* * *
The phone rang, interrupting Katherine. She was late getting back to the catering kitchens. A big event was scheduled for this afternoon, and she'd dashed home for just a moment to grab a fresh outfit. She considered letting the machine pick up, but the strident ringing pricked a nerve. Perhaps it was important.
Running toward the phone, she snatched it up, her voice breathless. "Hello?"
"Mrs. Elliott?"
"Yes." She didn't recognize the male voice.
"Mrs. Matthew Elliott?"
"Yes," she repeated, trying not to show her impatience.
"This is Allen Stanton, CIA."
"CIA?" For a moment she held the receiver away from her ear in disbelief. Why in the world was the CIA calling?
"Yes, Mrs. Elliott. I'm the new section chief responsible for your husband's investigation."
"Investigation?" she echoed. What investigation? The CIA? Stunned, she couldn't absorb that the CIA was actually calling her.
"Yes. Apparently my predecessor dropped the ball in relaying the results of the investigation. It appears to have been left completely open. But I feel you should have the results. It's been confirmed that your husband's death was caused by sabotage."
"Death?" she echoed, gripping the receiver.
"In the plane crash. It also appears that the remains have been tagged to be held for disposition."
"Remains?" she whispered, her knees threatening to give way. It was some dreadful mistake, some mix-up. She'd watched Elliott leave that morning, healthy and whole. "There must be some mistake," she managed to say. "My husband is alive."
There was a rustle of papers on the other end and a lengthy silence. "No, ma'am, I can assure you he's not." There was another considerable silence, broken only by a further rustle of papers. "Ah, this could explain it. Agent Paul Elliott has undertaken the follow-up investigation." He paused again. "I haven't read the entire file, but I can see that your late husband's brother requested a full investigation."
"His brother?" she asked in a choked voice.
"Yes." More papers rustled, followed by yet another lengthy silence. "I haven't met Agent Elliott yet, but I can see by the pictures that the resemblance to your late husband is uncanny." He paused again. "They must be twins." More papers rustled. "Yes, the birth dates correspond. I knew there had to be an explanation."
Katherine felt her world shifting beneath her feet. Twins? Elliott was dead and he had a twin brother?
"Mrs. Elliott," the voice sounded faint as her grasp on the receiver slipped. "We'll send along a copy of the report. Meanwhile, please accept my condolences for your loss." He paused. "I'm sorry you had to learn about it by telephone. Apparently I was premature in contacting you without knowing all the facts. If I'd known you hadn't yet been informed, I would have arranged to see you in person." He cleared his throat, his discomfort obvious. "I'm sure we can coordinate the disposition of your husband's remains with Agent Elliott."
She didn't answer – couldn't answer. Remains? Her husband's remains?
Then who was the man she'd thought was her husband? Who had she been living with? And loving?
Pain, shock and betrayal assaulted her in equal waves. How could she not have known? How could she have accepted another man in her husband's place? It didn't matter that they were twins. She should have known.
Thinking of his story about amnesia, Katherine felt ill. He must have thought she was a fool, not questioning his story. But why had he wanted to perpetuate such a fraud?
Suddenly she remembered his avid interest in the account books, his constant preoccupation with the money end of the business. It was painfully clear why he'd instigated the impersonation. He had wanted to check her out, to see if she was somehow involved. Bitterly she wondered if he suspected her of mere theft, or if he thought her capable of murder, as well. It was apparent he believed that money had motivated her.
Further sickened, Katherine sank to the bench by the phone. She thought of her sweet fun-loving husband. Guiltily she remembered how she'd admired the changes in him, how she had loved him with a passion she hadn't shared with Matthew.
The betrayal cut with razorlike precision. Her face sank into her outstretched hands, the sobs erupting. What had she done? And why had he made her love him?
