A second chance at first love…

Now Andrew is dead…and an identical stranger has arrived at the Kingsley mansion. He says he’s Adam Kingsley, home after thirty years. But his eyes follow Hope, and he knows secrets only Andrew would know. Has the husband Hope never loved returned to claim her? And how can Jake, the man she never stopped loving, save her?

Previously published

Also available from Amanda Stevens

Mira Books

The Graveyard Queen Series

The KingdomThe RestorerThe Prophet and coming in 2016 The Kingdom

Harlequin Intrigue

The Kingsley Baby SeriesThe Long-Lost HeirThe Brother’s WifeThe Hero’s Son

Gallagher Justice Series

The Littlest Witness

Secret Admirer

Forbidden LoverGallagher Justice

Eden’s Children SeriesThe InnocentThe TemptedThe Forgiven

Quantum Men SeriesHis Mysterious WaysSilent StormSecret Passage

Stranger in ParadiseA Baby’s CryA Man of SecretsThe Second Mrs. Malone

Somebody’s Baby

Lover, Stranger

The Bodyguard’s AssignmentNighttime GuardianSecret Sanctuary

Visit the Author Profile page at www.millsandboon.co.uk for more titles

The Brother’s Wife

Amanda Stevens

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

PROLOGUE

“You look like a desperate man.” The woman slid onto the barstool next to Andrew Kingsley and crossed her long, sleek legs.

He glanced at her appreciatively. She wore a short black dress that looked very expensive, very classy, and very sexy. Her eyes were blue, her hair so blond it was almost white, her oval face pale and flawless.

Her features gave her the illusion of softness, but there was something about her eyes, something simmering beneath the misty blue surface that belied her angelic appearance.

Another time she would have held Andrew’s undivided attention. But not now. Not with the argument he’d had earlier with Hope still ringing in his ears. After ten years of marriage, she wanted a divorce, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. God knew, she had her grounds.

The woman next to him swiveled on her barstool until the toe of her shoe brushed the back of his leg. “Well, are you?” she persisted.

“Am I what?”

“A desperate man.”

He shrugged. “I guess you could say that.”

She leaned toward him, so close he could smell her perfume, something dark and sensuous. Very seductive. She smiled knowingly. “Let me guess. Your wife kicked you out and you lost your last dime at the track.”

“You must be psychic,” he muttered.

She smiled again. “Not really. But I am very perceptive. My name is Carol, by the way.”

Andrew motioned to the bartender looming nearby. “Carol needs a drink.”

The bartender gave her an approving once-over. “What’ll it be?”

“White wine.”

He brought her wine and another whiskey for Andrew. Scowling, Andrew stared at the drink. He was driving tonight. He usually limited himself to one, no more than two drinks. This would be his fourth, but hell, it wasn’t every night a man lost his wife, his fortune, and maybe even his life, if he couldn’t figure out a way to pay off his gambling debts. He needed this drink badly.

Carol ran a manicured finger around the rim of her wineglass. “So why don’t you tell me your troubles? Maybe I can help.”

“I don’t think you can help me get my wife back,” he said. He didn’t think anyone could do that.

“You might be surprised what I can do.”

“Look. You’re a very attractive woman—very attractive,” he added, his gaze slipping over her. “And I’m sure most any man in this bar would love to tell you his life story. But right now, I’m really not in the mood for conversation.”

She didn’t seem the least bit offended by his brush-off. In fact, Andrew wasn’t sure she’d heard him. Her gaze was glued to the TV mounted over the end of the bar, and she seemed to be listening closely to a news broadcast, something about a policy decision the President had recently made.

“Interesting story,” she murmured.

Andrew lifted his glass. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Don’t you keep up with politics?”

“No more than I have to.”

She frowned, as if his answer displeased her. Hesitating, she said, “Have you ever heard of an organization called the Grayson Commission?”

Andrew shrugged, bored with the conversation. “Can’t say as I have.”

“It’s a group of powerful men and women, some from the business world, some from the political arena, and some from—shall we say?—the underworld, who have banded together to affect government policy from within. They’re always on the lookout for viable political candidates—people who, if elected, would be sympathetic to certain causes.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you.”

He stared at her in astonishment and laughed. “You’re kidding, right? You don’t even know me.” When she didn’t respond, his laughter faded. “Like I said, I’m not the least bit interested in politics.”

“But you are a Kingsley.”

An alarm went off inside him. “How do you know who I am?”

“Everyone in Memphis knows the Kingsleys. I’ve read all about you. Your family has a long and illustrious tradition in politics. Thirty years ago, your grandmother managed to get your father elected governor when his supporters had all but deserted him.”

