“And you’re a great believer in doing the decent thing?”
Was that her being coy? Flirting? Or what she felt passed for flirting, she amended silently. What was going on here?
She was both nervous and excited, even as she warned herself not to be.
“Whenever possible,” he replied to her mocking question, fairly sure she was mocking him. He stole a glance at her now that they were relatively alone and unthreatened by traffic. “Whenever possible,” he repeated.
Instead of feeling a sense of relief at his profession of honorability, her nerves instantly spiked even higher than before, fed by anticipation the magnitude of which she had never encountered.
Just what did she think she was anticipating here? Cindy asked herself. Women were a dime a dozen for this man. Why would he bother singling her out?
And why did she so desperately want him to?
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Dear Reader,
Welcome to the first installment of The Kelley Legacy, a family you first met in the pages of the last The Coltons of Montana miniseries.
We have a United States senator who allowed his ever-growing ego to lead him into regions a more prudent-thinking man would have gone to great lengths to avoid. The purpose of the society he blundered into will be revealed slowly, but the chilling threat is evident immediately.
To the senator’s rescue comes his estranged son (one of six siblings), Dylan Kelley, a class-A trial lawyer. He joins forces with the senator’s chief staff assistant, Cindy Jensen, who has secrets of her own. A challenge that will take a bit of work. But Dylan soon finds that Cindy is more than worth the extra effort he needs to put in.
As ever, I thank you for reading and from the bottom of my heart, I wish you someone to love who loves you back.
Marie Ferrarella
Watch out for these other books in the riveting new Kelley Legacy miniseries:
Special Ops Bodyguard by Beth Cornelison—August 2011
Cowboy Under Siege by Gail Barrett—September 2011
Rancher Under Cover by Carla Cassidy—October 2011
Missing Mother-to-Be by Elle Kennedy—November 2011
Captain’s Call of Duty by Cindy Dees—December 2011
MARIE FERRARELLA
Private Justice
Books by Marie Ferrarella
Harlequin Romantic Suspense
‡A Doctor’s Secret #1503
‡Secret Agent Affair #1511
*Protecting His Witness #1515
Colton’s Secret Service #1528
The Heiress’s 2-Week Affair #1556
*Cavanaugh Pride #1571
*Becoming a Cavanaugh #1575
The Agent’s Secret Baby #1580
*The Cavanaugh Code #1587
*In Bed with the Badge #1596
*Cavanaugh Judgment #1612
Colton by Marriage #1616
*Cavanaugh Reunion #1623
‡In His Protective Custody #1644
Harlequin Romantic Suspense
Private Justice #1664
American Romance
Pocketful of Rainbows #145
†††The Sheriff’s Christmas Surprise #1329
†††Ramona and the Renegade #1338
†††The Doctor’s Forever Family #1346
Harlequin Special Edition
§Mother in Training #1785
Romancing the Teacher #1826
**Remodeling the Bachelor #1845
**Taming the Playboy #1856
**Capturing the Millionaire #1863
‡‡Falling M.D. #1873
†Diamond in the Rough #1910
†The Bride with No Name #1917
†Mistletoe and Miracles #1941
††Plain Jane and the Playboy #1946
†Travis’s Appeal #1958
Loving the Right Brother #1977
The 39-Year-Old Virgin #1983
†A Lawman for Christmas #2006
‡‡‡Prescription for Romance #2017
†††Doctoring the Single Dad #2031
†††Fixed Up with Mr. Right? #2041
†††Finding Happily-Ever-After #2060
Unwrapping the Playboy #2084
MARIE FERRARELLA
This USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award-winning author has written two hundred books for Silhouette and Harlequin Books, some under the name of Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website at www.marieferrarella.com.
To
Kate Conrad,
a little fighter
if ever there was one.
Keep up the good fight.
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Prologue
They were out there, waiting for him. Waiting to feed on his public humiliation.
Vultures!
The hairs on the back of Henry Thomas Kelley’s neck stood on end as his anxiety grew.
He knew they were there before he even opened the courthouse door and walked out of the venerable building. Before he ever saw them, he sensed them. A gaggle of reporters clutching microphones as if they were weapons to be wielded, deadly weapons that, with the echo of one misplaced word, could kill all of a man’s hopes, all his dreams. Kill everything he had built up over these long years.
Backed up by their cameramen, they were ready, willing and eager to record the downfall of what had been, just days before, a fairy-tale life—complete with a breathtaking, meteoric rise in the world of politics.
He’d been king of the world with no limit in sight. And now, now that he’d crossed the wrong people, expressed a hesitation where none had been anticipated or would be tolerated, the king, it appeared, was dead—and everyone wanted their chance to kick the corpse before it was dumped into an unmarked grave.
Hubris was a terrible thing, born of adulation and coming in on the backs of fawning lackeys. And Hank Kelley knew, to his shame, that he had been guilty of it. Been seduced by it. Everyone had wanted to be seen with him, be in his limelight. Use him.
And now, those same people were ready to rend his body into tiny, indistinguishable pieces. Joyfully.
