Mystery Heiress

by Suzanne Carey

  Thanking her in a low tone, he drank in her familiar scent, her much-loved face and her sleek blond loveliness. How he’d missed her! They’d made a life, had children together. Despite their troubles, which had been legion, she was still everything he wanted in a woman. Unfortunately, at the moment he had very little to offer her.

  It seemed she agreed with his assessment. During the second or two it took him to answer a question put to him by Aaron Silberman, he was aware of her slipping away and heading unobtrusively for the exit. Apparently she wouldn’t be present at the welcome-home party Caroline had informed him she, Adam, Natalie and their respective mates planned to throw at the Lake Travis house.

  Pleased as he was to be free of the confinement and humiliation of jail, he felt a twinge of regret. Without Erica, his life was empty at the heart. It didn’t occur to him that she might be waiting for him to make some sort of move in her direction.

  For her part, as she walked away, Erica thought she sensed a slight softening in Jake, toward her and their injured marriage. But she couldn’t be sure. It turned out that she wasn’t the only one to pick up those vibes from him. During a phone conversation with Adam that evening, her handsome oldest child told her he felt the same way.

  “I know Dad doesn’t show it, Mom, given the shame he feels over this whole mess,” he said, in a voice that resonated uncannily like his father’s in her ear. “But I’m convinced he’s sorry the two of you split up. I honestly believe he’ll try to make amends once he’s managed to clear the slate. Added to the murder charges hanging over him, what happened with the two of you isn’t much fun…for any of us. But I predict we’ll come through intact as a family and be all the stronger for it.”

  The day after Jake’s release from jail, Annie’s hair began falling out in hunks. Though Jess had been warned that it would, and in fact had noticed an unusual amount of fine blond hairs clinging to her daughter’s hairbrush, emotionally she hadn’t been prepared for anything quite that drastic. Swallowing her own dismay, she put on a brave front, calmly preparing Annie to look in the mirror and see a bald head covered with blond baby fuzz instead of her shoulder-length curls.

  More Fortunes had been tested, to no avail. Yet the news wasn’t all depressing. To Jess’s amazement, as well as Stephen’s, Annie’s bone marrow had regenerated much more quickly than he’d hoped. Though in time her leukemia could be expected to choke it again with a profusion of immature T-cells that would fail to protect her from infection, for a time she’d be well enough to play as ordinary children did. If everything went as expected, they could leave the hospital by the end of the week.

  Stephen didn’t mention it to her, but he was determined to solve a problem she hadn’t tackled yet. She and Annie needed to remain in Minneapolis, close to him, Lindsay and Minn-Gen, until a match was found. But they didn’t have to spend the period of Annie’s remission in a hotel. With that in mind, he took the unauthorized step of seeking Lindsay’s help in finding something more suitable for them.

  Lindsay’s suggestion that he ask Sterling if Jess and Annie could use the guest cottage on the Lake Travis estate suited him perfectly. If it could be arranged, they’d be staying just down the road from his house. “Do you really think it’s possible?” he asked.

  The two of them were standing in the doctor’s lounge, where she’d reacted with suspicion when he told her of Jess’s quest to save her daughter and asked for her help. This time, Lindsay was a dedicated ally. “I don’t see why not,” she answered slowly. “The cottage was built some distance from the house. Their presence shouldn’t bother Jake.”

  “What about furniture?”

  “Everything they’d need is in place, right down to dishes and silverware. The cottage is the perfect size for them—two bedrooms, a living room, bath and kitchenette. Of course, I’ll have to ask….”

  According to the terms of Kate’s will, the Lake Travis property, which included the cottage, in addition to the main house, had been left to her children jointly. Sterling had been put in charge of its use. When Lindsay brought up the matter to him, the attorney didn’t have a problem with it—provided Jake didn’t object.