* * *
Paul walked from the pier toward his car. He couldn't delay any longer. The sun had already begun its descent as he'd tried to decide how to tell Katherine. He had searched for the words, rejecting most of them. No matter what words he chose, he knew they would inflict pain.
The truth was he should have already told her. He'd delayed, knowing she would feel betrayed, knowing she would immediately ask him to leave. But it wasn't a deception he could portray forever.
His cell phone rang. Grateful for even this small delay, he slipped the phone from his pocket.
But John's urgent voice confirmed that he had no more time. The new section chief had called John about the investigation, mentioning his call to Katherine, questioning Paul's role. John had filled him in, but the damage was already done.
Katherine knew.
Closing the phone, Paul ran to his car, then sped toward the home he'd shared with Katherine and Dustin. Her Pathfinder was not in the garage. But he held on to his control as he rushed into the house.
The place echoed with silence. Still, he ran up the stairs and into the bedroom. Throwing open her closet door, he could see an empty space on the rack where her favorite things usually hung. A quick perusal of Dustin's room showed much the same thing.
Paul headed down the stairs and into the kitchen. Nothing was out of place. Its very neatness looked singularly cold. Eyes darting around the room, they landed on a stack of papers on the table, held in place by a mocking kitchen witch.
Although he dreaded to see the words, Paul picked up the paper.
Elliott, or should I call you Paul? It's clear you thought more of money than of either Matthew or me. I would hate for your "investigation" to go unrewarded. Take what you came for and then leave.
She hadn't signed the note, but there was no doubt it was from Katherine. Slowly Paul reached for the other papers. He scanned them, his heart sinking. She had signed the catering business over to him. Giving him what she must now he convinced he wanted.
Knowing he had to reverse that impression, Paul also knew he had to find her. And there was only one person he was sure she would trust with her hideaway.
* * *
"I'm sorry Elliott. I can't tell you." Jessica crossed to the wall of windows that looked out to the ocean.
Paul tried to rein in his frustration. "You know she's in pain, Jessica, believing the worst. I'm the only one who can explain why what I did was imperative."
Jessica's gaze was skeptical. "I think she has a pretty good idea of why."
"No, she doesn't. She thinks it's about money. But it was about my brother, discovering the truth about his death."
"Then you really do think Katherine had something to do with his death?" Jessica asked in shock.
So Katherine believed that. "I know Katherine is innocent. But I couldn't assume that before I knew her. My brother deserved nothing less than what I gave him."
"And what did Katherine deserve?"
Paul flinched. "Not what fate gave her. But I couldn't know that at the beginning."
"And now?" Jessica's gaze didn't leave his. "When you knew she was falling in love with you? You, not your brother."
Was it wrong to feel hope at the leap of joy her words caused? He wasn't sure, but he couldn't stifle the emotion. Paul wondered if he could trust Jessica, then decided he had no choice. "Now? Now I'm in love with her."
Jessica gasped, then her eyes softened. "Truly?"
He nodded. "And I need to find her … to tell her … to explain."
"I'm not sure she'll listen." Jessica hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. "But I think you need the chance to try and make her understand." Pivoting, she walked to
her drafting table, quickly scribbling directions on some sketching paper. Then she handed it to him. "I'm not sure I understand, either."
Paul met her gaze. "That makes three of us."
* * *
Chapter 18
«^»
Jessica's family cabin was tucked inland. The directions weren't complicated, but the roads twisted past marshlands, crumbling ruins of ancient shanties and groves of moss-draped live oaks. Soon the lush greenery began to take on a sameness that made Paul wonder if he was keeping on course.
But nothing would have stopped him. Despite the humidity that wrapped around the approaching twilight, Paul kept his windows open, needing all the air he could drag into his lungs. Knowing he was choking on the truth, he could only imagine what Katherine was feeling.
He rounded a bend and spotted the cabin. Katherine's Pathfinder was parked out front. Apparently she had believed that Jessica would never reveal her hiding place.
