Cover-Up

Jason shook his head. “I don’t know. Are you absolutely certain you locked that door?”

Emily shrugged. “I thought so. Now I’m not so sure.”

Seeing the way she held herself, arms wrapped across her chest, he locked the door to her office and crossed to her side.

“What are you doing?”

Without a word, he gathered her close, pressing his mouth to a tangle of hair at her temple. Then he scooped her up and started into one of the examining rooms. He kicked the door shut and lowered his mouth to hers.

He murmured against her lips, “I’ve always found the best way to ponder a mystery is by doing something to divert attention.”

“I see. Is that all I am? A diversion?”

He kissed her long and slow and deep, until heat rose up between them. “The best.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another month of excitement and romance. Start your reading by letting Ruth Langan be your guide to DEVIL’S COVE in Cover-Up, the first title in her new miniseries set in a small town where secrets, scandal and seduction go hand in hand. The next three books will be coming out back to back, so be sure to catch every one of them.

Virginia Kantra tells a tale of Guilty Secrets as opposites Joe Reilly, a cynical reporter, and Nell Dolan, a softhearted do-gooder, can’t help but attract each other—with wonderfully romantic results. Jenna Mills will send Shock Waves through you as psychic Brenna Scott tries to convince federal prosecutor Ethan Carrington that he’s in danger. If she can’t get him to listen to her, his life—and her heart—will be lost.

Finish the month with a trip to the lands down under, Australia and New Zealand, as three of your favorite writers mix romance and suspense in equal—and irresistible—portions. Melissa James features another of her tough (and wonderful!) Nighthawk heroes in Dangerous Illusion, while Frances Housden’s heroine has to face down the Shadows of the Past in order to find her happily-ever-after. Finally, get set for high-seas adventure as Sienna Rivers meets Her Passionate Protector in Laurey Bright’s latest.

Don’t miss a single one—and be sure to come back next month for more of the best and most exciting romantic reading around, right here in Silhouette Intimate Moments.

Yours,

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Editor

Cover-Up

Ruth Langan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RUTH LANGAN

is an award-winning and bestselling author. Her books have been finalists for the Romance Writers of America’s (RWA) RITA® Award. Over the years, she has given dozens of print, radio and TV interviews, including Good Morning America and CNN News, and has been quoted in such diverse publications as The Wall Street Journal, Cosmopolitan and The Detroit Free Press. Married to her childhood sweetheart, she has raised five children and lives in Michigan, the state where she was born and raised. Ruth enjoys hearing from her readers. Letters can be sent via e-mail to ryanlangan@aol.com or via her Web site at www.ryanlangan.com.

For my sisters,

Pat Brodzik and Margaret Griffith, with love.

And, of course, for Tom. Always.

Acknowledgments

I wish to thank Dr. Scott Lewis and Melissa Lee of Premier Internists for their valuable assistance.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Prologue

Devil’s Cove, Michigan—1981

The boy plunged blindly through the woods, unmindful of the blackberry brambles that snagged his bloody T-shirt and ragged jeans. He barely noticed that it was raining, as the moss of the forest sucked at the soles of his sneakers, slowing his progress. He was desperate to reach his secret place. He’d come upon it by accident one day, when he’d been fleeing his father’s drunken fury. A tiny cave, formed between two giant boulders. Just big enough for a small boy to hide and lick his wounds, safe from a world of violence.

There had been plenty of violence in Jason Cooper’s young life. Whenever his father got liquored up, he came home itching for a fight. In the past he’d taken out his temper on his timid, frightened wife. But lately eight-year-old Jason had decided to become his mother’s champion. Now his father got his kicks knocking his son around until he tired of the sport and passed out on the floor.

Jason’s breath was coming in short bursts as he stumbled into his sanctuary and dropped to his knees.

At the realization that he wasn’t alone his head came up sharply. “Who’re you?”

The girl sat hunched against the far corner of the cave. Her white shorts and camp shirt were streaked with mud. Her knees, he noticed, were bloody. In her arms was a sleeping puppy.

