Читать книгу The Brother's Wife - Amanda Stevens - Страница 8

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.

A discreet knock on the door was followed by the entrance of a uniformed maid carrying a silver tea service on an ornate tray. The tea was poured, and Iris took a tentative sip from a delicate porcelain cup, then dismissed the maid with a satisfied nod.

As if in silent accord, the two women set aside their cups and turned to face each other. Iris had removed her suit jacket, and the blue silk blouse brought an unexpected sparkle to her eyes. She even wore a hint of blush, Hope noticed, or were the roses in the older woman’s cheeks natural? Iris had been so pale and listless since Andrew’s death. The vital woman sitting before Hope now seemed almost a stranger.

Before Hope had a chance to speak, Iris lifted her hand, which appeared steadier than it had in months. “I know what you’re about to say. Edward has already been in to see me, and I suspect Jeremy will be up before dinner. If he can muster the courage,” she added scornfully. “Let me assure you, as I did my beloved son and his wife, that I have no intention of making Michael Eldridge my heir until we have conclusive proof he is my grandson.”

Hope smiled at the woman’s forthrightness. No need beating about the bush with Iris. “I’m glad to hear that. Although I’m less worried about your will than I am about your heart. I don’t want to see it broken again.”

The old woman’s face crumpled for a moment, as she remembered Andrew’s death. She turned away until she’d regained her composure, then once again met Hope’s gaze. “Do you think he’s another impostor?”

Hope shrugged. “I don’t know. There’ve been so many. Especially since Andrew died.”

Iris drew a long, weary breath. “But none of them looked the way he does. Did you see his eyes, Hope? He’s a Kingsley. I’d stake my life on it.”

That was exactly what Hope was afraid of. “I think we should reserve judgment until we find out more about him.”

“He’s agreed to the DNA testing,” Iris reminded her.

“Yes, and hopefully, that’ll give us the proof we need. But those kinds of tests sometimes take weeks, I understand. In the meantime, you could have an investigator check him out—”

“No.”

Hope looked at the older woman in concern. “Why not? Surely you want to find out all you can about this man.”

Iris’s chin lifted in the arrogant, stubborn manner the family had seen too little of in the past few months. “I don’t want a stranger poking around in our affairs and compromising our privacy. I want this kept as quiet as possible. You know as well as I do what the media would do with a story like this. No matter what kind of life Michael has led, they would twist things to make it sound sordid, perhaps even criminal. Look at what they tried to do to poor Andrew. It wouldn’t be fair to Michael. Besides…” Her blue eyes grew even more determined. “I already know the truth about him. All I have to do is look at him.”

Hope leaned forward, taking Iris’s hand in hers. “I know he looks like Andrew. Enough like him to be his twin brother. But looks can be deceiving.”

“But he’s exactly like Andrew. The way he walks. The way he talks, laughs, smiles. Oh, Hope.” Iris’s grip tightened with surprising force on Hope’s hand. “Don’t you see? It’s as if Andrew’s come back to us.”

* * *

THAT NIGHT HOPE couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, unable to get the image of Michael Eldridge out of her mind. His striking resemblance to Andrew had brought back so many painful memories. She couldn’t forget the way Andrew had looked the last time she’d seen him, the anger and hurt in his blue eyes as she’d lashed out at him. The cruel set of his mouth as he’d smiled down at her, taunting her.

In the stillness of the night, their last argument seemed to echo against the walls of the bedroom they’d shared for nearly a decade. Unable to stand the torment any longer, Hope got up and crossed the room, opening the French doors to the mild April night. She stepped onto the balcony that overlooked the rear gardens, trying to distance herself from the room and from the memories.

And from the guilt.

The sky was still and clear, with a sprinkling of stars and a full moon that silvered the aquamarine surface of the swimming pool. The scent from the wisteria near her window wafted on the evening breeze, and through the trees, Hope could see the flickering light from the groundskeeper’s cottage where Jake’s father lived. Where Jake was staying. She wondered if he was there now.

She closed her eyes as Andrew’s last words came back to haunt her.

“You’ve never gotten over him,” he’d accused her. “Why don’t you just admit it? You still love him. That’s why you want a divorce.”

