Shadow Lover (4 page)
She could feel his eyes on her back as she led the way up the wide center staircase. Thank God she'd already managed to strip her borrowed room of all her clothes and belongings. If the imposter knew she'd been sleeping there it would be one more weapon he could use.
She went in ahead of
him,
giving it a last-minute check to make sure no trace of her temporary occupation had remained. Alex paused inside the door, surveying it critically. "She wasn't expecting me back," he said.
Carolyn paused in the center of the room, watching him. "Alex disappeared more than eighteen years ago, and in all that time there's never been any word, any hint that he was even still alive. Aunt Sally is a realistic woman—she accepted the obvious years ago."
That faint, unfamiliar smile twisted his mouth. "And aren't you happy for her?" he asked softly.
She kept her mouth shut, ignoring the unmistakable taunt. "The bed's new, and everything's very comfortable—"
"Who used the room while I was gone?"
"No one important," she said, glad she was able to be completely honest. "Just an occasional guest."
"Why is it filled with chintz and flowers? It doesn't look like Aunt Patsy's style. Too much bare wood. Patsy likes things plush and padded."
She tried not to show how startled she was. He'd done his
homework, that much was certain—he
had the pampered Patsy
MacDowell
down to a tee. "If it's too feminine I can go out and buy some hunting prints," she said in a slightly caustic voice. "Dead animals ought to macho it up a bit."
"Was this your room?"
This time she couldn't hide her reaction. Of course he was well versed—a con man would have to be. He'd need to be observant as well, and she'd probably given it away with the unavoidable tightening of her mouth.
"I was living in
Boston
until Sally got sicker," she said, offering no real answer. She owed the real Alexander
MacDowell
absolutely nothing—she owed his impersonator even less.
Constanza
had wiped out any trace of her presence, and she was back in the small room on the first floor where she'd spent most of her life. "There's a new bathroom off to the left that you should find more than adequate," she said briskly. "I'll have Ruben bring up your suitcases—"
"I can handle it."
He was standing between her and the door, and she had no choice but to look at him dead on.
He could have been Alex. He had the same clear, almost luminous blue eyes, faintly slanted so they had almost a Slavic look, and his sulky, pretty teenaged face could have matured into the starkly elegant bone structure, the high cheekbones and lush, sensual mouth. He could have been Alex, except for one thing.
Alex was dead.
He moved, and she breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief. She didn't want to pass too close to him as she made her exit.
But he didn't move out of the way. He moved closer, coming right up to her. She stood her ground, because she'd learned long ago never to show fear, but this time it was an effort. He was tall. Tall enough to make her feel just slightly threatened. Alex hadn't been that tall, and Alex had been seventeen when he disappeared. He would have reached his full height by then, wouldn't he?
"So I stole your room," he said in his soft, husky voice. "And I stole your place as Aunt Sally's caretaker. It's no wonder you're not welcoming me with open arms."
"I'm not much for open arms in the best of circumstances," she said.
"I bet not," he murmured. "Though I have to admit it's a shame. Are you going to help Uncle Warren prove I'm an imposter?"
"If you are."
"And what do you think, Carolyn?" He was too close. He reminded her eerily of the real Alexander, and it disturbed her, confused her. Made her doubt the truth she'd never been quite sure of in the first place.
It was no wonder he had a powerful effect on her. Only someone who could successfully impersonate the real Alex would have attempted such a masquerade, and the imposter knew all the tricks. All the slight, sensual little habits Alex had had, to make her feel vulnerable, make her feel a strange, despicable kind of longing.
She stared at him stonily, fighting it. "I think that if you hurt Aunt Sally I'll make you wish you'd never tried this."
"Tried what?" His voice was soft, taunting. "What are you going to do to me?"
But Carolyn wasn't going to fall for it, no matter how much he goaded her. She wasn't ready to declare her outright enmity, even if he already recognized it.
"I think you'll be very comfortable here," she said, taking a small step back and moving around him with what she hoped was a politely casual air.
"Oh, I'm sure I will," he said softly. He was deliberately letting her escape, and she knew it. She didn't care—getting away from him was suddenly very important. "If you ever start missing your old room, feel free to visit," he added.
"I'll be fine," she said.
"It's a big bed. I don't mind sharing."
She jerked around, stung beyond endurance. "It'll be a cold day in hell."
He glanced out at the
wintery
landscape. "It already is, Carolyn."
* * *
The man calling himself Alexander
MacDowell
allowed himself a small, wicked grin as the door slammed shut behind the departing Carolyn. He'd been trying to get an honest reaction out of her since she'd first raced into Sally's bedroom, but she'd been impressively, annoyingly in control, unwilling to let her raging disbelief and disapproval surface no matter how he pushed her.
He wondered why. Affection for the woman who'd provided her with a home and a family might have something to do with it. For all that Carolyn Smith seemed to be a calm, slightly repressed young
woman,
she clearly had strong affection and loyalty for Sally
MacDowell
. Perhaps her one weakness.