“Emily. Emily Brennan. What’s your name?”

“Jason Cooper.” He glowered at her, annoyed at this intrusion. After all, this was his spot. His. He resented having to share it with anyone. “A tourist?”

The little town of Devil’s Cove was littered with them during the summer. Visitors who flocked to the pretty beaches along the edge of Lake Michigan, ate in the fancy restaurants, shopped in the pricey gift shops. They clogged the highways and put money into the hands of local merchants. And, he thought bitterly, bought his father whiskey.

She shook her head, sending a honey-colored ponytail swinging. “I live in town.”

“You’re lost then?”

Again that shake of the head. “I just wanted to get out of the rain.”

“What’re you doing here in the woods?”

“I was trying to catch Buster.” She looked adoringly at the puppy in her arms. “Mr. Mulvahill called him the runt of the litter and said he was going to drown him. But Buster ran off before anyone could catch him. So I came after him.”

“That’s pretty dumb. Why didn’t you let him run away?”

“Dogs can’t survive in the forest.”

“They can’t survive drowning either. You bring him back, he’s just going to be killed.”

She shivered and tightened her grasp on the bundle of fur. “I’m taking him home as soon as the rain stops. My family will let me keep him.”

“Want to bet? Parents don’t like strays. They’ll probably just take him back to the Mulvahills.”

“No, they won’t.” She gave a vigorous shake of her head. “Not when I tell them what Mr. Mulvahill plans to do. They’ve already let me keep two cats and a bunny. They won’t say no to a little puppy.”

The small, caramel-colored pup woke up and yawned, then licked her face. With a smile she brushed a hand over its head, then looked at the boy. “Want to pet him?”

He scuttled closer and touched a hand to the downy softness. And felt the first ragged edge of anger begin to slip away. “He’s ugly.”

“No, he isn’t. He’s just dirty. I’ll clean him and he’ll look just fine. You’ll see.” After a few minutes Emily reached into the pocket of her shorts and unwrapped a package of cheese crackers. “Want some?”

He helped himself to a couple and the two of them chewed in contented silence.

She glanced at the blood staining his shirt. “You’re all wet. And you’ve cut yourself.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Up close he found himself looking into wide honey eyes. Trusting eyes, he thought. As trusting as the puppy’s. “What’d you do to your knees?”

She glanced down and shrugged. “Fell over a log.”

“Won’t your folks be mad about all that mud?”

“Uh-uh.” Again that toss of the head, sending her ponytail swinging. “Poppie says I’m always coming home looking like I fought with a bear.”

“Who’s Poppie?”

“My grandfather. But Bert says whoever I fight with, I’ll always win.”

“Who’s Bert?”

“My grandma.”

“You call your grandmother Bert?”

“Everybody does. We live with my grandparents.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. We just always have.” She offered him more crackers, and when he refused, she placed three in his hand before popping the last three into her mouth.

Maybe it was her sense of fairness. Or maybe it was simply the calm way in which she accepted him. Whatever the reason, Jason felt more anger begin to dissipate in her company. “We moved here a month ago.”

“I’m glad.” She gave him a wide smile that put sunshine to shame. “We can be friends.”

Before he could answer she glanced at the entrance of the cave. “Rain’s stopped.” She got to her feet. “I’d better get Buster home. Want to come?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse. But he found he didn’t want to be alone just yet. Odd, since he’d always preferred his own company to that of others. “Sure. How far’s home?”

“Not far.” She led the way outside and held the pup close to her chest as she tramped through the woods.

When they reached the edge of town, Jason expected Emily to lead him toward the converted cottages and trailer parks that dotted the working-class section of town. Instead she turned to the mansions that sat in a row along the water’s edge.

She started up the driveway of a sprawling white house with a sign that read The Willows.

Jason held back. “You live here?”

She nodded. “Come on.”

Though he had his doubts that he’d be welcome, he couldn’t resist the urge to see how such people lived.