  Immersed in the pain of his notoriety and his upcoming trial, Jake had remained more or less barricaded in the family mansion since his release, to avoid the predations of the media. He wasn’t keen on the idea of having someone else live on the estate. However, he was basically a good person, one who’d do what he could for others who were less fortunate than himself, despite his troubles—provided it didn’t cost him too much emotionally. After thinking it over for a day or two, he told Sterling he wouldn’t object, if Jess kept her distance.

  Naturally, the attorney checked with Kate, as well. He wasn’t surprised when she granted her approval. Later that same day, Lindsay was able to offer the cottage to Jess.

  “Do you really mean it?” Jess asked, her eyes lighting up. “A little house where we could live until Annie’s transplant is over and she’s back on her feet would be a godsend! I’ve been thinking I should look for one. But I didn’t know where to start.”

  Lindsay smiled her sweet smile. “I’ve checked with the family attorney, and it’s yours for no charge, as long as you want it,” she confirmed. “Stephen has volunteered to drive you over for a look.”

  As Jess had long since turned in her rental car as an unneeded expense and begun using taxis to go back and forth between her hotel and the hospital, a ride would be necessary. When she told Stephen about Lindsay’s offer of the cottage later that afternoon, he repeated his proposal in person.

  “However, I’m starving,” he said with a smile. “Let’s go out and get a bite to eat first. Afterward, I’ll drive you past my house, as well as Lindsay’s. We live on the lake, too…just down the road from the Fortune place. When you move into the cottage, we’ll be neighbors. I’ll be able to keep an eye on you.”

  Like their dinner together at the French-style bistro, the meal of canh cua, or crab-and-asparagus soup, followed by minced shrimp skewered on hunks of sugarcane, which he treated her to in a tiny Vietnamese restaurant near the hospital, was both delicious and intimate. Their drive to the Lake Travis area afterward took about half an hour.

  They drove by his house first. From what Jess could tell in the fading light as he slowed the car, it had an oddly deserted look. Built in an angular contemporary style, with lots of natural wood, it was large enough to have at least four bedrooms.

  Aware that he was divorced, she wondered suddenly if children from his former marriage came to visit him on weekends. “It just occurred to me that I don’t know much about your personal life,” she said, turning to him as they passed Lindsay’s more traditional abode. “Given your rapport with Annie, I can’t help wondering if you have children of your own.”

  Though he’d been about to respond with a sharp “No,” Stephen held his tongue. What had happened to his son had nothing to do with her. However, he couldn’t help feeling the old guilt Brenda had instilled in him over the long hours he worked. While they hadn’t made David sick, they’d caused him to miss some precious moments with the boy—moments that could never be replaced.

  “I’m sorry to say I don’t,” he admitted at last. “I guess you could say being childless is one of my life’s greatest disappointments. However, I probably wouldn’t make a very good dad, given my heavy schedule.”

  Though she begged to differ, something in his tone warned Jess not to pursue the subject.

  By the time they reached the Fortune estate, letting themselves in the gate with the card Lindsay had provided, it was fully dark. My grandfather lived here, Jess thought, catching a glimpse of the big white house she’d only seen in pictures through the trees. And thought about my mother—the love child my grandmother wouldn’t let him claim. How I’d love to see it, wander through its rooms in his footsteps.

  It was not to be. Seconds later, following Lindsay’s directions, they were taking the drive’s left fork, away from the mansion Ben
Fortune had built, through a stand of tall firs and gnarled, canopied oaks. Before long, they were parking in front of the white-painted cottage, which—with its bracketed eaves and hooded, paired windows—reflected the Italianate design of the main residence.

  Stephen had the key. Their shoes crunched on pea-size gravel as they got out of the Mercedes and walked the few feet that separated them from the front porch.

  The electricity hadn’t been shut off at the circuit box, and they were able to switch on a lamp in the living room. Overstuffed furniture, wood floors strewn with faded Oriental rugs and a small brick fireplace with a framed Audubon print hanging above its mantel materialized out of the darkness. There were books. Throw pillows. Neatly stacked firewood.

