Bannon Brothers by Janet Dailey Read Free Book Online

breath, he reached for the top folder and flipped it open to begin his fact gathering. Kelly Johns would likely do her own, but Bannon wanted to be well-armed when he talked to her.
    An hour later, he knew a lot more about Montgomery, none of it very good. Montgomery’s financial empire had been founded on what was left of the family fortune and bolstered with smart horse trading. Right now the guy was touting a shaky-looking hedge fund that amounted to selling shares of winning Thoroughbreds.
    There were several offshore accounts in Caribbean countries and a few in Europe. A joke postcard from Switzerland showed a fat cat in pinstripes kissing a banker. It was blank on the back. Bannon figured that Montgomery had clipped it to his tax returns to amuse his accountant.
    On it went. Montgomery had never been investigated or indicted for financial misdeeds, but it didn’t take a forensic accountant to see that the man was wildly overextended, a polite term for being in a colossal amount of debt. He owed millions and seemed to be paying his debts off by borrowing millions more from people who were either naïve or plain greedy. That was going to catch up with him—and the luckless investors who didn’t do due diligence.
    The tax analysis made for dry reading. Then Bannon noticed that the man treated himself to a generous charitable deduction every year for allowing the Wainsville historical society to give tours of the family mansion.
    He could understand why the family had pulled up stakes; few would willingly stay in a house after a tragic kidnapping, especially once it was clear that the child was gone forever. Even so, deducting its use by a nonprofit was legal but didn’t smell right.
    It struck him that Montgomery played every angle for his maximum benefit. Maybe the guy wasn’t as rich as the press clippings and Internet mentions made him out to be.
    Sliding the financial reports back in the file, Bannon got up to take a break, feeling the mellow buzz of two longneck beers. The wrapped painting on the mantel caught his eye. He was ready to open it and see if he’d actually bought something good or been under the spell of the artist.
    The brown paper was noisy when it came off. Babaloo opened an eye but not all the way.
    â€œDisturbed your sleep, did I?”
    When the paper dropped to the floor, Bannon pushed it against the wall with his foot. A search failed to locate a framer’s tag, and he concluded Erin had probably framed it herself. It looked professional, though. Maybe she’d learned how in her starving artist days, which he suspected were behind her.
    He turned back to his laptop, touched a few buttons, and typed in Erin , horse , painting , Chincoteague . Bingo. She’d been in a group show out there. But still under just the one name. There was no link or contact info on her. With a defeated sigh, Bannon closed the lid and let his gaze wander over the watercolor.
    It was as good as he remembered, better, even. Dramatic. And mysterious.
    Chincoteague horses, huh? He’d never been to that part of the Maryland coast—he was more of a mountain man. Briefly he considered taking a trip there. It was still the off-season; the place wouldn’t be swarming with tourists. He’d bet anything her work would be exhibited at a gallery there. He ambled over to an armchair that faced the painting he’d bought and helped himself to beer three on the way.
    Leaning back, Bannon supported his head on the muscle in his upper arm, trying to remember every single detail about Erin. Her face, her figure—he hadn’t really seen that, because the weather hadn’t been cooperating. But she had a lithe way of moving that let him know her body was good. He’d liked the warm pitch of her voice and her hesitation in talking about herself.
    Bannon sipped his third beer and contemplated his next moves where she was concerned.
    First you have to find her , he reminded