“If you know your history as well as you say you do, then you know public sympathy put my father in office,” Andrew told her. “The election swayed in his favor when my twin brother was kidnapped, and believed to be killed.”

“Don’t underestimate your grandmother, Andrew. We don’t. She’s a very powerful woman to this day. With the commission’s backing and hers, you could become a very strong candidate.”

Andrew still didn’t know whether to take her seriously or not. The notion of him running for office was ludicrous. “Even if I were interested in politics—which I’m not—you’re forgetting one thing. I hardly have the background that would endear me to voters.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem.”

“What do you mean, that wouldn’t be a problem? Of course, it would be.” His father’s hasty second marriage had almost derailed his gubernatorial bid before it ever got started. And compared to Andrew’s indiscretions, a hasty second marriage was nothing. Nothing.

“The Grayson Commission has people in the organization who can give you any kind of background they want you to have.”

“No one can do that anymore,” Andrew said. “There isn’t a public-relations firm in the country that can hide anything from the media these days.” Now that the police were involved, it was only a matter of time before some nosy reporter found out about his association with Simon Pratt, a well-known mobster in these parts. Andrew cringed when he thought of the headlines.

“Believe me, that wouldn’t be a problem.”

Her persistence was beginning to annoy him. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what kind of scam you’re trying to pull here, but I have no interest in politics, the Grayson Commission, or much of anything else right now. All I want is to be left alone. Okay?”

He turned to his drink, but her hand on his arm drew his gaze back to her. She leaned toward him. “You might want to reconsider, Andrew. One word from me and your debts would all disappear.”

His eyes narrowed. “How do you know about my debts? Who the hell are you?”

“Simon Pratt is a very dangerous man, from what I hear. He’s been known to break the arms and legs—or worse—of those who default on their loans. I’d hate to see that happen to you.”

Andrew looked at her in disgust. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You work for Pratt. This is some kind of sick game he’s orchestrated to torment me.”

Her gaze deepened. “This is no game, believe me. I’m offering you the chance of a lifetime. Think about it, Andrew. How many people in your position get the opportunity to start over? To have mistakes from their past erased as if they never happened?” She lifted her wineglass and stared at him over the rim. “You could become the kind of man your wife always wanted you to be.”

For a moment, Andrew wanted to believe her. A tiny flicker of hope ignited inside him, then died. He shook his head. “You’re crazy. You don’t know anything about me or my wife. Our marriage is over. Finished. And so is my life.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“Yes, it does. Trust me, I’m as good as dead in this town.”

The woman’s smile turned mysterious. “Funny you should say that.”

The bar had become more crowded as the evening wore on. Someone bumped into Andrew’s back, and he turned, scowling.

A man wearing sunglasses said, “Sorry, pal.”

Andrew shrugged and swiveled back around. Carol smiled. “Well,” she said, “if we can’t do business, we can at least part as friends, can’t we?” She clinked her glass against his. “Here’s to second chances.”

“Here’s to nothing,” he said. Which is what he would have left, once Jake McClain, a police detective with an ax to grind, got through with him. Picking up his glass, Andrew downed the contents.

At first the whiskey ignited his stomach, then settled into a nice, warm glow. He glanced at the blonde. Her features seemed softer now, and exquisitely feminine. She saw him watching her, and slowly, very deliberately licked her lips.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said. “Find some place where we can talk.”

“About politics?” His tongue seemed thick all of a sudden.

She shook her head. “No. About you and me.”

The comfortable numbness from the whiskey wore off too quickly. His head began to pound, and he thought he was going to be sick. “I don’t feel well.”

“Here.” She took his arm and helped him up. “You need some fresh air.”

She guided him through the throng of people to the door, held it open for him, then helped him across the parking lot to his car.

“Better call a cab,” he muttered, leaning against the door. “Don’t think I can drive.”

She fumbled in his pocket. “I’ll take you home.”

No, Andrew thought. What if Hope saw him with another woman? But then in the next instant, he realized it didn’t matter. Hope was gone for good this time. Or soon would be. Back to Jake, unless he could think of a way to stop her.

He let the blonde help him into the passenger side, then watched through slitted eyes as she crawled behind the wheel. She started the powerful engine, expertly shifted into gear, then tore out of the parking lot like a woman fleeing for her life.

The bar was on a secluded road, several miles from Memphis, near the small town of Shepherd. Andrew liked to go there because no one ever recognized him. But the blonde had known him, and had somehow known he would be there. Because of that, the deserted highway seemed particularly menacing to him now.

