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She shook her head. “No. About you and me.”
The comfortable numbness from the whiskey wore off too quickly. His head began to pound, and he thought he was going to be sick. “I don’t feel well.”
“Here.” She took his arm and helped him up. “You need some fresh air.”
She guided him through the throng of people to the door, held it open for him, then helped him across the parking lot to his car.
“Better call a cab,” he muttered, leaning against the door. “Don’t think I can drive.”
She fumbled in his pocket. “I’ll take you home.”
No, Andrew thought. What if Hope saw him with another woman? But then in the next instant, he realized it didn’t matter. Hope was gone for good this time. Or soon would be. Back to Jake, unless he could think of a way to stop her.
He let the blonde help him into the passenger side, then watched through slitted eyes as she crawled behind the wheel. She started the powerful engine, expertly shifted into gear, then tore out of the parking lot like a woman fleeing for her life.
The bar was on a secluded road, several miles from Memphis, near the small town of Shepherd. Andrew liked to go there because no one ever recognized him. But the blonde had known him, and had somehow known he would be there. Because of that, the deserted highway seemed particularly menacing to him now.
Who are you? he tried to ask her again, but no words came out. The pain in his head became excruciating. He slumped against the door.
“Andrew?”
When he didn’t answer—couldn’t answer—he heard her mutter, “Damn. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
What wasn’t? he tried to scream. What have you done to me? Stop the car! Let me out of here!
“You’re going to be all right,” she told him. “Believe me, this is all for the best.”
Propelling himself away from the door, Andrew lunged toward the steering wheel and grabbed it. Carol screamed, trying to shove him away. For several moments, they struggled. Then the car careened off the road, out of control as they missed a curve, and Carol screamed again. She threw up her arms to protect her face as the car plowed down an embankment, straight toward the trunk of a tree.
The last thing Andrew heard was the sickening crunch of metal against wood. The last thing he saw was the splatter of blood against the windshield. The last thing he thought was that this time, Jake had won.
The game was finally over.
CHAPTER ONE
The car reminded him of a sleek, red bullet—low-slung, fast, and dangerous. Jake McClain shoved a tiny plant into the freshly dug hole, then stood to admire the clean, smooth lines of the Viper as it tooled around the sharp curves in the drive leading up to the Kingsley mansion.
Next to Jake, his father, who had been the gardener at the Kingsley estate for as long as Jake could remember, was on his knees, still bent over the flower bed in front of the house.
Each hole had to be precisely dug, each plant had to be gently, almost lovingly placed inside, and then the dirt had to be carefully tamped in place. His father’s movements were slow, methodical, precise, and Jake bit back an oath. At this rate, they would be out here all night.
“Pop,” he said, trying to temper his impatience. “Whose car is that? I haven’t seen it around here before.”
Gerald McClain glanced over his shoulder as the vehicle came into view, then he returned to his work. “It doesn’t concern you. Stay out of the Kingsleys’ business.”
Jake scowled. Ever since he’d moved in with his father a couple of weeks ago, the two of them had been at each other’s throats. Jake had known it would be this way. He and his father were both too strongly opinionated not to have disagreements, but what else could he do? His father had recently suffered a mild heart attack, and there was no one else to watch out for him, to make sure he didn’t overdo. The Kingsleys sure as hell wouldn’t.
Unfortunately, however, since Jake had sold his house to cover the legal fees he’d incurred fighting his dismissal from the police department, his father had decided that Jake was destitute and had nowhere else to go. He thought he was doing Jake a favor by letting him move back home.
It was true Jake was down on his luck right now, but that wouldn’t last long. He’d already opened a private investigation firm and was actively seeking clients. And in the meantime, if his living on the Kingsley grounds afforded him the opportunity to continue looking into Andrew Kingsley’s death, Jake figured he could put up with a little harassment from his father.
From all indications, Kingsley had been into something pretty heavy before his death, and Jake had been determined to find out what it was, to bring down Andrew Kingsley if it was the last thing he ever did. Instead, Kingsley had died in a car crash, and Jake had been booted off the police force for instigating an unauthorized investigation—an infraction that should have warranted a reprimand or a suspension at worst; but Jake had been dismissed because Iris Kingsley was still a powerful woman in these parts. She didn’t like having her grandson’s memory tarnished, especially by the likes of Jake McClain.
He wondered if she was up there now, staring down at him with smug satisfaction that he had finally been put back in his place.
The red Viper pulled around the circular drive and stopped in front of the house. Jake couldn’t see the occupant of the car, but his instincts—and his father’s attitude—told him that something was definitely going on. He shielded his eyes from the sun and waited for the driver to emerge. When no one got out, he turned back to his father.
