Which Twin?

There it was again, Logan thought as he gazed at Elise, the disparity between the concern wrinkling the woman’s brow and the barely discernable note of exasperation beneath her sad tone. He was never sure which emotion was real. And at the moment this was beside the point.

He turned to Robert. “What exactly was it that Anna confronted you with?”

The man seemed to hesitate. In the silence Elise replied, “Oh, it was that silly old not belonging in this family nonsense. I’ll never understand what prompted my daughter’s notion that she was adopted. Probably those fairy tales Aunt Grace read to all of you, full of princes and princesses, faithful knights, changelings and evil stepparents. Such a waste of time.”

The woman sighed. “I thought Anna had given up that silly fantasy until the other day. Good Lord, she even brought up that imaginary Rose creature again. It frightened me so that I had no recourse but to call Dr. Alcott.”

Logan glanced over to see Alcott pry Anna’s right eye open and shine a flashlight into it. “Why the doctor?” he asked as he turned back to Elise.

The woman’s lovely features tightened. “I reminded Anna that we’d been totally up-front about the fact that she’d been conceived in a fertility clinic. I again assured her that she was the product of my egg and her father’s sperm, but she just kept insisting she was not our child. Then she threatened to have someone investigate this if we didn’t confirm her suspicions.”

Elise glanced at her husband. “Considering that Stephen Dahlberg is just looking for a hint of scandal—no matter how absurd or unfounded—we had no choice, really, but to ask for Dr. Alcott’s help. He suggested she be placed under close observation.”

A cold chill crept up the back of Logan’s neck. “Close observation?”

“That’s right.” Elise lifted her chin. “Dr. Alcott arranged to take Anna to a very private facility run by a psychiatrist friend of his, where we hoped a discreet professional might get to the root of her problems. But yesterday, when the doctor stopped at the gated entrance, Anna opened the car door, ran down the street and somehow managed to hop onto a city bus just as it pulled away.”

Elise paused to once more shake her head. When she resumed speaking, the defensive tone was replaced with what sounded like heartfelt regret. “Unfortunately, this just proves how much she needs help. She’s always preferred to run away rather than face her responsibilities.”

Robert took a step toward the bed, then stopped. “You know,” he said softly, “when Anna announced she had enrolled at UC Berkeley again, I thought she’d at last decided to take control of her life.”

Silence filled the room for several moments. “I see,” Logan said at last. “And when these questions came up, you simply decided to have Anna…” He paused to search for the word. Unable, and suddenly unwilling, to come up with something politically correct, he finished, “…committed?”

“There was nothing ‘simple’ about it.” For once the steel in Elise’s voice matched the hardness of her expression. “Things have been difficult enough since Victor died, what with Grace’s mind slipping in and out of reality at the most inopportune times. Grace’s mutterings, however, are easily explained as the onset of senility. But Anna’s rantings are quite another story—perfect fodder for a scandal, which is something Robert can’t afford this close to the primary.”

She paused, took a deep breath, then reached out to touch Logan’s arm as she went on in a softer tone, “You’re doing a good job, keeping the family holdings and charities running smoothly so that Robert can concentrate on the matter at hand. Victor taught you well. But you don’t have the time to watch over Grace as he did—nor to baby-sit Anna.”

The honest sympathy in Elise’s eyes touched Logan. His jaw clenched against the pain shooting through his chest at the mention of Victor Benedict. While Robert had been his surrogate father, Robert’s uncle Victor had been Logan’s mentor, schooling him in the ways of finance and the law. He missed the older man’s rock-steady presence, couldn’t help asking himself how Victor would have handled this situation.

“So, I hope you understand,” Elise went on. “That when Robert and I consulted Dr. Alcott, we felt it best to go along with his suggestion that Anna go to a quiet place where she could…pull herself together.”

It wasn’t until Elise spoke these last three words that Logan once again found himself biting back words of anger. That little undertone of sarcasm was there again, whispering that Anna wasn’t living up to the picture of Benedict family perfection.

“Excuse me.” Dr. Alcott’s voice broke the silence following Elise’s last statement. “Anna’s injuries seem minor—some scratches to her palms and perhaps a bruise on her hip. Her vital signs are strong, and while her pupils show no sign of head injury, a CAT scan might be in order. This can be performed at Dr. Shriver’s clinic. Did you want to use the limousine, as before?”

