Shadow Lover (20 page)

"He's not a teenaged brat anymore, Sally," Carolyn said lightly. "He's not likely to play his old tricks on me."

"No," said Sally. "But he might have new ones." The lighting in the room was too dim, and Carolyn could only hope that Sally couldn't see the color flood her face. "I won't let him bother me," she said. "And I won't leave you."

But Sally had already drifted into a drugged sleep, and Carolyn was trapped.

* * *

Keeping away from Alex turned out to be easier than she had ever expected. By the time she emerged he was up and gone with George and Tessa, in search of the last good days of spring skiing.
Warren
had commandeered the smaller study where Carolyn usually did her bookwork, and she suspected he'd commandeered Sally's checkbook as well, but she couldn't bring herself to care. After all, it would all be his soon enough. She hadn't witnessed Sally's most recent will, but she knew full well what it contained. Generous bequests to Ruben and
Constanza
, and a small, healthy trust fund for Carolyn, enough to cushion some of the harder aspects of life. The bulk of Sally's vast estate was divided in half. One half to her son, the rest to her two siblings, a decision she'd held to even when Alex had been gone for more than a decade.

If Alex had been declared dead the money went to Patsy and
Warren
, of course, after what would undoubtedly be endless legal wrangling. But Carolyn had always expected to be long gone by then, her ties to the family severed with Sally's death.

There was no lock on the library door, but she wedged a chair underneath the doorknob when she went to sleep that night, before the cousins returned from their day of skiing. She could only hope that Alex was just as appalled as she was by what had gone on between them. With any luck he'd be just as dedicated to keeping his distance.

Her luck held for three days. For three days Alex disappeared with his cousins, leaving early, returning home late. For three days Carolyn sat by Sally as she dozed, reading mysteries and trying to keep her mind off Alex. It was only on the fourth night, when they came back a little earlier, that she resorted to hiding.

It was stupid, weak, and totally instinctive. She heard his voice, low, sexy, and Tessa's provocative reply, and without thinking she dove into the darkened kitchen, rather than face him. Face them. Obviously he hadn't given her a second thought from the moment she left his bedroom. For all she knew Tessa was sharing that bed now.

She really ought to find out, she thought with cool determination. After all, if Alex and Tessa were doubling up then that left a perfectly adequate bedroom where Carolyn could sleep, instead of camping out in the library.

She wasn't about to ask, any more than she was going to interrupt their jolly little party. George was in the midst of telling a mildly racist and not very funny joke, and she heard their voices trail away as they mounted the stairs.

She was smart enough not to jump to the conclusion that she was safe. Alex had a habit of checking in on Sally at odd moments—he was perfectly capable of going in to give her a goodnight kiss. Now that she'd faced the inescapable truth, Carolyn couldn't resent him. If she had any sense at all she'd be angry with him for disappearing off to Killington to ski, but she couldn't go that far. Anything that took him out of the house, even if it was away from his mother, was a blessing.

She was hidden in the shadows of the alcove that held the breakfast nook. The moon was bright outside, letting in a fitful light, but even if someone decided they needed a
midnight
snack they probably wouldn't notice her. As long as she stayed perfectly still until the last little creaks of the old house quieted, she would be safe.

Patsy came first, her gait unsteady, humming beneath her breath. She knew where they kept the Stolichnaya, and she'd come equipped with an extra shawl to wrap it in, just in case someone might see her and question her. It was a foolish conceit on her part—everyone knew just how much she drank and no one seemed to mind, as long as she behaved herself. And Patsy, like the true
MacDowell
she was, was always a lady, even when she was
shitfaced
.

Tessa came next, dressed in a silk chemise and nothing else on her perfect body. She went for the freezer, found a pint of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia, grabbed a spoon and took it upstairs with her. She wouldn't need the ice cream if she was sleeping with Alex, Carolyn thought, leaning against the wall, praying for the occupants of the house to settle down. Knowing Tessa, she'd probably eat the entire pint and then make herself throw it up.

She was just about to emerge from the shadows when George came in. He was as scantily clad as his sister, in a pair of silk boxers, and his body was just as perfect. Unlike Tessa, he didn't go for ice cream.
Constanza
was required to keep freshly made carrot juice in the refrigerator at all times. George took the bottle, drank directly out of it, and then set it back with a satisfied belch.

Carolyn slid down onto the floor when he left, hugging her knees to her chest. Go to sleep, she ordered them all, as a new set of footsteps sounded on the stairs.
For God's sake, go to sleep and leave me alone.

At least she was still spared Alex's disturbing presence. She could recognize Uncle Warren's measured tread, precise in his custom-made leather slippers, and she pulled further back into the shadows, closing her eyes for a moment.

"How's Sally doing?" His voice startled her into wakefulness, and for a moment she almost answered, certain he'd spied her huddled in the corner. And then she realized someone else had come into the kitchen.

"The same," Alex said, heading for the refrigerator. He bypassed the carrot juice and took a beer. She could see him far too clearly in the dimly lit kitchen, and she could only stay put, praying he wouldn't see her.

Warren
was still out of sight, somewhere near the door. "I wanted to talk to you."

Alex turned and leaned on the counter, taking a swig of the Heineken. "What about?"

"Don't you think you should make more of an attempt to play the devoted son? Sally doesn't have much time left, and you've been gone every day, gallivanting with your so-called cousins. I would think a display of filial concern would be a wise idea."

