Free Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahill 05] by Deadly Caress

warning.” He was grim now.
    Francesca stared. “Who, Evan? Who wants his money?” Evan looked away, clearly refusing to answer.
    “And if you do not pay up?” Francesca had to know what might happen. She knew her brother’s debt totaled almost $200,000.
    “Then I suppose I will wind up far worse.”
    “Worse? How much worse could it get?” she cried.
    He just looked at her now.
    Of course it could get worse before he died—he could lose his legs, his arms, his mind. “Evan, we must go to Papa. He will pay off this brute! He would never allow you to remain in such danger.”
    “No.”
    “Evan!”
    But her brother was furious now. “He dared to blackmail me into marrying Sarah Channing by refusing to pay my debts! I am finished with him, Francesca. I would rather die than beg the cash from him now.”
    “You fool! For if you continue on this course you will die!” she shouted.
    “Keep your voice down,” he advised.
    Francesca stared. And she saw the resolution in his eyes. “You will not yield on this, will you?”
    “No, Francesca. I am quitting the company, my engagement is over, and I am moving out. And I will find a way to raise something to begin to pay off LeFarge.”
    “LeFarge? That is his name?” she asked quickly.
    He groaned. “Stay out of this, Francesca.”
    But she filed that bit of important information away.“How much money do you need, right now, to stave off this man?”
    “What?” He struggled to straighten as he sat.
    “I will help you raise the money, Evan. And I promise you, I will not go to Papa.”
    He stared. “Fifty thousand would be a good gesture.”
    She had known the sum would be vast; still, she reeled. How on earth would she raise $50,000—and instantly? Who did she know who had such an amount of money on hand?
    “I know. It is a vast sum.” Evan was glum.
    It was as if electric lightbulbs went off inside her brain.
    “Fran?”
    She sat down. Calder Hart was extremely wealthy. In fact, he had written her a check for $5,000 for one of her charities without even thinking about it. But did she dare ask him to loan her such a sum?
    When he refused to back down on the subject of their marriage?
    She wet her lips. “I can get the money, Evan. I am certain.”
    He gazed at her, amazed, and then he shook his head, beginning to smile. He winced instead. “Ow! Only you, Fran, could pull such a rabbit out of your hat.”
    Her heart beat hard now in anticipation of the vast favor that she must ask. But other matters now demanded her attention. She stared at him, hating having to tell him about his mistress. But know he must, and there was simply no avoiding it.
    “Why are you so grim? Fran . . . what is wrong?”
    She inhaled and took his hand, clasping it hard. “Evan, something terrible has happened and there is no easy way to tell you.”
    She saw his mind race. He leaned forward, grimacing. “Bartolla?”
    She now winced. “No, Bartolla is fine.” So that was where his heart now lay. “There has been a murder, Evan,” she said.
    His eyes widened. “Not . . . Sarah?!” he cried.
    “No, not Sarah. Although the murder took place in a studio that was vandalized very much as hers was.”
    He was confused. “I don’t understand. I do not know another artist. How does this affect me?”
    “Grace Conway was murdered. Evan, I am so sorry.”
    What little color Evan had drained from his face. Francesca held his hand and at first did not hear the knock on his bedroom door. He stared blindly at her. “How can this be?” he finally managed. And she saw tears rising up in his vivid blue eyes.
    “Evan, we don’t know. The investigation had only just begun,” Francesca said gently.
    He touched his head, looking away from her. “She was such a wonderful woman. She was full of life . . . and she was funny! Was . . . I can’t believe I am saying
was
.”
    This time, Francesca started when the knock sounded on his door yet again. “I was in shock when I realized it was