Kingsley Baby Trilogy: The Hero's Son\The Brother's Wife\The Long-Lost Heir (22 page)

Hope felt as if he’d slapped her. A part of her wanted to hate him for it even as another part of her realized she probably deserved it. The last time she and Jake had met face-
to-
face was when he’d come to question her after Andrew’s death.

In the throes of guilt for the terrible things she’d said to her husband on the night he died, Hope had lashed out at Jake, accusing him of trying to exact revenge on a dead man. But in the weeks and months that followed, Hope had come to realize that Jake had been right. Her husband had been a man of secrets. Dark and deadly secrets.

And now another man claiming to be Andrew’s twin brother, a man who seemed to have secrets of his own, had come back into their lives just when Hope thought she might be able to put the past behind her. Now she wondered if she would ever be able to do that.

“Mr. McClain?”

Jake’s father glanced up and smiled. “Miss Hope. What brings you down here?”

Was it Hope’s imagination, or had he cast a furtive glance toward his son?

Jake didn’t look up from his work, but Hope saw his expression darken at the way his father had addressed her. At one time, Gerald McClain had almost been her father-
in-
law, and now here he was, addressing her as though she were the mistress of the manor.

Hope had never felt as uncomfortable with her position in the Kingsley household as she did at that moment. She’d never felt as if she belonged here, amid all this wealth and grandeur, but now she realized she didn’t belong in her old world, either.

Where, exactly, did she belong?

Jake stopped what he was doing and glared at her. “Well? Was there something you wanted, Hope?”

There wasn’t the slightest bit of subservience in his tone. In fact, the way he said her name was almost an insult.

Hope lifted her chin. “I came to have a word with your father.”

Gerald removed his gloves and slipped them in his back pocket. “What can I do for you?”

“Mrs. Kingsley would like to see you. Something about the rock garden. I’m afraid she may have changed her mind,” Hope added apologetically.

Gerald’s face showed not the slightest bit of anger or resentment over the news. Instead he said to Jake, “Just keep working. We’ll have to remove everything and start over anyway.”

Hope lingered for a moment, unsure whether or not she should strive for a note of civility before she left. Jake glanced up, looking as if he wanted to say something to her, but changed his mind with a shrug. He nodded in the direction of the terrace. “Looks like you have company.”

Hope glanced over her shoulder. Michael Eldridge, wearing dark glasses and an Italian-
designer suit, stood on the terrace, staring at the gardens. When he saw Hope, he lifted his hand and waved.

Hope waved back, but she found that she was shivering in the warm April sunlight. She turned back to Jake. “I guess I’d better get back.”

“Yeah.” Something dark flashed in Jake’s eyes. “Looks like he’s waiting for you.”

* * *

W
HEN
H
OPE RETURNED
to the house, Iris announced that the two of them would accompany Michael to a private clinic where Victor Northrup had already made arrangements for a sample of his blood to be taken and sent to Dr. Henry Wu, a leading forensics expert in Boston. Two samples of Andrew’s blood, one provided by his private physician and the other by the Shepherd police, would be sent separately.

Dr. Wu had been the one to discover that the remains in Adam Kingsley’s grave were not Adam’s, so it seemed fitting that he be the one to perform the DNA tests now on the man who might be the
real
Adam.

All the way to the clinic, Hope noticed that Iris never took her eyes off Michael. It was as if the man’s face had mesmerized her, and no wonder. In spite of her uneasiness about him, Hope found herself fascinated by the man as well. His resemblance to Andrew was uncanny, but it wasn’t just his physical appearance that intrigued Hope. His mannerisms, the way he smiled, the way he looked at her were all reminiscent of her dead husband.
Too
reminiscent. Could brothers, even identical twins, who had been raised apart grow up to be so very much alike?

The only difference Hope had been able to discern so far was a scar at Michael’s left temple. She gazed at that scar on the way to the clinic, wondering how he’d gotten it.

A blond receptionist looked up from her work as they entered the lobby of the clinic. The woman was strikingly beautiful with the pale, flawless skin of a Scandinavian ancestor and eyes as blue as the icy North Sea. She smiled at them, but her eyes remained cool and appraising as she waved them toward the waiting room.