Robert gazed at his daughter before he nodded and slowly turned to Logan. “Would you mind carrying Anna down and placing her in the back seat?”

Chapter 3

After hearing Robert ask Logan to carry her to the waiting car, Rose barely let herself breathe. Despite the instinct urging her to leap from the bed and rush from the room, she forced herself to remain inert, eyes closed, just as she had since the moment she realized it would be impossible to escape Logan’s powerful grip.

Little did she think this “playing possum” trick would ever be useful when, at the age of twelve, she’d reluctantly taken the self-defense class that her mother enrolled them in. There had been no fancy moves to learn, just basic common-sense kicking and twisting and hitting, all of which she’d tried to use against Logan in her attempt to escape from his hold—and this house.

Pretending to pass out had been a last-resort move, meant to lure the attacker into complacency until an opportunity to escape arrived. It had never occurred to Rose, as she listened and gathered information, that she would be forced to remain inert while some strange doctor poked her and pried open her eyes, one by one, to examine them from behind a blinding light.

And for what? She was fairly certain that the clinic the doctor had just referred to was the nut house that this Anna person had been headed for—a place she had no intention of ending up. It appeared that this was just what would happen, however, if she continued to lie there.

Rose was wondering if the element of surprise would be enough to allow her to escape, should she suddenly jump up and dash past all these people, when she heard Logan reply, “As a matter of fact, I would mind taking her to the car.”

“Logan.”

The scandalized protest came from the woman Rose had come to know as Elise. Logan responded evenly.

“I don’t want to send Anna off to some institution if it’s not necessary. From what I understand, she’s been gone all night. Simple exhaustion might be the reason she passed out. I’d like to let her rest a bit and see if she won’t wake up on her own, then try to find out what’s behind her confusion.”

“It won’t do any good.” It was Elise again. “I tried reasoning with her, but her rantings only escalated. My daughter needs professional help, not someone to hold her hand and encourage her unreasonable behavior. Or to indulge her, as her father has done.”

Rose was aware of a long pause before Logan asked in a quiet, steely tone, “When have I ever encouraged Anna to behave in any way that would be detrimental to herself, or to the family?”

“Never.” This came from the man called Robert. “While I may have occasionally been guilty of ‘indulging’ my daughter, you’ve always been a steadying influence on her. But her behavior the past few days—” he paused to sigh before finishing “—I’m really afraid her mental stability is in danger. You heard her claim that she didn’t know any of us.”

Another long pause followed this. Rose’s heart began to race as she recalled the less-than-sane way she’d been behaving since first seeing Logan on the deck outside. She wouldn’t blame him at all for giving in to the pressure, and letting her—or rather Anna—be locked up.

“I want an hour,” Logan said suddenly. “I’d like to see if she won’t regain consciousness, then talk to her here, in surroundings that are familiar to her. Alone.”

Dr. Alcott’s “I don’t think—” blended with Elise’s “We’ve already agreed that—”

Robert interrupted them both. “Logan is right. I would much prefer Anna be treated at home, if possible.”

As Rose’s tense muscles began to relax she heard a soft sigh, followed by Elise’s voice. “Well, I suppose that would prevent news of this…breakdown, or whatever, from reaching the press. But Dr. Alcott is—”

“A good man,” Robert finished. “And for just that reason, I’m going to ask him to stay around until Logan has had time to work with Anna. You have an hour, Logan. The rest of us will be downstairs, visiting with Aunt Grace. I know you’ll call if you need us.”

Rose listened to the sound of multiple feet shuffling away, followed by the click of the door as it closed. She heard a single set of footsteps approach the bed.

Logan. Rose drew a slow, soft breath. She didn’t know who this Anna person was, but she did know that the woman was lucky to have such a determined friend. And so, by extension, was she.

But, despite this man’s frequent appearances in her dreams, Logan was a stranger. She didn’t feel she could trust him to listen to her explanation of the other set of dreams—those involving the Golden Gate Bridge—without calling the doctor back to cart her off to the hospital with the rubber rooms. However, if she wanted to prevent this, she would have to put an end to her “unconscious” charade sometime soon.