  “It’s so cozy,” Jess whispered as Stephen took off his sports jacket and slung it over one of the chairs. “Like a real home, all ready to move in. Annie’s going to love it here….”

  The lights in the kitchen worked, too. They revealed a black-and-white tiled floor, a somewhat antiquated refrigerator and stove, and white-painted wooden cupboards with clear leaded-glass doors on the upper tier. A table and chairs for four had been placed beneath a Tiffany-style lamp in the breakfast nook.

  Their luck with illumination ran out in what Stephen guessed would become Jess’s bedroom. Feeling his way through the darkened space, he managed to turn on a bedside lamp, only to have the bulb burn out with an audible pop from the slight surge of electricity.

  “Maybe there’s a spare inside the night table,” Jess suggested from behind his left shoulder.

  Instead of pulling out the drawer to feel for one, Stephen turned to face her. Their eyes met and held, gleaming in the faint glow from the hall. Seconds later, they were in each other’s arms. His mouth was crushing hers.

  Seven

  It was what she’d wanted since their kiss in an empty lounge at her hotel and, in a different sense, for most of her adult years, this wanton letting go, this helpless convergence with another’s soul-deep craving. Yet, even as she gave herself over completely to Stephen’s embrace, gasping with pleasure at his tongue’s muscular seeking and the unyielding pressure of his need against her, Jess sensed there were barriers still to be erased. Unless he revealed them to her and they managed to deal with them, she might find herself going home to England without him when Annie was well again.

  Maybe I’m riding for a fall, she thought fiercely, her humiliation at Ronald Holmes’s hands still fresh in her memory, though she hoped it was no longer a factor in her decision-making. If so, I’ll take my chances. Stephen’s worth the risk.

  For the lanky blond doctor who’d come to her aid that day at the zoo, the little sigh of delight and acceptance that escaped her as he deepened his kiss was like kerosene poured on a flame. Never in the years of his manhood, with their failed marriage and their deep, emotional yearnings, had he wanted a woman so much. Never had he longed with such heartfelt ambivalence to ravish and protect.

  “Jess… Ah, Jess…” he groaned, his capable physician’s hands fumbling like a schoolboy’s at the buttons of her delicate sweater-blouse. “I’m crazy about you, don’t you realize that? Stop me if you don’t want what we’re about to do. Because I won’t be able to stop myself.”

  “Believe me, I want it.”

  Wrung from her with such passion in her elegant British accent, the admission only intensified his hunger. His lips parted, his blue eyes hooded, he watched her undo the buttons herself, then helped her tug the soft garment from her shoulders.

  The front clasp of her bra came next. A heartbeat later, it, too, had been cast aside, allowing her small but lushly formed breasts to spill into his hands. He groaned at the unbearable sweetness of it as her nipples puckered with arousal beneath his fingertips.

  Somehow—she wasn’t exactly sure of the manner in which it had come about—Jess found herself seated on the edge of the bed, with her skirt pushed up to her hips. Stephen knelt in front of her, cradled by her thighs. Bending his head, he took her left breast’s peak in his mouth, to suck at it with lavish intensity.

  Shuddering with pleasure at what she felt, Jess rested her cheek against his hair. He responded by teasing her other nipple to taut erectness. Currents of need knifed her to the quick. It was as if an erotic telegraph connected her aroused buds with the womanly depths where she wanted him most. She could feel them warming and opening, crying out for him to fill them.

  “Take off your tie…your shirt, Stephen,” she begged, working the tails of the latter garment free so that she could insert her hands beneath his belt. “I want to touch you…everywhere.”

  It had been a long time since he’d wanted anyone so much—longer still since sex and love had been knit up in it together. Though it was time he moved on, and learned to love again, David’s death still studded the desert of his heart like a thorn-pricked monument. In the harsh light of that melancholy mind-set, learning to care for someone new, a woman whose child might be dying, as well, seemed the height of folly to him.

  You’re the doctor charged with saving Annie’s life, he told himself. You know the odds, the crises that can erupt. If you fail with Annie, it will be partly your fault. Jess won’t want to look at you again, even if she doesn’t blame you for it.