In a few moments, a nurse came out and ushered Michael into an examination room, where his blood would be drawn, labeled, and sent to Dr. Wu. Every possible precaution would be taken, they were assured, to prevent any kind of contamination that might compromise the tests.

While they waited, Iris busied herself making calls on her cellular phone, and Hope flipped through a magazine. Once she looked up to find the receptionist gazing at her intently.

Instead of glancing away, as most people would do when caught staring, the blonde continued to gaze at her until Hope was the one who looked away. When she glanced up again, the woman had gone back to her work, but the incident left Hope mystified. It was almost as if the woman knew her from somewhere, but Hope didn’t think that was possible. The blonde’s features were very distinct, not the kind even another woman would forget.

In a few moments, Michael came out of the exam
ination room, rolling down the sleeve of his shirt and fastening the cuff. The doctor followed, assuring them the sample would be sent to Dr. Wu promptly, and that they should have the results in a few weeks.

“Well,” Michael said, slipping into his jacket. “I guess all we can do now is wait.”

Iris smiled as she allowed him to help her to her feet. “We can do more than that,” she said. “We can all three go somewhere and have lunch. It’ll be a celebration.”

“What are we celebrating?” Michael asked indulgently, tucking her arm through his.

Iris’s face looked radiant as she gazed up at him. “That you’ve come back home to us. That we can all be a family again. Isn’t that so, Hope?”

Hope nodded, unable to speak. A tremor of dread coursed through her. Somehow this man who looked so much like her dead husband had already insinuated himself into their lives.

And from the proprietary look in his dark blue eyes as he gazed first at Iris and then at Hope, he was going to do everything in his power to keep it that way.

* * *

T
HAT AFTERNOON
, while his father made plans for the new rock garden—a task Jake decided wouldn’t unduly stress him—Jake went back to the grounds
keeper’s cottage on the edge of the Kingsley estate to shower and change into clean jeans and a white cotton shirt before heading into town to check in at his new office.

The building was near the airport, in an area heavily populated by convenience stores, nightclubs and strip joints—a location that was hardly conducive to attracting the big corporate accounts Jake was interested in, but all he could afford at the moment.

A receptionist in the lobby answered phones for most of the small offices in the building, and as Jake approached her desk, Deanna Logan glanced up with a hopeful smile. It was just before five, and she looked as if she were getting ready to leave for the day. She slipped the gold compact and lipstick she’d been using back inside her purse.

“Hi, Jake. I didn’t think you were coming in today.”

Jake shrugged. “I have some paperwork I need to get caught up on.”

“I tried to beep you earlier.” Deanna’s brown eyes were soft and curious. “But you didn’t call back.”

“I forgot and left my beeper at home. What’s up?”

“I have some messages for you.”

Jake arched a brow. “Bill collectors?”

She grinned. “Not all of them. One sounded like he might be a potential client. Said he’s looking for someone to do a background check for him.”

Jake took the pink message slips, thumbed through them until he found the one he wanted, then looked up with a frown. “He didn’t leave a name or number?”

Deanna shook her head, and the permed waves in her hair rippled in the fluorescent lighting. “Said he’d call back later.”

Right, Jake thought, wadding the messages into a tight ball. More likely he’d gone on to the next name in the Yellow Pages, which brought up an interesting question. McClain Investigations wasn’t listed in the phonebook yet. How had the man found out about him?

“If he calls back before I leave, I’ll put him right through,” Deanna said helpfully.

“You do that.” Jake headed for the elevator.

“Jake?”

He glanced back over his shoulder. Deanna blushed as she curled a strand of brown hair around one finger. “I was wondering. You wouldn’t, uh, like to have a drink or something after work, would you?”

Jake grimaced inwardly. Deanna was a nice girl, and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. He knew she’d developed a crush on him since he’d opened his office, but she was just a kid, probably no more than twenty-
two or twenty-
three. The last thing she needed was to get involved with the likes of him, and the last thing he wanted was an entanglement of any kind.

“Thanks for the offer,” he said. “Best one I’ve had all day. But I have to get to that paperwork.”

