Plain Jane and the Playboy / Valentine's Fortune: Plain Jane and the Playboy

He grinned and kissed her quickly. He’d expected nothing less.

“Of course you do.”

But as soon as Lacey was gone, Patrick picked up the telephone next to the bed and called his brother, William.

Younger by a year, William had an offbeat sense of humor. This might have been his idea of a joke, although, truthfully, Patrick did have his doubts that William’s humor was this offbeat.

“Bill,” he began when his brother picked up on the other end. “It’s Patrick. Happy New Year,” he prefaced, getting the amenities out of the way, even though he’d just seen his younger brother less than nine hours ago at the party.

“Same to you,” William responded. “You know, this is rather a coincidence, you calling like this. I was just debating calling you.”

There was an unsettling note in William’s voice that caught his attention. “Oh?”

“Yeah.”

William paused, hunting for the right words. He’d found himself later in life than Patrick had, finally making a niche for himself with Fortune Forecasting, a company that predicted stock market trends. But ever since his wife had died last year, he’d lost his focus again and had felt adrift. He’d begun to look toward Patrick for guidance again.

“Now this is going to sound a little off the wall,” he finally said, “but I just found this note in my pocket this morning. It says—”

“—One of the Fortunes is not who you think,” Patrick completed.

For a second there was stunned silence on the other end of the line. And then William laughed nervously. “So it was you.”

He’d obviously missed something, Patrick thought. “Excuse me?”

“It was you,” William repeated. “You were the one who put the note in my pocket,” he elaborated when Patrick made no response. “I’ve got to say, this isn’t your usual style, Patrick. What’s the point?” he wanted to know.

“I have no idea what the point is,” Patrick said, sitting down on the bed. “I didn’t put the note in your pocket, William. As a matter of fact, I found an identical note in mine. Someone slipped it into my jacket.” He tried to think of when that could have happened. The restaurant was fairly crowded all night. He’d been jostled any number of times during the evening.

He heard William sigh. “Well, that makes three, then.”

“Three?” Patrick repeated, not sure where William was going with this.

“Three,” William said again. “I just got off the phone with Lily,” he said, referring to their late cousin Ryan’s wife. “She just called. Someone slipped a note into her purse. She had no idea what to make of it. I told her I thought it was someone’s inebriated idea of a joke.”

Patrick looked at the note in his hand. “That was my first thought, too.”

“And now?”

“And now I don’t know,” he admitted truthfully.

He was getting a very uneasy feeling about all this. Why would someone target all three of them with this note? And were they intended as warnings—or threats?

“What do you want to do about this?” William asked.

“We sit tight until something else happens.”

William sounded clearly disturbed. “Who do you think the note’s referring to?”

As far as that went, Patrick hadn’t a clue. “It still might be a joke, albeit a poor one.”

“Nobody comes to mind?” William pressed.

There had been no long-lost second cousin, twice removed on the scene, no reason to believe that members of the family weren’t who they were supposed to be.

“No one,” he assured his brother. “Listen, I know you’re coming over for lunch this afternoon. Bring the note with you. And tell Lily to do the same.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Nothing yet,” Patrick said truthfully. “But it certainly wouldn’t hurt to circle the wagons, just in case.”

There was silence on the other end of the line and for a moment, Patrick thought William might offer an opinion or solution of his own. But when he finally spoke, it was just tacit agreement on his part. “I’ll pass the word along to Lily.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you all later,” Patrick said just before he hung up the receiver.

He was fairly certain he’d managed not to sound as concerned as he felt. It could very well be nothing, just some fool yanking their collective chains. But he was a Fortune and, contrary to the name, he and his family had had their share of adverse dealings.

It never hurt to be prepared.

Jorge stood in the center of the still-crowded restaurant, looking around. He felt exactly like the Prince must have just after Cinderella fled from him at the stroke of midnight.

Except that he was holding a light gray coat instead of a glass slipper. When he’d returned from the coatroom, she wasn’t standing where he’d left her. She wasn’t anywhere at all.

He spent the next twenty minutes scanning the room and describing her to people, asking them if they’d seen her. Finally, when he talked to the bartender who’d ultimately taken over for him, Carlos said he’d thought he’d seen her pushing her way to the front door. And yes, the man added, she wasn’t wearing a coat, which had made him think it was rather odd.

Why, Jorge wondered. Why had she suddenly taken off like that? What would have made her leave without saying anything to him?

And without her coat? It didn’t make any sense to him.

Everything about the woman aroused his interest.

Frustration ate away at him. He had no phone number for her, and no address either. He told himself to just go home and forget about it. But he couldn’t.

Draping her coat on one arm, he took out his cell phone and dialed Information. With one hand pressed against his ear to drown out the surrounding noise, he gave the operator Jane’s name and waited for a response.

She was unlisted.

It figured, he thought. Biting back a curse, Jorge stared at the coat he was holding.

What had made Jane bolt out of here like that? She’d given every indication that she liked being with him. So then what—?

“Did one get away from you?”

The question, spoken so close to him, nearly made him jump. Gloria was standing right behind him. Her husband Jack was next to her.

Jorge saw her looking at the coat, an amused expression on her face. Not what he needed right now, he thought. Squaring his shoulders, Jorge shifted the coat to his other arm. He’d already made up his mind that he was going to find Jane Gilliam and give her back her coat—and ask for an explanation—no matter what it took.

“Not for long,” he told Gloria, his voice cocky. And then, just for a moment, he dropped his guard. “Did you see the woman I was with earlier?”