  In any event, she’ll be going back to England….

  Half-naked in his arms, Jess felt the change like a chill wind, an evil-looking bank of dirty gray clouds arriving to block out the sunlight. “What’s wrong, Stephen?” she asked worriedly, resting her hands on his shoulders. “Is it something I did? Don’t you want to make love to me?”

  She deserves better, he realized. I wish I could give it to her. But I can’t right now—not at this moment. Getting to his feet, he turned his back to give her a chance to cover herself.

  Awash in humiliation, bafflement, and what was beginning to feel a lot like outrage, Jess hastily refastened her bra and put on her sweater. She stood also. “Aren’t you going to explain?” she queried in a small voice.

  “Don’t think for a moment that I don’t want you,” he said at last. “I probably have since the day we met. But I was wrong to let this happen, especially now. Ethical constraints founded in my obligation to Annie stand in the way. I hope we can still be friends…have dinner again soon.”

  Like a mocking refrain, the word unavailable ricocheted through Jess’s head. Retreating to the cool British demeanor that had been part and parcel of her upbringing, she smoothed her rumpled hair and picked up her purse, preparatory to returning to her hotel.

  “You’re right, of course,” she agreed, unknowingly jabbing an additional sliver of pain into his heart. “It’s probably best that we don’t get involved. I was wrong to let anything or anyone divert my attention from Annie when she needs it so desperately.”

  Clad in a lapped-front red silk bodysuit that flattered her petite figure, Kate was pacing in her penthouse apartment. A week spent incognito in California, where she’d swum in a private pool ringed by mountains, ridden a prize Appaloosa up Joshua tree–studded canyons and flown a rented Piper Cub above the breakers at Carmel hadn’t cured her restlessness and frustration. Her oldest son had been accused of murder. Ben’s dealings with Monica were somehow involved.

  Enough of working behind the scenes, she decided, all but stamping one expensively shod foot for emphasis. I want to help from the forefront. Surely there’s evidence to be had—evidence I can find—that will lead the police in the right direction.

  Her mind made up, she dialed Sterling’s number. “I need to talk to you,” she said, in a tone that brooked no contradiction.

  With a lengthy day under his belt and weariness invading his sixty-four-year-old frame, the lawyer had just finished taking a long, hot bath. He was lounging in his bathrobe, with a cognac at his elbow. “Tonight?” he asked, hoping against hope that morning would be soon enough.

  “As soon as possible.”

  He smothered a sigh. Since she’d faked her death, with his cooperation and a
pproval, he’d made a point of conferring with her in person, instead of using the phone.

  “I’ll be there in half an hour,” he promised.

  She was still stalking the confines of her skylit living room when he let himself in. “Thanks for coming, old dear,” she exclaimed, catching him to her in a fond, somewhat relieved embrace.

  A whiff of her perfume, an infusion of her famous energy, and he was less inclined to regret giving up the solitude of his easy chair. Unfortunately, he’d have to drive home when they finished their discussion. Despite their closeness, which had only continued to grow since her husband’s death, he’d never chanced staying over.

  “Don’t mention it,” he wisecracked with a trace of his native grumpiness, aware that she could see right through it. “I gather you’re still on California time. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

  To his chagrin, instead of a replacement for the cognac he’d poured out moments before her call, she offered him coffee, which was guaranteed to ravage his night’s sleep.

  “I’m sick of the whole damn thing,” she responded when he declined, without proposing a substitute. “This masquerade. Jake’s in jail. And I want to help.”

  She was considering a premature reappearance. Somehow, he had to put a stop to it. Monica was dead, and Jake hadn’t killed her. Ergo, a murderer was on the loose—quite possibly the same one who’d masterminded Kate’s plane crash in the Brazilian jungle. If he or she was to learn Kate hadn’t died…

  He shook his head. “What you’re thinking about is just too dangerous. Whoever hired that hit man to take you out might be involved in this, as well.”