"I've been spending time with her before I leave and when I get back, and she's told me she wants me to do things with the rest of the family. You're worrying about nothing—Sally's not having any second thoughts about who I am."

"It's not Sally I'm worried about. It's the others we have to convince."

"I'm busy convincing the others. George and Tessa have no doubts at all that I'm their long-lost cousin, and Patsy's usually too loaded to care."

"They're not the problem. It's Carolyn I'm worried about. She has a surprising amount of power in this family, and with Sally. If you can't manage to fool her, then we're in for some rough sailing."

"Stop worrying. Carolyn's been managed. She's totally convinced I'm the real Alexander
MacDowell
, and all she wants to do is keep as far away from me as possible. She won't put herself in a position to find out the truth."

"I hope you're right. I wouldn't underestimate her if I were you. She's the smartest one in the family, and the only one with any scruples. She's not going to stand by if she even suspects that you're not who you say you are."

"She's convinced, I told you," he said impatiently. "And I didn't know you even considered her part of the family."

There was a strained silence. "She's been with us so long she'd have to pick up some of our traits,"
Warren
said in a strained voice.

"Well, don't worry about her," Alex said, draining his beer and setting it down on the counter. "I've got her completely fooled. At this point she'd swear on a stack of Bibles that I'm the real Alexander
MacDowell
."

"Good,"
Warren
said. "Just make sure you don't do anything to jeopardize it." His footsteps faded away, that same, precise tread.

"Good night,
Uncle
Warren," Alex said in a mocking undertone. And he turned to follow him.

He froze, staring at Carolyn as she sat hidden in the darkness.

She rose, very slowly, not bothering to shield her expression. She moved past him, and he made no attempt to stop her. He could be a very dangerous man for all she knew, but she didn't care. If he touched her she could scream, loud enough to wake the entire house.

But he didn't touch her. He didn't say a word. He simply let her walk out of the kitchen, watching her with no expression whatsoever on his beautiful, remote face.

* * *

Alexander waited until he heard the door to the library close. There was no lock on the door, though she probably wedged a chair beneath the handle. It didn't matter. He could get in through the French doors that led onto the terrace. Locked doors and security systems had never held any particular challenge for him.

But for the moment he couldn't move. Carolyn's expression haunted him. The shock, the pain, the hurt and anger.

And all he could think about was the last time he saw that identical expression. When he'd kissed her goodbye in the back bedroom of the house on

Chapter 13

«
^
»

H
e'd been a hellion all his life, and he knew it. When he was a child Sally had been alternately indulgent and absent, and no one had been able to ride herd on him. From the dubious vantage point of his thirties he could look back and wonder where all that anger had come from. He'd had no father—Sally had always told him her husband had decided he didn't want to be married or have the responsibility of children, and he'd left, severing all ties, never wanting to see either of them.

But hell, other kids had it worse. He had a mother who doted on him, gave him everything he wanted. He had enough extended family to make him secure, he was smart and well coordinated and too damned good looking for his well-being, according to Sally.

But he had been a monster and a half as a kid, and he knew it. Had known it, even as he couldn't help some of the things he'd done. A vein of anger had run through him, so deep and unshakable that nothing he could do would drive it away.

Carolyn had gotten the worst of it. He could still remember the day Sally had brought her home, a solemn, enchanting child, not much more than a baby, looking around her with huge, oddly passive blue eyes, as if she already knew far too well that she was at the mercy of a capricious fate.

Odd, he'd never thought of her as a little sister, and Sally had never encouraged that perception. They had grown up together, with years and a gulf of anger separating them, and he'd always known deep inside that neither of them really belonged.

Maybe that was why he'd tormented her over the years, trashing her dolls, teasing her friends, taunting and torturing her when he had nothing better to do.

That, and the fact that she would look up at him with a mixture of adoration and hurt.

He didn't deserve to be adored, but nothing he did seemed to convince her of that. She was passionately loyal to her family, even though they never chose to make her legally theirs. Passionately loyal to Sally and her devil-child, no matter how badly they treated her.

Not that Sally was ever deliberately cruel. She dispensed a distant, maternal air with democratic charm, and Carolyn had accepted it with pathetic gratitude. It used to piss him off, how she'd drop everything for Sally, putting her life, her interests, in the background.

It pissed him off to come back, eighteen years later, and find she was still doing it.

She deserved better than that. Better than the tepid kind of love Sally dispensed. Love on her terms. He had no doubt at all that Sally really did love her, as much as she was capable. But Carolyn Smith deserved to be loved with reckless passion. She needed to get away from this damned group of selfish bastards who had bled her dry in the name of family.

And he was one of the worst.

At least he'd been able to escape.

The damnable thing was
,
he couldn't remember much of what happened eighteen years ago. He'd stolen a car, and this time his mother was going to have a hard time buying him out of trouble. He could remember the row that night, Sally screaming at him, him screaming back. The house in Edgartown had been full—Patsy had just left her second husband, and she and her three children had taken up most of the second floor.
Warren
was there for the weekend, though he spent most of his time at the Yacht Club, away from the inconvenience of noisy children. He'd heard about Alex's latest fall from grace—it wasn't just any car he'd stolen, but the classic MGB belonging to a retired sportscaster. He could vaguely remember
Warren
's face, pale but splotched with rage, delivering ultimatums in a high-pitched voice.

This time he was going to jail, they told him. This time it was serious, and he was close enough to adulthood that he wouldn't be able to get off with a slap on the wrist. It was past time he learned his lesson.