“Hi, Em. What have you got there?” A red-haired, freckled imp looked up from a glass-topped patio table where she sat drawing.

“A puppy. This is Jason. That’s my sister, Sidney.”

“Hi, Jason.” The imp grinned and returned her attention to her watercolors.

“Sidney.” He was still staring at her and nearly tripped over another imp, this one carrying a hose and with wet blond bangs dripping into her eyes.

“Out of my way,” she shouted. “Poppie needs my help in the garden.”

As she raced past them Emily called, “Hannah, say hi to Jason.”

“Hi.” A chubby fist was raised before she disappeared around the corner of the house.

“You got any more sisters?”

“Just Courtney. She’s probably down at the water’s edge. That’s all of us. And my mom and dad and Bert and Poppie.”

His stomach clenched at the thought of so many people. But to his amazement, he was accepted without question when he walked inside. After quick introductions to her grandmother and the housekeeper, he and Emily were sent off to locate a box and blanket for the puppy.

Minutes later, while they chose a cozy spot in the kitchen for Buster, Emily’s grandmother asked the housekeeper, Trudy, to make them lemonade.

After polishing off two tall glasses, Bert gestured toward the laundry room. “Time to wash off that mud, you two.”

She stood watching as they scrubbed, then handed them fluffy yellow towels. When she spotted the blood on Jason’s shirt, the old woman held out a hand. “Give me that and I’ll have Trudy wash it before you go home.”

He gave a quick shake of his head. “No need. My ma’ll see to it.”

“You may need a little disinfectant. That’s a lot of blood.”

The lie came easily. “I fell off my bike.”

“All the more reason to take a look at that cut.” Before he could argue the housekeeper was there beside them, tugging off his shirt.

“Mother of God…”

He was too young to know about the scars that crisscrossed his back. But he was aware of the sudden silence and glanced up in time to see the look Trudy exchanged with Emily’s grandmother before applying ointment ever so gently.

Bert insisted on feeding him. An egg salad sandwich. A frosty glass of milk. A banana. And when he was leaving, she asked the housekeeper to send along a handful of chocolate chip cookies for his walk home.

For an eight-year-old boy who had never known tenderness, this day had been like a soothing balm. One he would never forget. And though he was intrigued by the kindness of the old woman in the wonderful white mansion, it was her granddaughter with the bloody knees, the smile of an angel and a fondness for strays who had completely captured his heart.

Chapter 1

The fog rolled in, blanketing the entire shore, forcing the boats that were caught in it to use their sonar devices to avoid the treacherous rocks that lay in wait for them. That deadly combination of fog and rocks had been the reason seventeenth-century sailors had given this area the name Devil’s Cove. The skeletons of shipwrecks that lay on the lake’s floor were a reminder of deadlier times, and had become a haven for divers searching for treasures. The town had seen its share of pirates, paupers, playboys and charlatans. And though Devil’s Cove was now a prosperous resort town, with restored mansions and upscale shopping and dining, there remained about it an aura of mystery and intrigue.

As morning sunlight burned off the last wisps of fog, the town seemed to spring to life, ready for another day of surprises for those who called it home.

Jason Cooper turned the rental car off the highway at the top of the hill and switched off the ignition before stepping out. Below him, the houses, streets and parks of Devil’s Cove were clearly visible. There was Devil’s Cove High School sporting a new track and football field. The Methodist church on the corner of Park and Main looked as regal as ever. A memorial for sailors lost in the Great Lakes sat in the park in the center of town. The grass was neatly trimmed and decorated with American flags and red, white and blue flowers in pretty pots.

He breathed in the familiar scents of water and earth and forest and realized his heart was pounding. Home. And yet not home. This hadn’t been home for him in more than ten years. When he’d lived here, all he’d thought about was running away. It didn’t matter where he went, as long as he got as far away from Devil’s Cove as possible. And yet here he was, back where it had all started.