Who are you? he tried to ask her again, but no words came out. The pain in his head became excruciating. He slumped against the door.

“Andrew?”

When he didn’t answer—couldn’t answer—he heard her mutter, “Damn. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

What wasn’t? he tried to scream. What have you done to me? Stop the car! Let me out of here!

“You’re going to be all right,” she told him. “Believe me, this is all for the best.”

Propelling himself away from the door, Andrew lunged toward the steering wheel and grabbed it. Carol screamed, trying to shove him away. For several moments, they struggled. Then the car careened off the road, out of control as they missed a curve, and Carol screamed again. She threw up her arms to protect her face as the car plowed down an embankment, straight toward the trunk of a tree.

The last thing Andrew heard was the sickening crunch of metal against wood. The last thing he saw was the splatter of blood against the windshield. The last thing he thought was that this time, Jake had won.

The game was finally over.

CHAPTER ONE

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.

CHAPTER TWO

The morning after Michael Eldridge’s visit dawned warm and sunny, and when Hope came downstairs, she found Iris breakfasting on the terrace. She was alone at the table, reading the paper and sipping her coffee.

“Where is everyone?” Hope sat down and unfolded her napkin.

“Jeremy has already left for the office, I believe, and my son and his wife are sleeping in. As usual.”

Even though Edward and Pamela had been married for over thirty years and had lived in the same house with Iris for most of that time, she never referred to her daughter-in-law as anything other than “my son’s wife.” Iris hadn’t approved of Edward’s second marriage, coming such a short time after his first wife had died of cancer when Andrew and Adam were three years old, and because of her disapproval, Pamela was not and never would be considered a Kingsley, just as her son would never be Iris’s heir.

A maid appeared, bringing fresh coffee and orange juice. Iris laid the paper aside and glanced out at the gardens. “Gerald is at work early this morning, I see.”

“He always is,” Hope said, following Iris’s gaze. Her heart thudded against her chest when she saw that Jake was with his father. They were working near the reflecting pool, tearing down an old rock garden that Iris had decided a few days ago was an eyesore.

“Hope,” she said. “Go out there and stop them.”

Hope glanced at her. “What? Why? They’re doing exactly what you told them to do.”

“I’m aware of that. But I’ve changed my mind. The rock garden was Andrew’s favorite place to play when he was a little boy. I don’t know what I was thinking. Please go tell Gerald I wish to see him.”

Hope rose, knowing that arguing would be futile. When Iris made up her mind, there was no talking her out of it.

Leaving the terrace, Hope walked down the sloping lawn toward the rock garden. Morning sunlight glinted off the surface of the reflecting pool, temporarily blinding her. She shaded her eyes as she approached Jake and his father.

What had once been an artful arrangement of rock and plants was now in complete disarray. The two men must have been working for hours already, because the job was almost completed.

As Hope watched, Jake, his muscles bulging with the weight, picked up one of the last remaining stones and carried it to a wheelbarrow. He’d taken off his shirt, and a sheen of sweat glistened along his backbone. Hope felt something stir inside her, a warning that told her to state her business, then get away from there as fast as she could, before she had time to remember.

But it was too late, because when Jake turned back around he saw her. Their gazes held for the longest moment, and it flashed through Hope’s mind that here was a man she had once been engaged to. A man she had once hurt very deeply. A man who despised the path she had chosen for her life.

As if reading her mind, Jake studied her for a moment, taking in the designer dress she wore, the gleam of gold at her wrist and throat, and then wordlessly he turned his back on her and resumed his work.

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.”

* * *

WHEN HOPE 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 examination 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.

* * *

THAT 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 groundskeeper’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 coffeemaker 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.”

Northrup was clearly startled. “You know about him?”

“I was helping my father in the gardens when he arrived at the mansion yesterday.”

Northrup sat forward in his chair, his expression tense and alert. “Did you get a good look at him?”

Jake shrugged. “Fairly so.”

The gray eyes hardened almost imperceptibly. “What did you think? Did he look like the man in this photo?”

Jake stared at Northrup in surprise. “Are you telling me you haven’t met him yet? I thought your office handled all claims against the Kingsley estate.”

“We do. I’ve seen the man’s picture, and I’ve spoken with him on the phone. But I haven’t met him in person yet.”

“Then how did he connect with Iris? And with Edward?” Jake added, though everyone knew Iris was the head of the family. If rumors were true, Edward was hardly in any shape to choose which socks to wear each day, let alone which Adam Kingsley wannabe to interview.