He knew more about her than she could ever guess. He knew where she'd worked, he knew her friends,
he'd
even seen her apartment near
Beacon Hill
. He knew the names of every man she'd ever slept with. Since that list came to a grand total of three, it wasn't a difficult feat, assuming his sources were reliable. So far they had been, but he was prepared for anything.
She looked at him with cool dislike in her clear blue eyes, and it both annoyed and aroused him. He was going to need an ally in this rambling old house. He was going to need someone he could count on, someone he could use. Carolyn Smith was the obvious, perfect choice.
She wouldn't be easy. But then, few things worth having came easily. If he could make cool, protective Carolyn believe in him, then no one would dare doubt him.
She hadn't responded all that well to his attempts to be wryly charming. She had some unresolved business with the teenaged Alex
MacDowell
, and it probably had something to do with adolescent desires. Alex
MacDowell
had been the quintessential bad boy, raising hell with
a mastery
impressive for one of his youth. And very few women, particularly impressionable adolescent ones, could resist a wickedly charming black sheep. She'd had a crush on young Alex and everyone in the
MacDowell
family had known about it.
The man who'd arrived back at the
MacDowell
compound in southern
The old lady wasn't long for this world—he recognized that fact with calm assurance. He'd seen enough people die to know when someone was living on borrowed time. Sally
MacDowell
would be dead by summer—all her millions and millions of dollars couldn't do a damned thing to stop the inexorable hunger of cancer.
He could make it through that time with no difficulty whatsoever. He was used to manipulating people, to having them do what he wanted. He had a talent for it. Sally would die peacefully, her long-lost son by her side. Carolyn would get her teenaged romantic fantasies fulfilled in the bed she'd unwillingly abandoned. And when he left, all his questions would be answered. He could go back to being plain Sam
Kinkaid
, alone in this world and liking it just fine.
Probably the safest thing might have been to keep his distance from Carolyn Smith. She was a smart woman—he knew that more from looking into her clear blue eyes than from the reams of information passed to him. It didn't matter that she'd graduated from
Bennington
with honors. All she had to do was look at him with that
guarded,
withering expression and he had the sense not to underestimate her.
He'd been carefully primed for all the people he'd find in the
She'd been brought into the
MacDowell
Family when she was a three-year-old foster child, and twenty-eight years later she was back at Sally's side when everyone else had left. What had brought her back to Sally
MacDowell
? Money? Loyalty? Greed?
He had a healthy respect for greed. It was a powerful motivator, one that could be used to his advantage.
He knew why Sally loved her, why the
MacDowells
approved of her. She was essentially an unpaid companion, loyal, unquestioning,
willing
to go to any lengths for her unofficial family.
And she had the one thing all the
MacDowells
considered of primary importance.
She was beautiful.
Odd, how physical beauty was of such value to the extended
MacDowell
family. To start out with, they'd been blessed with extraordinary genes and generous health. And they'd bred wisely. There were no dogs in the
MacDowell
family—even on her deathbed, Sally was a gorgeous creature, with papery-fine, pale skin and dark, beautiful eyes.
Carolyn had been a fitting complement to the glorious
MacDowells
. The photo albums had traced her development from a solemn, delicate toddler through a coltish adolescence. Now she seemed muted, like a fine painting seen through bad lighting, the colors dim and faded. Her clothes were classic, uninspired, hanging on her body with tailored severity that nevertheless seemed to hide her.
He moved over to the window, staring out over the snow-covered landscape. He hadn't been in
He was a man who was more alert than most—he heard the footsteps in the hall outside his door and knew immediately who they belonged to. Ruben's tread was soft soled and discreet;
Constanza's
footstep was sturdy. And there was no way Carolyn was going to come back to this room without an exceptionally good reason.
Alex stretched out on the bed, staring up at the beamed ceiling. It was a comfortable bed, big enough to fit his frame and room to spare. He didn't move when the knock sounded on the door.
"Come in,
Warren
," he said lazily, contemplating the cracks in the ancient beams.
Chapter 3
"
S
orry to intrude, young man,"
Warren
said pompously, moving into the room and eyeing him with disapproval. "But I thought you and I might take this chance to get a few things clear."
Alexander glanced over at the tightly shut door. "Cut the crap,
Warren
," he said lazily. "This isn't '
Mission
: Impossible.' The room isn't bugged; no one is listening to us talk."
Warren
's elegant face creased in dislike. "One can never be too careful," he said, and Alex half-expected him to sniff in disdain.
"The only one doubting me is Carolyn, and I've seen to it she'll keep her distance, at least for the time being."
"I warned you she'd be the hardest one to convince,"
Warren
said. "She's quiet, but she's sharp. And she was closer to the real Alexander
MacDowell
than I was."
The man on the bed smiled lazily. "I'm not worried about it. I think she was half in love with Sally's son when he left. It shouldn't take much to rekindle that feeling."
"Don't be absurd!"
Warren
protested. "She was thirteen years old. She may have had a crush on him, but it was hardly serious. She was far too young to be interested in boys."
"From what you've told me, Alex
MacDowell
wasn't just any boy. And don't underestimate the hormonal urges of puberty. She was probably lusting after him."