Besides, she had her own reasons for wanting to stay in this house, in this room, for a little while longer. And that reason was Anna Benedict. Rose had a lot of questions about the young woman she apparently resembled so very closely. Fortunately, the conversation she’d just overheard had suggested a way to get answers to some of these.

Elise had mentioned amnesia. How perfect. All she had to do was continue to say that she didn’t know any of these people. Since amnesia was hardly a reason to lock someone up—and with Logan around to champion her, believing that she was Anna—she could stay in this room long enough to investigate this look-alike of hers. And then she could wait till the gate was open, slip down those iron stairs, walk back to the gas station with the pay phone she’d noticed when the cab turned into the area, retrieve her luggage from the hotel she’d checked into yesterday, then return to Seattle. And sanity.

With this plan in mind, Rose took a deep, loud breath as she let her eyelids flutter. When she felt the mattress dip near her head and heard a deep voice say, “Anna?” she waited a heartbeat before slowly opening her eyes.

Logan was bending over her, his hands resting on the bed, his eyes dark with concern. Rose was struck suddenly by the weak-muscled sensation that flowed through her body, the sensation that always followed her dreams of this man. This time the heat rushing through her veins engulfed her in an even stronger wave as she continued to meet his gaze.

“Anna,” he said again, this time more firmly. “Are you all right?”

No, she wanted to reply, I think I’m running a fever.

Hardly the thing to say, of course. Not if she wanted to be left alone to search this room. Instead, she pulled her eyebrows into a slow frown as she asked, “Who…who is Anna?”

“You are,” he replied.

Allowing her frown to deepen, she shook her head. “You called me that before, but it doesn’t sound right. My name is—”

“Rose,” he finished. “So you keep saying. And you live in Seattle?”

It was obvious that the man was trying to humor her—or rather, the woman he thought she was. She decided to play along.

“I…” She hesitated before nodding slowly. “Yes. I…I must be.”

“Why do you say that?” Logan asked. He smiled slightly, lifting his eyebrows as he went on. “Is it because that’s where your driver’s license says you live?”

Oh, this was almost too easy, Rose thought as she widened her eyes and focused on his. “Well,” she said at last. “Yes.”

Logan moved away slowly, leaning against the back of the chair next to the bed. Rose turned her head to watch him study her. A moment later his lips curved into a smile as he asked, “How do you feel?”

Rose blinked, then shrugged. “A little stiff.”

“Would you like to sit up?”

The moment Rose nodded, Logan leaned forward, placed his hands beneath her shoulders and eased her into an upright position. Rose found her heart beating wildly again. Whether it was a reaction to having lain flat for so long or the heat from this man’s touch she wasn’t certain. But once she was upright, she placed her hands on the aqua coverlet and scooted away, seeking refuge against the wrought-iron headboard.

This didn’t place her very far from Logan, but the distance was enough to break the strange, warm current that seemed to flow between them and allow her to continue her act. Reaching for the back of her head, Rose felt the tender spot that had struck the bricks of the veranda. It took no acting ability at all to wince as she asked, “Did I pass out?”

“You did. Do you remember anything else?”

Rose hesitated, not certain how far to take this. “I remember you carrying me up here—and that I fought with you.”

Logan nodded. He continued to smile but his eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he said, “That’s right. But now can you tell me how you arrived here, at this house?”

Rose frowned as she gathered her thoughts. Careful, she warned herself, before starting slowly. “I…arrived in a taxi. I knew I was looking for my home…I somehow must have directed him to this neighborhood, but I don’t recall doing that.”

So far, so good, Rose thought as she paused. Now, all she had to do was explain how she came to think her name was Rose.

“I remember feeling foolish, suddenly realizing that I didn’t know the address I was searching for. I…my mind was fuzzy, but I felt certain I was heading home. So I checked my wallet and found a driver’s license with my name on it. Then I—”

“How did you know it was your name?”

Rose blinked as she stared at Logan. She had no idea how—then it came to her in a flash.

“There’s a little mirror in the wallet,” she said quickly. “I could see that my features matched the license photo. So I assumed I was Rose.”