“Pop,” he said. “You know everything that goes on around here. Who is that?”
Gerald glanced up at him. “Leave it alone, Jake, and get back to work. You’re supposed to be helping me today.”
“We’ve been out here all day without a break,” Jake reminded him. “Why are you being so secretive?”
His father heaved a weary sigh. He sat back on his knees, rubbing his gloved hands along the tops of his thighs. “All right. I know you. You won’t give me a minute’s peace until I tell you. Word has it around the staff that a man claiming he might be Adam Kingsley is coming to see Miss Iris and Mr. Edward today. I reckon that’s him.”
Jake glanced down at his father in shock. “You’re kidding.”
“He contacted Miss Iris yesterday.”
“Yesterday? You mean she’s agreed to see him this quickly? He must have told her one helluva story.”
Adam Kingsley, Andrew’s twin, had been kidnapped from the mansion when the boys were only three years old. Until recently, the authorities had believed that Adam was dead. Shortly after the kidnapping, his body had been recovered from a shallow grave near the Kingsley estate and buried in the family plot. But everything changed a few months ago when the real kidnapper had finally admitted to the crime, thirty-one years after he’d taken Adam.
An ex-cop named Raymond Colter confessed that he and a woman had kidnapped the child for ransom, and then the woman had vanished with the boy. According to Colter, Adam Kingsley was still alive the last time he saw him, and his story was borne out when the body was exhumed. DNA testing proved conclusively that the remains were not those of Adam Kingsley but of another little boy named Johnny Wayne Tyler, who had been murdered by his stepfather.
Colter’s story kicked up a storm of controversy, not just in Memphis, but all over the country. And as expected, an army of impostors claiming to be Adam Kingsley had descended upon the family. Their attorney, Victor Northrup, had set up a task force within his law offices to handle and investigate each claim. To Jake’s knowledge, not one of the would-be heirs had made it past Northrup’s assistants.
Until now.
As Jake stood watching, the door of the mansion opened and Iris Kingsley appeared in the doorway. He hadn’t seen the woman in months, and he was amazed at how much she’d aged since he’d spoken with her after Andrew’s death.
Always thin, she looked frail enough now to be blown away by a puff of wind. Even from a distance, Jake could see the deeply creviced face and the clawlike hand that clutched the front of her black jacket. She hardly seemed strong enough to wield the kind of power that had gotten him fired from the police department, but Jake knew her appearance was deceiving. At eighty-five, Iris Kingsley was still as tough as nails. And still very powerful.
A shadow stirred behind her, and Iris turned to say something over her shoulder. Then the shadow stepped forward, into the sunlight, and Jake’s breath caught in his throat.
Hope.
She was still living in the Kingsley mansion. Jake had harbored some notion that after Andrew’s death, she might move out, might even go back to her old neighborhood, where her mother still lived. But such hadn’t been the case. She was still a Kingsley, and Jake would be a damned fool to ever forget that fact.
As with Iris, the months since Andrew’s death had taken a toll. Hope looked too thin and too pale in the subdued navy dress she wore. Her straight, brown hair was pulled back from her face, giving her features a gauntness that wasn’t altogether unattractive. She had the appearance of a woman who needed taking care of, and Jake wished like hell he wasn’t having the thoughts he was having.
She didn’t notice him at all. He was just a workman in the gardens, not worthy of her or Iris Kingsley’s attention. Both of their gazes were glued to the car, and in a moment, the door opened and a man climbed out.
The car was parked at such an angle that the women couldn’t see his face, but Jake could. The man glanced in his direction. Their gazes collided, and the impact was almost like a physical blow. Jake stood for a moment, too stunned to react.
The man looked exactly like Andrew Kingsley. Exactly.
The blue eyes, the dark hair, the arrogant set of his features—all the same.
Even the contemptuous glance he threw Jake was enough to send a cold chill down Jake’s spine. It was almost as if his nemesis had come back to life. But that was impossible. Andrew Kingsley was dead, and this man…this man…
No wonder Iris had agreed to see him so quickly. He must have sent her a picture of himself. His amazing resemblance to Andrew would naturally pique her interest.
With a curious little smile, the man turned and started walking toward the mansion, his shoulders squared, his gait confident. Jake shifted his gaze to Hope, studying her expression. He saw her eyes widen with the same shock he’d experienced seconds earlier.
Then, as the man drew closer, shock turned to wonder, and Jake’s heart twisted unexpectedly. He saw her lips move, forming Andrew’s name, as she took a tentative step toward the stranger.
* * *
“MY NAME IS MICHAEL Eldridge. But, of course, you already know that.” The stranger smiled down at Iris, then turned to encompass everyone in the room, his dark blue gaze resting for an instant on Hope.