Parking his car, Paul had barely stepped out when he saw Katherine. She held a basket of wildflowers. He walked quietly toward her, seeing she hadn't yet noticed him.
Katherine's head lifted suddenly, her gaze flying directly to his, and her body stiffened in surprise. But she didn't speak.
He covered the distance between them, each inch seeming like a mile. Finally he stood in front of her. "Katherine."
Stiffly she nodded, her fingers tightening around the basket handle.
"Are those flowers to cheer you up?" he asked, not certain where to begin, knowing he couldn't simply split open his chest and show her his painful heart.
"They're for Matthew," she replied rigidly, accusation burning in her violet eyes. They reminded him suddenly of bruises, and the evidence of her crying tore at him.
"I want to explain."
"There is no excuse for what you did," she flared.
"I'm not offering excuses, just an explanation. You need to know I did this for Matthew."
She held herself rigidly. "Funny. It doesn't look that way to me."
Paul searched her face, looking for even a flicker of understanding. "How does it look to you, Katherine?"
"You thought I was after Matthew for his money. I saw your obsession with how much was spent, how much was coming in. You thought I had something to do with the plane crash, so I could get Matthew's money. If I hadn't been a suspect, you would have told me who you are, why you were here."
Paul looked past the anger, seeing the pain, hating what it was doing to her. "I might have thought at first that you were a suspect, but I came to realize you were innocent."
"You have a funny way of showing it." She gazed at him, her eyes frosty. "I'm not sure why you're here. Didn't you find the papers to the catering company?"
Paul nodded, wondering what he could say, how he could fix the terrible mess he'd made. "Yes."
Katherine's voice was acid. "There's nothing left for the vultures to pick over. That's all there was. You've made a trip for nothing." She started to turn away.
He grabbed her arm, wondering how to convince her. "Katherine, wait."
She looked pointedly at his hand. "Let go of me."
Reluctantly he dropped his hand. "What can I do to convince you?"
"Nothing. You've had a world of time for explanations before today. You didn't think they were important then. I don't think they are now."
Paul shared her pain, but knew she would never believe that. "Isn't there anything I can do?"
"Leave. And forget you ever met Matthew's money-grubbing widow." Her eyes blazed. "I see how much the money means to you. That's all you were ever concerned about. That, and if I killed Matthew for it." Katherine's rage boiled, sending tears spilling onto her cheeks. "You got what you came for. I don't ever want to see you again." Rushing to the cabin, she slammed the door, shutting him out.
Reeling from her words, Elliott stood rooted in place as twilight thickened the night air. Why hadn't he told her sooner? And what was he going to do now?
* * *
The cabin darkened, the fire providing a soft glow aided by only one low lamp. Katherine watched as Dustin slept, his peaceful face innocent and open. His favorite stuffed toy was scrunched beside him. Bobby Bear. The healer of all ills.
All ills except the one she suffered. Seeing Elliott had been a shock equal to the CIA man's phone call.
Suddenly every difference between the brothers stood out in stark relief. The firmer chin, the bare lip, the eyes. Eyes that couldn't be the same, because the twins shared many things, but not the same soul.
How had she not seen the evidence?
As they had throughout the numbing day, her thoughts jumped from her own self-recrimination to her grief over Matthew. This time he wouldn't be coming home. How had such an enduring spirit been lost? Vaguely she remembered the mention of sabotage. But who could have wanted to hurt him? His generosity was matchless, his kindness unending.
Knowing the man she had opened her heart to believed she could kill Matthew stunned her beyond comprehension. It had taken her a while to piece together the scenario. But there could have been only one reason Paul conducted an investigation posing as Matthew. She was a suspect; otherwise, she would have known his identity from the beginning.
Paul had come in and taken what had rightfully belonged to Matthew – her trust and her love. More, Paul had made her love him. Despite her grief, Katherine knew her feelings for Paul were far different from those she had for Matthew. And she blamed Paul for the guilt that caused.