“Except the address shown is in Seattle.”

Rose wasn’t going to allow herself to be tripped up. Without considering why it was so important to win this battle of wits, she gave her lips a wry twist and nodded.

“I know. That puzzled me. But still, I had this sense that I was somehow looking for my home. And then we drove by this place, and I caught a glimpse of the bridge between this house and the one next door, and the scene was so familiar that I was sure this must be the place I was looking for. I…remember thinking that perhaps I grew up here, or that I had relatives here. Anyway, I was embarrassed by the odd looks the driver was giving me, so I told him to drop me off at the gate.”

Rose ended her story with a satisfied sigh. For someone who had been reared to speak only the truth, she hadn’t done a bad job of lying. Of course, other than the bit about thinking some relative might live here, most of her tale had been true. And from the looks of things, Logan seemed to be buying it. Until his eyes narrowed.

“Are you telling me you made up that story about having dreamed of the bridge?” he asked.

Damn. She’d forgotten about that.

Rose bit the inside of her lower lip hesitantly before she shrugged. “Sort of. I do know that the view seemed familiar—the dream thing seemed the only explanation.”

Logan stared at her for a moment. Slowly his scowl relaxed and the suspicion in his green-brown eyes softened into an expression of speculation and concern.

“Do you remember anything from before you got in the cab?”

Rose sat quietly, staring at the open vee of his white shirt, pretending to think. Instead she was struck with a memory from one of her dreams in which she’d stared at that same chest. Only in the dream there had been no shirt, just bare, muscled skin. Feeling her face grow warm, she blinked the image away and quickly shook her head.

“No. Nothing.”

“Well then,” he said quietly. “Will you accept the idea that you just might be Anna Benedict?”

Rose fought off a shudder that had nothing to do with the fact that her clothes were still slightly damp. She wanted to shake her head, insist that she was Rose Delancey, but controlled the impulse. Slowly she lifted her shoulders in a shrug.

“I’ll consider it.” She paused. “Perhaps it would help if you’d tell me a little about Ann—me. So far all I know is that I have a mother named Elise, a father named Robert and an aunt named Grace. Elise mentioned someone named Chas. Who is he?”

“Your older brother,” Logan replied.

Rose frowned. “I thought you were my older brother.”

“No, I’m not,” Logan replied. “Not really.”

Logan watched Anna’s eyebrows twist into a puzzled frown, which told him just how confusing this might sound—especially to an already confused mind.

“My parents, Thomas and Brenda Maguire, worked for your grandfather,” he explained. “I was ten when they died, and I didn’t have any other family. Your father managed to get himself appointed my legal guardian and has always treated me like a surrogate son.”

Logan saw an expression of sympathy darken Anna’s eyes. His chest tightened around the pain he’d locked away so long ago, and he frowned.

There was something deeply empathetic in that look of Anna’s, almost as if she knew just how that loss had affected him. But she couldn’t. By the time Anna learned about the accident that had killed his parents, the young girl had long been accustomed to thinking of him as her “bigger brother,” which had been her way of distinguishing him from Chas, two years his junior.

Receiving sympathy from Anna now was something entirely new to him, and rather than try to deal with the uncomfortable emotions she evoked, he did what he did best—focused on the business at hand.

“Come with me,” he said. “And let me introduce you to the family.”

Logan noticed Anna offered no resistance when he took her hand to pull her to her feet, then lead her across the room to stand in front of an oak rolltop desk. The wall above was filled with framed photos. He pointed to a five-by-seven on the far right.

“There’s Elise, holding you on the day you came home,” he said. “Other than her hairstyle, you can see that her looks have changed little. And I think you can recognize Robert, despite the fact that his hair was nearly black back then. Just like yours is now. And the shorter blond boy on the left? That’s your brother, Chas.”

Logan watched Anna scrutinize each figure until a sudden frown formed and she abruptly turned to him. “And the other blond boy. Is…is that you?”

Her eyes were wide. Thinking he saw a hint of recognition in them, he nodded. “Yes. Look familiar?”

An expression very close to fear darkened her eyes before she blinked and shrugged. “Maybe…a little. I don’t know.”