Her face heated as she remembered the moment outside when she’d said Andrew’s name and started toward him only to stop short when he’d stared at her with eyes that held not the slightest bit of recognition.
He was seated on the white brocade sofa beside Iris. Grouped around him were Edward Kingsley—Andrew’s father—Edward’s wife, Pamela, and her son, Jeremy Willows. Hope remained on the fringes of the conversation, still unable to resolve the strong emotions she’d felt on first seeing Michael Eldridge. There had been shock, of course, and a sense of wonder that some miracle was taking place right before her eyes. But there had also been something else lurking in her subconscious, a darker emotion she didn’t want to explore.
“Tell us about yourself, my dear,” Iris invited. She wore black, as she had since Andrew’s death, but beneath the severely tailored jacket, she’d donned a blue silk blouse that added softness to her features. Her coloring had always been striking, with her dark blue eyes, pale complexion, and thick, snowy white hair. Her posture was still as straight as a ramrod, her bearing shamelessly arrogant.
The man beside her smiled. “There isn’t much to tell, I’m afraid. As I told you when I called, I’m a stockbroker in Houston. I was raised in a series of foster homes after my mother abandoned me when I was five years old. I don’t remember her. I don’t remember anything about my real parents at all, and to be honest, I’ve never been all that curious. I guess I just thought if they’d wanted me…” He broke off, shrugging.
“Well, anyway, after your grandson died, someone showed me his picture in the paper. I was…shocked, to say the least. And I felt an immediate…connection with him. I can’t really explain it. It wasn’t just because we looked so much alike. It was more than that. When I stared at his picture, I felt as if I’d…known him. And I felt this deep, terrible sense of loss….”
No one said anything. They were all spellbound by his story, Hope included.
He cleared his throat, as if made self-conscious by his confession. “I started making some inquiries to try and learn all I could about your family. You may find this hard to believe, but I had no idea who the Kingsleys were. When I found out that you all are practically royalty in these parts…” His smile turned self-deprecating. “Well, I don’t mind admitting, it was a bit daunting.”
“I can imagine,” Pamela Kingsley murmured, smoothing the skirt of her turquoise silk dress. Sunlight caught the diamonds around her throat and both wrists as she perched on the arm of her husband’s chair, one hand resting on his shoulder. “It isn’t every day one learns he might be the sole heir to a considerable fortune.”
Michael stared at her, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t blame you. You only have my word that I didn’t come here to lay claim to your family’s fame and fortune. But I’ve actually done quite well for myself. I don’t really need your money, and I’ve never been one to crave the limelight. The reason I’m here is because—” He broke off again, seemingly at a loss for words. Then he turned back to Iris. “The reason I’m here is because I couldn’t stay away. Can you understand that?”
She smiled and took his hand. “Yes, I believe I can.”
Hope watched the exchange worriedly. For all her wealth and power, Iris was as fragile as a wounded bird. She was extremely vulnerable right now, and Hope knew she could easily be hurt.
It was for precisely that reason that Hope had remained on here after Andrew’s death. In the days and weeks following the accident, Iris had begged her not to move out of the mansion. She was Iris’s last tie to Andrew, and her despair had been so great that Hope was afraid to upset her any further. To make matters worse, Iris’s doctor had warned the family that her heart might not be able to take any more stress.
And so Hope, realizing it was the worst thing in the world she could do for herself, had agreed to stay with Iris for a little while longer. But days had turned into weeks, weeks into months, and here she was, no closer to moving out and starting a new life for herself than she had been the night she’d asked Andrew for a divorce.
The night he died.
As the voices droned on around her, Hope turned to look out the window, which faced the front lawn and gardens. Her gaze took in the lush, manicured grounds, the colored fountains, the marble sculptures, and she realized with something of a shock, that she was searching for Jake McClain.
Ever since he’d moved in with his father, she’d caught glimpses of him on the grounds. He’d been out there earlier, when Michael had first arrived, and Hope had seen him out of the corner of her eye.
It had taken all her willpower not to turn and stare at him. He’d been working in the gardens, and Hope could still picture the way he looked, standing there shirtless in the sunlight, his low-slung jeans hugging his lean hips and thighs.
With an effort she turned her attention back to the gathering, and started. From across the room, Michael Eldridge was staring at her so intently, it almost took Hope’s breath away.
My God, she thought. He does look exactly like Andrew.
From his vantage, he had an unobstructed view of Hope and the window behind her. As his gaze deepened, Hope had the strangest feeling that he knew exactly what she’d been doing—whom she’d been looking for—and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.