She blushed again and glanced down at her desk. “Some other time, maybe.”

“Yeah.” He escaped into the open door of the elevator and punched the button for the third floor.

McClain Investigations was located at the end of a long corridor, with several accounting and insurance firms in between. Most of the businesses were one-
man or one-
woman operations like his, but a few had their own clerical staff, and as Jake walked down the hall to his office, there was a brief
but
intense exodus toward the elevator as workers headed for home or happy hour.

He unlocked his door and flipped on the light switch. The office was small, barely accommodating his desk, two filing cabinets—which did double duty as fax-
machine and coffee
maker stands—and two brown leather chairs, worn but still in good condition. The view from those chairs was somewhat obstructed by the computer monitor on his desk, but Jake had neither the space nor the extra cash for a separate computer desk.

A small storage room contained office supplies, surveillance equipment, and a cot that Jake occasionally used when he stayed late at the office.

Turning on his computer, he settled back in his chair and sorted through the mail that had been inserted through the slot in his door.

“Occupant, occupant, occupant,” he muttered, tossing one unopened envelope after another into the trash. The bills he shoved into his top drawer, out of sight.

As always when he had nothing else to do, and sometimes when he did, Jake opened the Andrew Kingsley file and perused his notes, wondering how much, if anything, Hope knew about Andrew’s association with Simon Pratt. How much she’d known about her husband’s gambling and drinking and, if the rumors were true, his infidelities.

A knock on the door scattered Jake’s thoughts, and he looked up with a frown, wondering if Deanna had come to try and change his mind about the drink. He hoped not, because in his present mood, he might not let her down so easily this time. Hell, he might not let her down at all, and that would be a big mistake. For both of them.

“Come in,” he called.

The door opened and a man with silver hair and a deeply bronzed face stepped inside. He looked to be in his late sixties or early seventies, tall and thin with a regal bearing and expensive attire that suggested he might be one of the well-
heeled corporate clients Jake had been hoping for. But Jake knew that wasn’t the case. He recognized the man.

“Hello, Jake.” The deep, cultured voice contained only the barest trace of a Southern accent, the gray eyes only a hint of the contempt he felt for Jake. “I suppose you’re surprised to see me,” said Victor Northrup.

“Don’t tell me.” Jake sat back in his chair and eyed Northrup warily. “You were in the area and thought you’d drop in. Which really means, you’re here to check out my new office and report back to Iris Kingsley.”

Victor smiled. “She has no idea I’m here, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Something in his tone intrigued Jake, though he had no intention of letting Victor Northrup know that. Northrup was not only Iris Kingsley’s closest friend, but also her attorney. He’d been instrumental in getting Jake fired from the department, and Jake still carried a grudge. He didn’t like the man, and what was more, he didn’t trust him.

Without being invited, Northrup sat down in one of the leather chairs and crossed his legs, apparently at ease. But a slight twitch at the corner of his left eye suggested he might not be as relaxed as he wanted to appear.

Jake came around the desk to lean against the edge, so that the computer monitor wouldn’t be an obstacle. He didn’t want to miss one single flicker of the man’s expression.

“So you’ve gone into the P.I. business, have you?” Northrup glanced around the shabby office. “Business is booming, I see.”

Jake folded his arms. “You don’t hear me complaining, do you?”

Northrup smiled. “You should be. You haven’t had a client since you opened this office four weeks ago. Your reputation precedes you.”

“Thanks to you and Iris Kingsley.”

Northrup shrugged. “I know you believe otherwise, but Iris and I had nothing to do with the review board’s decision to dismiss you.”

“Like hell,” Jake said. “Let’s just cut to the chase here, okay? What do you want?”

Northrup reached inside his pocket, and Jake automatically tensed, his training still deeply ingrained. But instead of a weapon, Northrup withdrew a photograph and handed it to Jake. “Who would you say this man is?”

Jake took the picture and glanced down at the familiar blue eyes, the dark hair, the arrogant smile. He returned the picture to Northrup. “He looks like Andrew Kingsley, but I assume, since you bothered to ask, that he’s the man claiming to be Adam Kingsley.”