Though much of it looked the same, it was plain that there had been tremendous growth in this area since he’d been gone. The steady hum of construction equipment could be heard in the distance, and he could see that much of the pristine forest had been carved into roads leading to housing developments.

He’d often wondered how long it would take for people to discover the beauty of this northern Michigan playground. The lure of clear lakes and pine forests made the land far too valuable to remain farmland forever.

He climbed back into the car and headed toward town. Up ahead he saw the Harbor House. As he drove along the curving ribbon of driveway and waited for someone to take his bags, he steeled himself against the wave of feelings that nearly overwhelmed him.

He was here, he reminded himself, because he chose to be. If he changed his mind tomorrow and decided to get the hell out, there was nobody who could stop him.

As the valet took his car keys he strode inside the Harbor House and registered for his room. Without bothering to unpack, he made his way to the dining room. What he needed was good food and hot coffee. Then he’d see the town at his leisure.

“Well, well.” Hannah Brennan, in ragged jeans and T-shirt, looked up from the salad she was tossing to grin at her sister, Emily. “I see you always manage to get rid of your patients just in time for lunch, Doctor. Do you just leave them waiting in the sick room?”

“Too easy. I drug them and leave them locked in the examining room. They’ll never even miss me.” Emily plucked a tomato wedge from the bowl and popped it in her mouth. “I see by the conditions of those jeans that you’ve been digging in the dirt again, baby sis.”

“Comes with the territory. I’m finishing up Dr. Applegate’s flower beds. Lucky for you, I scrubbed my fingernails before tackling this salad.”

“Thank heaven for small favors.”

“You’re welcome. I know what a fanatic you doctors can be about clean hands.”

Emily paused a moment to study the scene of controlled chaos on the patio. Her grandfather muttering as he wrestled with a foot-long salmon he was about to grill. Her grandmother untangling the fasteners on the patio umbrella. Her mother parceling out chores like a general, while her sisters made themselves useful. And underfoot an array of pets left over from Emily’s childhood passion for strays. An ancient gray-and-white tabby with a missing ear dozing in a pool of sunlight. A brown mutt with oversize paws that Emily had rescued from a Dumpster during her internship at University Hospital. A pair of white rabbits that had been found on the Brennan porch a few weeks after Easter, presumably left there by parents who had made a hasty purchase and knew which bleeding hearts would be willing to give them shelter.

It was a scene Emily had been enjoying since she was born. The Brennan family had lived in this big house for three generations. Their home, The Willows, was part of a wonderful collection of turn-of-the-century mansions that sat along the shore of Lake Michigan, hugging the water’s edge like faded dowagers.

Emily’s grandparents had bought the house more than fifty years ago, and had immersed themselves in the life of the community. Her grandfather, Frank Brennan, was a retired judge and gentleman farmer, though his gardens now contained flowers instead of vegetables. He spent every spare moment working on his inventions, though no one could recall one that served any particular purpose other than to amuse him.

His wife, Alberta, an English teacher whom the family affectionately called Bert, had been a fixture at the local high school for four decades. Her announcement that she was retiring had left the community, and her family, stunned.

Bert was a sea of calm in this stormy, volatile family of achievers. Emily glanced at her with affection. If the world were coming to an end, her grandmother would find something soothing to say about it.

When her son Christopher had returned from a medical internship in Chicago with his bride Charlotte, called Charley by all who knew her, a wing had been added to The Willows for the newlyweds. Chris and his beautiful Charley had quickly been absorbed into the house, and into the community as well. Chris established himself as town doctor, and had built a clinic in the rear of the house. Charley raised their four daughters while starting her own real estate firm, which now routinely handled the sale of million-dollar houses being built on the few remaining parcels of waterfront land.

“I’m glad you could get away to join us for lunch, Em.” Charley was wrapping vegetables in foil, crimping the edges to hold the moisture before placing them on the grill.