A shiver raced up Hope’s spine at the way his thick lashes hooded his blue eyes, giving them a dark intensity that was disturbingly familiar.
Their gazes clung for a long moment as Hope’s heart pounded and her mind whirled in confusion. Who was this man who looked enough like her dead husband to be him? Who was this stranger who seemed to know her innermost thoughts, her deepest, darkest secrets?
After what seemed an eternity, the man’s gaze shifted to Edward, who was speaking quietly to Iris.
Edward was a younger, weaker version of his mother, with the same white hair, the same deep blue eyes, and the same arrogant demeanor. But where his mother had retained her slender physique, her elegant beauty, Edward’s good looks, at sixty, had succumbed to the desecration of his vices. His eyes were shadowed and puffy, his jowls sagged, and his once-muscular body had grown soft and cumbersome.
To look at him now, one would never have guessed he had once been a powerful man in this state, a governor over thirty years ago who had been on the short list to run for vice president. But then, after two terms as governor, he had retired from politics, much to Iris’s keen disappointment, and had discreetly gone about the business of destroying himself.
All this Hope had learned from Andrew, who had never been close to his father. And he’d always despised his stepmother, Pamela, and her son, Jeremy Willows. “Parasites,” he’d called them in kindness. “Bloodsuckers,” when he was particularly aggravated by something one of them had said or done.
As Hope glanced at Pamela and Jeremy now, she wondered what they thought of this new development—a man looking exactly like Andrew appearing out of the blue to claim his rightful place in the family; a man who might very well be the sole Kingsley heir.
A position Jeremy had wanted for himself, Hope reflected, taking in the deep scowl on his face as he stood at the fireplace, away from the rest of the family. He looked the part of heir-apparent in his custom-made suit and expensive Italian loafers, but he was still an outsider, even after all these years, and no one knew that better than Jeremy.
“We’ll have to have some sort of verification,” Edward was saying. “There are tests….”
“Edward.” Iris’s tone held a note of warning, as if she were telling her son, Stay out of this. I’ll handle it. “It’s premature to be speaking of tests. This visit is so we can all become acquainted.”
“No, he’s absolutely right, Mrs. Kingsley,” Michael said earnestly. “The sooner we find out the truth, the better for all of us.” He turned to Edward, the man who might be his father. “I’m perfectly willing to submit to any tests you want, sir. Hypnosis, polygraph, even DNA. Although that might be difficult, considering we would need a sample of Adam’s DNA.”
Hope, who had remained quiet and introspective the entire time, surprised herself now by speaking up. “It might not be as difficult as you think. Since Andrew was Adam’s identical twin, his DNA would be a virtual match, wouldn’t it?”
Michael’s blue gaze met hers, and for just an instant, Hope felt the man’s intensity, his displeasure, then it was gone, replaced by a wan smile. “But Andrew’s dead. That’s how I came to realize I might be his brother. As I said, I saw his picture in the paper and saw how much we looked alike.”
“Yes, I know,” Hope said, refusing to concede to the man’s melancholy charm as easily as Iris had. “But Andrew went in for a physical the day before he died. The lab might still have his blood specimen. And if not, I believe the hospital took a sample the night he died.”
“If that’s true, Victor would be able to make all the necessary arrangements,” Edward said.
“Why not let Jeremy look into it?” Pamela suggested.
“I’d be happy to do whatever I can,” Jeremy murmured.
“Nonsense,” Iris declared. “Victor is like family, and he has a great deal of experience in these matters. Not to mention his discretion,” she added unkindly, but didn’t see, as Hope did, Jeremy’s angry blush at her insinuation. Iris had already turned back to Michael. “I’m so glad you came here today. You have no idea how much better I feel, just seeing you.”
He smiled at her. “You’re exactly the way I pictured you after speaking with you on the phone, Mrs. Kingsley.”
“Call me Iris, please. `Mrs. Kingsley’ sounds so formal, and I do hope we’ll become friends. Andrew and I were very close, you know. He was a wonderful man.”
Hope started to turn away, not wanting to hear Iris’s glowing memories of Andrew, which were so different from her own recollections. But her gaze met Michael Eldridge’s, and slowly, almost imperceptibly he winked at her.
Hope stared at him in shock. The action was so much like Andrew that for a moment, the thought crossed her mind again that he was Andrew, perpetrating some elaborate hoax.
* * *
AFTER MICHAEL LEFT, Hope went up to have tea with Iris in her sitting room. As she settled onto a green silk settee, Hope thought again how much she loved this room. So much of the house seemed oppressive and gloomy, with the high-vaulted ceilings, the dark wood paneling, and the ornate, antique furnishings. But this room was sunlit and cheerful, done in gold, ivory and subtle shades of green.
