The Brother's Wife

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.

CHAPTER THREE

“Hope?” Jake cocked his head, gazing at her warily as she stood in his doorway. She wore a white suit that made her look crisp and clean and very expensive. Untouchable was the word that came to mind. “Is something wrong?”

She looked uncertain for a moment, as if she’d somehow been picked up and transported to his office through no will of her own. Like Dorothy landing in Oz. Her light brown hair was pulled back and fastened at her nape, emphasizing her high cheekbones, the delicate arch of her brows. “No. Nothing’s wrong. I’d like to talk to you if you have a minute.”

“What about?”

She paused, glancing around his office as if to make sure they were alone. “You were at the house yesterday when Michael Eldridge came to see the Kingsleys.”

“The man claiming to be Adam Kingsley, you mean.” Jake leaned against the desk, crossing his feet at the ankles. He waved her to one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, and Hope sat down. “He was there again this morning, wasn’t he?”

Hope nodded. “He isn’t exactly claiming to be Adam Kingsley. At least, not yet. But Iris is convinced that he is. He bears an amazing resemblance to Andrew.”

“Yeah. I saw him.” He’d also seen Hope’s face yesterday when she’d seen him. For a moment, it had been as if she’d thought Andrew had come back from the dead, and her unbridled reaction wasn’t something Jake had been able to put out of his mind since.

He gazed at her now, wondering what the hell she was doing here. When he’d seen her just after Andrew’s death, she’d barely been civil, but Jake guessed he should have expected that. He’d found out some pretty dark secrets about her husband, and Hope hadn’t wanted to believe him.

The two of them had never been able to see eye to eye on Andrew Kingsley. Jake had known Andrew all of his life, had thought him to be an arrogant, selfish bastard, but Hope, from the very first time she’d met him, had thought him charming and sophisticated. A true Southern gentleman. So different from the cops she’d been around all of her life. So different from Jake.

He used to wonder how their lives might have turned out if he hadn’t been the one to introduce Hope to Andrew. Jake wanted to believe it no longer mattered, but deep down, he knew that it did. He knew it every time he caught a glimpse of Hope driving up to the Kingsley mansion in her white Jaguar. He knew it every time he saw the wide band of diamonds glittering on her finger and the expensive clothes gracing her slender body.

He knew it now, as his gaze skimmed her familiar features—the lightly tanned complexion, the golden-brown hair, the beguiling violet eyes. It mattered then, and it mattered now, that she had chosen Andrew Kingsley over him.

More than Jake wanted to admit.

She crossed her legs, and he heard the slight rustle of her nylons. Awareness shot through him like a bullet. Hope Sterling was still the most desirable woman he’d ever known. Ten years and a dead husband lay between them, but Jake still found her just as attractive as he ever had. The knowledge made him want to put his fist through a brick wall.

Instead, he stared at her calmly, waiting for her to speak.

“Before I tell you why I’m here,” she said, “I’d like to ask you something. Would you tell me why Victor Northrup was here to see you?”

Jake shrugged. “Who says he was?”

“I saw him leave your building right before I came in.”

“Lots of people have offices in this building besides me,” Jake replied. “The nature of my business is confidential. I don’t talk about who comes and goes through that door.”

Hope smiled slightly. “I guess I can appreciate that. Especially since I don’t want anyone to know I’ve come here, either. But I have to know whether or not you’re working for Victor.”

“Why?”

“Because I’d like to hire you myself. To investigate Michael Eldridge.”

Jake lifted his brows in surprise. “But you made your feelings about me perfectly clear after Andrew died.”

She glanced away. “That was different.”

“How? You didn’t believe what I found out about your husband. Why would you believe what I tell you about this guy?”

She studied the purse in her lap for a moment, then her gaze lifted to his. “Because you don’t hold a grudge against Michael Eldridge.”

His voice hardened. “I told you then and I’ll tell you now. My investigation into Andrew’s connection with Simon Pratt wasn’t personal. I was doing what any good cop would have done.”

“But you weren’t just any cop,” she said. “And no matter how hard you might have tried, I don’t think you could have kept your personal feelings out of your investigation.”

“So what makes you think I can do that now?” He gave her a long, relentless stare. “There are other investigators in Memphis, Hope. Why did you come to me, knowing how I feel about the Kingsleys? Knowing how they feel about me?”

She hesitated, as if unsure how far she was willing to go. Then she shrugged. “Because I know you’re good. I know you can’t be bought. And because I need to know the truth about this man. As soon as possible.”

There was a desperation in her eyes that intrigued Jake. “Why not let the Kingsleys handle it? After all, this really doesn’t concern you any longer, does it?”

Anger flickered in her eyes before she quickly quelled it. No one else would even have noticed, but after all these years, Jake still knew Hope too well. Ten years had not changed the fact that she still tried to suppress her emotions—and he still didn’t want to let her get away with it.

They had been like fire and ice, he and Hope. His temper had always been hot, fierce, quick to explode, while her anger lay frozen beneath the surface, dormant for days, weeks, sometimes months at a time. Maybe even years, he thought, gazing at her now.

“Just because Andrew is dead doesn’t mean I don’t still care about his family,” Hope said. “Iris especially. She’s been very good to me, Jake. I don’t want to see her hurt. She’s very fragile right now.”

Somehow “fragile” wasn’t a term he could ascribe to Iris Kingsley.

“I know you don’t like her,” Hope continued. “I know you think she got you fired from the department—”

“I don’t think,” Jake interrupted bitterly. “I know. That review board had her fingerprints all over it, and you know it.”