Northrup’s features hardened. “He was shrewd enough to bypass my office and go directly to Iris. He sent her a picture of himself, and the resemblance to Andrew was so great, she agreed to see him. In fact, she offered to fly him from Houston to Memphis in the Kingsley jet, but he declined. He told her it wouldn’t be right to spend Kingsley money on him until they know for sure he’s Adam. Iris was very impressed by this.”

“I can imagine,” Jake said dryly. He sat on the edge of his desk, gazing down at Victor Northrup. “But what does any of this have to do with me?”

“I’m coming to that,” Northrup said, hesitating. “As Iris’s attorney, but more importantly as her friend, my job is to protect her interests. At any cost. For all we know, this man is a very clever impostor who has managed to circumvent the background check my office would have conducted on him if not for Iris’s intervention.”

“Can’t your office conduct the investigation now?” Jake asked.

Northrup shook his head. “It’s now become very complicated. Iris, you see, has convinced herself this man is her long-lost grandson. He’s agreed to a DNA test, but we won’t have the results for weeks. In that length of time, a professional con man can do a great deal of damage, both financially and psychologically. It’s the latter I’m most worried about. Iris is extremely vulnerable right now. If she continues to believe this man is her grandson, and then finds out weeks later that he is not, the result could be devastating.”

“I understand,” Jake said. “But I still don’t see why your office can’t at least run a background check on him.”

Again Northrup hesitated, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “Iris doesn’t want an investigation of any kind. She’s made her position very clear. She wants to believe this man is her grandson for as long as possible. If I find out that he isn’t…if I’m the one to break the news to her—”

“I get it,” Jake interrupted. “She might want to shoot the messenger.”

The piercing gray eyes met his. “That’s where you come in. I want you to investigate this man, leave no stone unturned, but I don’t want anyone to know that I’ve hired you.”

“What if I find out he’s an impostor?” Jake asked. “How are you going to convince Mrs. Kingsley?”

“You get the proof,” Northrup said. “I’ll worry about dealing with Iris. Do we have an agreement?”

Jake had a feeling that making a deal with Victor Northrup might be akin to striking a bargain with the devil. He wasn’t about to rush into anything. He knew Northrup hadn’t.

“Let me think about it overnight and I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

Northrup seemed surprised by Jake’s hesitancy, but he shrugged. “Fair enough,” he replied, rising to leave. “I’ll expect to hear from you first thing in the morning. We can go over the details then.”

When Northrup was at the door, Jake said, “One more thing.”

Northrup turned.

“Why me? There are dozens of qualified investigators in this city. You have to know how Mrs. Kingsley feels about me.”

“That’s precisely why I chose you.” Northrup’s expression remained unfathomable. “You aren’t afraid of Iris Kingsley, and from what I’ve been able to gather, you don’t mind getting your hands dirty if the situation warrants it.”

* * *

FROM HER CAR, HOPE watched Victor Northrup leave Jake’s building and head her way. She slumped in her seat, not wanting to be seen. Iris had made her wishes clear, and if Victor saw Hope here, he might put two and two together and figure out she’d come to hire Jake to investigate Michael.

Come to think of it, what was Victor doing here? Hope wondered, lifting her head slightly to see if he’d passed by her car yet. She couldn’t imagine that he’d been visiting a client in this area of town. Could he have been here to see Jake, too? Had he also gone against Iris’s wishes and hired a private investigator to check into Michael’s background?

But why Jake? Northrup’s law firm had several private investigators on the payroll at any given time. Why would he not use one of them? Unless, of course, he was afraid Iris might get wind of the investigation. But whatever his motive, Hope knew he had thought out his alternatives carefully. Victor Northrup was not an impulsive man.

Although he had been close to the Kingsleys for years and Iris and Andrew had trusted him implicitly with both their private and business dealings, Hope didn’t really like Victor. There had always been something about him that was just a little too smooth. A little too polished. When he had brought her the news of Andrew’s death, his condolences had sounded almost practiced, as if he knew the right things to say, but lacked the emotion to make them convincing.

Hope watched him get into a silver Rolls-Royce and pull away from the curb. She waited until he was out of sight, then got out of her car and crossed the street to Jake’s building. The receptionist had already left for the day, so Hope studied the directory mounted on the wall near the entrance to locate Jake’s office.

The elevator lifted her to the third floor, and when the doors slid open, Hope’s stomach knotted with nerves. What if he wouldn’t see her? He’d been so cool to her this morning, and there was no reason to think his attitude might have changed in a few hours. Ten years of bitterness lay between them, after all, and as Hope stood outside his office door, poised to knock, every one of those years came crashing down on her.

Before she could change her mind, she lifted her hand and rapped on the door, then opened it without waiting for him to answer.

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