How could he have made her love him?
The impact of her double loss hit with unprecedented force. Matthew, who had taken her away from the painful rigidity she'd always known, introducing her to fun and laughter, something she would forever be grateful for. Paul, who had taken her to unknown heights of passion, who had become a true life partner. Both were gone. The hole in her heart expanded as the agony assaulted her.
Experiencing two such different and special loves, it pained her to know which she would have chosen. And realizing her love belonged to the survivor made it even more difficult. If she could bury the love along with Matthew, somehow it would have made sense. But that wasn't possible. For all the pain of his deception and betrayal, Katherine knew Paul's was the love she craved. Because of it, her heart continued breaking, the splintered pieces reminding her that everything was lost.
* * *
Paul heard the phone. Knowing it wasn't Katherine, he considered not answering. But the persistent peal continued. Thinking it could possibly be Jessica with news of Katherine, he picked up the receiver.
"I've been trying to reach you for hours," John greeted him. "Your cell phone is off."
"I was at my attorney's," Paul replied, looking at the impressive stack of documents in his briefcase.
There was a small charged silence. "Can we meet?"
Paul tried unsuccessfully to stem his impatience. "Can't we talk on the phone now?"
"Are you there alone?" John countered.
"Katherine still hasn't returned from the cabin, if that's what you're asking. I was about to head out and try to see her again. Try to convince her to come home."
"Wait for me. I don't need much time and I can be there in five minutes." John ended the call without waiting for a reply.
Paul glanced out the window. He could use another delay. Even though several days had passed, he still hadn't figured out how to convince Katherine. He wasn't sure if he possessed enough words in his vocabulary to persuade her that his intentions had been good. But would she forgive his methods based only on intentions?
Prowling around the house, Paul found himself on the stairs, heading toward the bedroom they'd shared. Although everything about the house was empty, this was the room that mocked, even accused, him. Sterile now without Katherine's presence, the very softness of the decor seemed to demand an answer. And Paul feared his explanations would fall short.
The doorbell rang. It seemed to Paul that far less than five minutes had p
assed since John's call. Then again, lost in his own thoughts, he realized it could have been far more.
"What couldn't you tell me on the phone?" Paul asked, pouring them each a drink, needing something to warm the chill he felt that had nothing to do with the temperature.
John hesitated briefly. "Stanton felt bad about blabbing to Katherine. He's new, but he's also a paper pusher, not a field agent. Because of the screwup, he stepped up efforts on the investigation – put it on a full-alert priority status."
Paul's interest quickened, but along with it he felt a sense of impending dread. "And?"
John met his eyes, his own gaze somber. "A mole in the Falgetti camp confirmed that you were their target. They sabotaged the plane."
The news wasn't a complete surprise, yet it knocked the breath out of him. Paul was a key witness in the upcoming Falgetti trial. "There's no doubt?"
John shook his head.
So Matthew had died in his place. An inescapable combination of remorse and guilt swept over him. Paul knew he would never forgive himself. "I should have been…"
John interpreted the words left unspoken. "You couldn't have prevented his death. If you had been with him, you'd both be dead."
But it wasn't that easy for Paul. "And if I hadn't been working on such a high-profile case, I wouldn't have been a target."
"You've gone undercover before," John said calmly. "And you didn't have any reason to suspect this sort of assassination attempt – it goes against type for the Falgettis."
"But I'm the key witness in their case," Paul argued, feeling the double-edged pain of loss and guilt. "It was my responsibility. I should have thought of that and not endangered Matthew."
"You can't turn back time."
Paul ignored the words. "Did the informant tell you who the hit man was?"
John averted his eyes. "No. And he won't be telling us anything else."
So they'd lost that connection, as well. The Falgettis considered lives expendable. Lives such as their informant's and Matthew's. Lives the criminal family couldn't be allowed to destroy.
THE WRONG BROTHER Page 14