“This isn’t about Jake,” Hope had said wearily, placing a stack of sweaters inside the open suitcase on their bed. Andrew sat across the room from her, sprawled in a chair by the window. His dark, brooding gaze followed her every move. “It never was about Jake, except in your mind. We could have had a good marriage, Andrew. I did love you. Once. But you never gave us a chance.”

She’d seen the truth of her words flicker in his eyes, replaced almost immediately by the darkness that had become all too familiar lately. “Like hell. Don’t blame me for this. And don’t try to pretend you’re not running to him. How long has this little affair been going on behind my back?”

Hope met his gaze. “I haven’t seen Jake in years. You know that.”

“Liar.” Andrew sprang up from the chair and strode across the room toward her, as graceful and dangerous as a panther. “He was here the other day. I know you saw him.”

“He came to see you, not me. I didn’t even talk to him.”

But Andrew had seemed not to hear her. He’d already drawn his own conclusions, and nothing she could say would make a difference to him. It never had.

Hope closed the lid of the suitcase and snapped the locks. “There’s no point in trying to reason with you when you’re like this. I’ll call you in a few days when I get settled.”

“Don’t give me that damned icy brush-off of yours. I’m sick of it.” Andrew grabbed her suddenly and spun her around to face him. “Do you think I’ll let you just walk out of here like this? There’s no way I’ll let you go to him. I won’t let him win.”

Hope flung off his hand and glared up at him. “That’s all I am to you, isn’t it? The winner’s prize in this stupid competition you’ve always had with Jake McClain. You’re not a child anymore, Andrew. You don’t have to be jealous of Jake any longer.”

His mouth curled in outrage. “Jealous? Of the gardener’s son?”

“He’s always been more than that and you know it. That’s why you hate him.”

His brows rose in derision. “He’s a cop, Hope. Which is exactly why you broke off your engagement to him, remember?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I remember.”

“He’s nothing,” Andrew spat.

He’s more than you’ll ever be, Hope thought, then realized in horror that she’d spoken the words aloud.

Something changed in Andrew’s eyes, a resolution that was almost as frightening as his anger. “So. The truth finally comes out.”

She couldn’t have said anything that would have wounded Andrew more deeply. Jake McClain had always been a thorn in her husband’s side. The two of them had been playmates as children, fiercely competitive even back then—Andrew with the Kingsley wealth and power backing him, and Jake with nothing more than a chip on his shoulder and a fierce determination to someday get away from the shadow of the Kingsley mansion.

In spite of all the advantages Andrew had grown up with, it was Jake who had become something of a local hero, excelling in athletics in both high school and college. It was Jake who had known exactly what he wanted in life and attacked his ambitions with a vengeance, while Andrew had drifted from day to day, restless and discontented, with no aim in life other than to own the fastest cars and to be seen with the most beautiful women.

It was Jake Hope had fallen in love with, and for that, Andrew had never forgiven her.

“I won’t give you up,” he warned.

“You don’t have a choice,” she retorted. “Our marriage has been over for a long time. Just let it go.”

“I won’t let him have you.” Andrew tried to touch her, but Hope jerked away. His eyes darkened. “I’ll see you both dead first.”

She stared up at him, hating the sight of him, hating herself for the life she’d given up ten years ago. Her anger, always hidden beneath the surface, bubbled over, hot and fierce, before she could stop it. “I’d rather be dead than to stay married to you!” she screamed.

He looked stunned for a moment, then his smile chilled her to the bone. “Careful what you wish for, Hope.”

He turned and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him. Within moments, she heard his car roaring down the driveway, and all Hope could think was that she was glad he was gone. She wished she would never have to see him again.

“Careful what you wish for, Hope.”

As those images once again stormed through her, Hope shivered. The breeze had picked up, stirring the scent of the roses. The sky, clear moments before, was now dotted with clouds. A lacy filigree covered the moon, deepening the shadows in the garden beyond the pool. Suddenly, Hope had the strangest sensation that she was being watched from the darkness.

“Jake?” she whispered, but the night remained ominously silent.

Unsettled by her thoughts, Hope turned and sought the shelter of her bedroom, closing and locking the French doors behind her.