“Well, maybe looking at some of these other photographs will stimulate your memory.”

Logan directed her attention to the images that Elise had framed in silver and placed on the wall of her daughter’s room. He started with a large oval sepia-toned photograph at the top.

“That’s your great-great-great grandfather, Lucas Benedict. He established the family fortune back in the 1870s when he struck a vein of silver in Virginia City, Nevada. No one can find a picture of his wife, but the men in the two pictures on either side are his sons, Jonah and Jerald. Beneath those we have Jerald’s sons, Raymond and William, along with William’s wife, your grandmother, Anna. Some think you bear a close resemblance to her.”

He watched as Anna studied this last photo. “I don’t agree.”

Logan shrugged. “Well, you do both have curly hair—and there’s a widow’s peak beneath those new bangs of yours. The picture is rather faded, so it’s hard to make out any further resemblance. Anyway, the next set of pictures are of William and Anna’s two sons and their wives. That’s Victor and Grace on the left. The other couple is your grandfather, Charles, and your grandmother, Louise. You wouldn’t remember your grandmother, because she died before your first birthday.”

“And this picture on the top of the desk?” he heard her ask softly.

Logan frowned at the photo of two dark-haired men sitting at a piano. “That’s a shot of your father,” he said slowly, “with his brother, your uncle Joe. You wouldn’t remember Joe, either. He died…shortly before you were born.”

Logan swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat and blinked back the sudden memories of the day that Joseph Benedict died, and the two people who had perished with him.

“Oh, Anna! You’re up.”

Elise Benedict’s voice echoed from the doorway. Logan turned as the woman stepped into the room, followed by her husband and the doctor.

“How is our patient?” Dr. Alcott asked as all three stopped in front of Anna and Logan.

When Anna said nothing, Logan replied, “She’s fine, physically. At least, she hasn’t complained of any major aches or pains.”

“And her mind?”

Logan turned to Elise. “I think I’ve convinced her that she is Anna Benedict. She appears to recognize some things, but her memory is far from clear.”

“Oh, dear.” Elise sighed, then turned to the doctor. “Well then. Perhaps we should still consider sending her—”

“No!”

Logan glanced at Anna, who had broken into her mother’s suggestion just moments before Logan could reject what was undoubtedly going to be another suggestion that Anna be placed in the hospital. He turned to Anna’s father.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Robert. Or particularly wise right now. I’m sure the facility that Alcott recommended is discreet, but this sort of thing has a way of leaking out. Not that I think there’s any shame in a person checking in for mental help, but you know how it could look.”

Robert nodded.

“Besides,” Logan went on, “Anna might benefit by being around familiar things and people. Don’t you agree Dr. Alcott?”

The man’s dark eyes narrowed a moment behind his glasses before he nodded. “Possibly. Theoretically, being exposed to familiar items speeds recovery in persons suffering from amnesia.”

Logan looked to Elise, half expecting her to show some kind of displeasure at having her plans denied. Instead the woman was treating her daughter to a speculative gaze.

“Well, perhaps that is best. I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain Anna’s absence at the campaign dinner tonight. And many of our longtime friends and associates will be there. Maybe seeing one of them in a relaxed atmosphere will prompt Anna’s memory. What do you think, Dr. Alcott?”

Logan gave his head a small shake. Only Elise Benedict would consider a campaign dinner and dance a “relaxed” atmosphere. Anna certainly would not. She hated spending time in the public eye.

Before he could bring this up, however, the doctor replied, “Excellent idea.”

This brought a wide smile to Elise’s lips. She turned to Logan. “You’ll be there, of course.”

“Actually,” he said, “I got very little sleep during the past three days, so I’d planned to catch up on it after I filed the paperwork from my trip to France and explained the details of your father’s will.”

Only the slightest tightening of the woman’s jaw gave any hint of Elise’s feelings about the now-deceased man who had abandoned his wife and daughter so many years ago. A second later she was smiling again.

“Oh, there will be plenty of time to discuss dreary financial matters at a later date. What’s important now is that you escort Anna to this affair tonight and keep an eye on her. You know, point out the people she should know and, of course, see to it that she doesn’t say the wrong thing.”