldn't help to keep nagging him about it. She pressed her lips together to keep from fussing over him any more than she already had, turned off the light and tucked herself up against him, spoon-fas.h.i.+on. He nuzzled her ear affectionately and she rubbed her foot down the front of his hairy leg, sighed at the feel of his warm breath in her hair.

She thought of how they had teased each other earlier, the little challenge he'd thrown out, that he'd like to see her try making love without doing any shouting. But that had been before they'd spent the afternoon in Blake's dingy office, seeking some little hint that might lead them to Russell and finding nothing at all.

She could not even imagine what it must be like for him. To get his hopes up after all these years. And to have to live through the death of those hopes all over again.

It wasn't easy, when a person learned to open up. Being opened up meant you were more likely to get hurt.

Emma did understand that. There was a price, for openness. It was called pain.

But then , as Aunt Ca.s.s used to say, You also get joy and love and tenderness. Only people who open their hearts get those things.

Jonas's arm lay across her waist. She took his hand, twined her fingers in his and pressed their joined hands close to her heart. He slid a leg between her legs, pulled her in closer against his body.

Emma closed her eyes. The day had been a long one. And she was very tired...

Jonas lay awake, listening as the sound of Emma's breathing became shallow and slow, feeling her fingers go lax in his. Good. At least one of them would get a little d.a.m.n sleep.

His head felt as if someone had turned a demon loose in there a s.a.d.i.s.tic little devil with a ball peen hammer and a yen to batter his way right out of Jonas's skull.

It hurt.

But not as much as the thought that they probably weren't going to find Russell, after all. Not by themselves, anyway and most likely not even with the help of the authorities.

They were out of their depth with this. They should have turned it all over to the police yesterday, right after Marsh gave him the sc.r.a.pbook and the diamonds. h.e.l.l. They might even have destroyed evidence, poking around in Blake's things, though he doubted it. Everything they'd touched today was thirty years and half a continent removed from what had happened to his brother. But still. It was a possibility.

And it was also water over the dam, at this point. They had done what they had done and tomorrow, they would do more. Because somewhere deep inside him, hope still burned, a pinpoint of golden light that wouldn't give up, though he knew it was bound, in the end, to be swallowed by the looming shadow of disappointment.

Jonas closed his eyes. He breathed in the sweet scent of the woman in his arms, took what comfort he could from the warmth of her body, the tender feel of her fingers in his, the twin swells of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressing soft and full against his forearm.

His headache faded a little. He closed his eyes with a long sigh. Sleep came creeping over him, light as a mist or a shadow not quite seen, so that he hardly knew he had slipped the moorings of consciousness and drifted out into the dark sea that was the dream.

Chapter 19.

O ne moment Jonas lay in the guest room of his cousin's house, with Emma in his arms.

And the next moment, he was home. At Angel's Crest. Home in his bedroom, with the moon s.h.i.+ning through the tall palm trees outside making funny, scary shadows against the walls. Like big fish fins, or strange arms, the shadows of the palm branches...

He was awake, though he knew he had been asleep just a moment ago. He looked at the glowing dial of the Mickey Mouse clock by his bed. Mickey's long arm was on the one and his short arm pointed at the two. That meant two o'clock . Five minutes after two o'clock .

Yeah. That was right. Very late. Too late to be awake.

"Go back to sleep, young man," his daddy would say, if he knew that Jonas had opened his eyes.

And his mom would shake her head. "Jonas, darling. It's the middle of the night..."

He closed his eyes. He was going to go back to sleep. He really was.

But then he remembered.

His eyes popped open again.

He knew what had woken him up. His new red truck, the fire engine truck that made a siren sound when the wheels turned and had a working ladder that could stand up and pull out, get longer so the firemen could save people from burning buildings and rescue scared cats trapped in tall trees...

His new red truck was in Russy's room. Under Russy's crib. He'd left it there yesterday, when he was playing in Russy's room and he'd revved it up and let it go and it rolled right under the crib. And then Paloma, his nanny, who was also Russy's nanny now, had said he could hold Russy.

Jonas really liked that, sitting in the rocking chair and holding Russy, who was just a tiny baby, only three months old. It made Jonas feel very big and grown-up.

So he'd sat in the rocker and Paloma gave him Russy. He was very careful. Very gentle. He rocked only a little and he looked down at Russy's pink face and his little baby mouth and he whispered, "You are my brother and when you get a little older I will teach you how to write your name and how to tell what time it is..."

Jonas liked having a brother. He liked it a lot. He wanted more brothers. And even maybe a sister, too. Their house was a very big house and it would take a lot of kids to fill it up. Jonas would always be the oldest, though. The first one. He would be a big brother. And he would take care of the littler ones.

This always pleased him, to think of himself as the oldest of a whole bunch of Bravo kids. It made him feel proud and big and real good about himself.

That was probably it, why he went and forgot the red fire truck. He was too busy thinking about being a big brother. And then his mom came and told him to go and wash his hands for dinner.

"Let's have that little sweetheart." She'd bent over him, smelling so good, like she always did. She kissed him just touched her soft lips to his cheek and at the same time scooped Russy right up into her arms. Russy made one of those googly, smiley sounds. Jonas's mom had laughed. "Oh, you are a happy boy." She looked at Jonas, her face all soft. "Go on now, wash your hands." Her words told him what to do, but her voice said that she loved him so much.