“I wouldn’t miss it. Especially today.” Emily crossed the brick-paved patio furnished with a mix of contemporary wrought-iron furniture and comfortable heirloom wicker pieces that her sister Courtney had found for her grandparents on her last buying trip to Europe. Courtney owned a gift shop in town, and lived in the tiny apartment above it. Her impeccable taste was reflected in the pots of geraniums and ivy offering bright islands of color on the terraced lawn that sloped to the water’s edge.

Emily smiled at the sight of her sister Sidney arranging pale-pink roses and baby’s breath in a vase. To an artist like Sid, the color, the symmetry, the beauty of the presentation, were as essential as the food they would eat. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise Emily to learn that her sister simply forgot to eat for days at a time. How else did she explain that tiny figure?

“It’s a grand day, isn’t it?” Bert continued setting the table with colorful napkins and pretty crystal plates.

All that was missing to complete this cozy picture, Emily thought with a quick flash of pain, was her father. When she’d left Devil’s Cove to pursue a medical career at University Hospital, he’d been so proud that one of his children was following in his footsteps. It had never occurred to her that he wouldn’t be around for years to offer sage advice.

Emily had thought her days in her grandparents’ house, like those of her three sisters, would consist mainly of occasional visits. Yet here she was keeping a deathbed promise to her father to carry on his practice until a replacement could be found, and living once again in her childhood home.

It hadn’t been easy giving up her hard-won independence. Still, her family seemed to understand, and worked hard at giving her the space she needed to make the adjustment.

Her grandfather looked up from the grill. “Emily, we could use those fine surgeon’s hands to fillet this salmon.”

That brought a round of laughter from the others.

Though Frank Brennan had traded in his judicial robes for a golf shirt and casual slacks more than a dozen years ago, he still had a commanding courtroom presence, which he used to his advantage whenever it suited him.

Emily joined in the laughter. “I always knew my medical training would come in handy for something, Poppie.” Her childhood nickname for him rolled easily off her tongue.

“That’s my girl.” He brushed a kiss over Emily’s cheek as she picked up a knife and neatly sliced through the fish.

He arranged the fillets on the grill and was rewarded by the hiss and snap of the fire as they began to cook.

“Trudy,” he bellowed, and turned to find their housekeeper standing right behind him. “Why do you always sneak up on me like that?”

“I don’t sneak.” Trudy Carpenter was as wide as she was tall, with big capable hands and a voice, after a lifetime of smoking three packs a day, that sounded like a rusty hinge. Her face was deeply lined, her hair the color and texture of cotton balls.

His tone was accusing. “You blindsided me.”

“Easy enough to do, since you never look before hollering.” The old woman sniffed and held out a tray of glasses. “Judge, Miss Bert says you’re to drink a tall glass of water before lunch.”

“Let Bert drink the water.” He picked up a tumbler of his favorite Scotch and winked at his granddaughter before lifting it to his lips.

“Beats me why you always try to fight it.” Emily gave him a quick nudge with her elbow. This was an argument these old people had been waging for a lifetime. One they seemed to thoroughly enjoy. “You’ll just have to drink the water later.”

“Later is better than now.” He grinned. “I’ll have food in my stomach later.”

Overhearing him, Hannah gave a throaty laugh. “You’d better hope you never have to give Poppie any medicine, Em. If you think he’s finicky about water, wait till you see him try to swallow something nasty.”

Emily grinned. “I’ll make sure it’s cherry-flavored, like the medicine we give the children.”

“That’ll work,” his wife called from across the patio. “Since he’s just a big kid at heart.”

“And you like me that way, Bert.” He blew her a kiss before turning the salmon, all the while muttering that he needed to invent a better spatula.

His family had no doubt that would be his next project.

When the fish was ready, he transferred it to a platter and the family took their places around the glass-topped table. Frank Brennan was in his favorite wicker chair, sporting the contented look he always wore when surrounded by his women. His handsome Irish face was deeply creased with laugh lines. His lion’s mane of white hair showed off his ruddy complexion, made even deeper by the summer sun.