He had been married to one of the richest women in the world, an attractive woman who had loved him, giving him five sons and a daughter. He and Sarah had been the absolutely perfect couple with the perfect family.
Had been.
And he had let it all go to his head.
He had stopped deflecting the flattering attentions of all those beautiful women who seemingly wanted nothing more than to be with him. To love him.
Vain, flattered, he’d stopped resisting, and the trap, he now realized, had been set. A trap to be used against him whenever it was deemed necessary by the people he’d so naively trusted.
Apparently, now it was necessary.
Now, not one, not two, but six of the women he’d been involved with—calling themselves mistresses when that title hardly fitted—all tall, all willowy, all blondes, had stepped forward to point an accusing finger at the man they were all claiming had seduced them.
It had been the other way around. It was always the other way around. But the end
result was the same. He had cheated. Cheated on the wife who had loved him, cheated on the public who had trusted him, and that was all the public cared about.
That and watching his public humiliation, his public fall from grace.
It made for a great show.
Taking in one long breath, Hank braced himself and pushed open the door. He would have lowered his head to avoid looking at them, but it would have been taken as an act of cowardice, and he might be many things, but a coward was not one of them.
With determined steps he began to make his way to his waiting vehicle, enduring a hail of questions that swelled into a storm of noise.
“Senator, Senator! Look this way!”
“This way!”
“Are you the father of that woman’s baby?” Someone shouted the soul-scraping question louder than her fellow reporters.
His mouth, so often seen with a radiant smile, was grim. He kept his eyes on his target, the car, and avoided making any eye contact with the swarm around him, no matter how tightly they closed in around him.
He pushed forward.
“No comment,” he finally bit off as the questions grew and multiplied, choking the very air around him. He was beginning to doubt he was going to make it to his car in one piece. It couldn’t end like this. Not here. Not before he found a way to apologize to Sarah for the grief he had caused her. He had never meant to hurt her. He just didn’t think.
He kept plowing his way through the human throng, making progress by inches. He needed not only to get away, but to find somewhere he could go and think. What was happening was not a coincidence.
But why now? Why this?
He needed answers.
After what felt like an eternity embroiled in an endless journey, he finally made it to his car. The driver, Joseph, was standing holding the rear door open for him, waiting. He was quickly ushered in, his useless lawyer diving in right behind him, and the door was secured.
Exhausted, relieved, he leaned back and exhaled a sigh filled with anxiety.
“Where to, sir?” Joseph asked after sliding into the driver’s seat and slamming the door.
Both sides of the somber, black customized vehicle were besieged by the relentless reporters, still trying to get a sound bite, a single damning word.
“Anywhere,” Hank cried. “Just away from here.”
The car was already in motion, burrowing through the throng. “You got it, Senator.”
“Damn fool idiot!”
Bonnie Gene Kelley was walking by the den where her husband of forty years, Donald, could occasionally be found when he wasn’t up to his elbows in yet another barbecue sauce, trying to create one to top the one he’d breathed life into the time before. All created to be used at his very successful chain of steak houses.
The sound of Donald’s voice stopped her in her tracks and she peered in.
“Talking to yourself again, dear?” she asked. It was getting to be an unfortunate habit, she thought. People were going to think he was losing his mental faculties if he wasn’t careful. “You know, if you want some company,” she told him, walking into the room, “all you have to do is ask.”
Donald continued scowling at the TV.
Glancing toward the flat screen, she asked, “What are you watching?” before she had a chance to focus on the face of the man on the monitor.
Her eyes widened. Oh my God!
“Donald, is that Hank?” she cried, completely stunned.
Donald was still communing with the image on the screen. “Damn stupid idiot,” Donald retorted angrily. With a snap of his wrist, he made the picture disappear, shutting off the set just as the words recorded earlier scrolled across the bottom of the screen. “He never could keep from messing up a good thing!”
“Donald, why was Hank in the middle of that ugly crowd? Is something wrong? Why was he on the news?”
Bonnie Gene turned toward her husband, expecting him to give her an answer or at least to share in her confusion as to why Hank was the subject of a news story.
Donald didn’t want to talk about it. Not yet. Not until he got his temper under control.
Shaking his head, his asymmetrically cut, shaggy white hair—that he insisted only she cut—moving about independently, he acted as if he hadn’t heard any of her questions and announced, “I’m going back to the restaurant. That barbecue sauce isn’t going to create itself.”
“Donald,” Bonnie Gene cried, raising her voice as he strode past her to the den’s threshold, “talk to me.”
“That was talking, Bonnie Gene,” Donald said as he walked out. “Thought someone who’s always doing it would recognize it when she heard it.” He didn’t bother turning around.
Bonnie Gene, frowning, picked up the remote and turned the set back on. But the news had moved on and cut to a commercial. A bright, smiling blonde with way too many teeth was extolling the virtues of her shampoo.
Disgusted, Bonnie Gene turned off the set again and, with an annoyed sigh, left the room, promising herself that she was going to get the information out of her husband when he came home for the night. She wanted to know what was going on. The senator from California, Hank Kelley, was Donald’s younger and, for all intents and purposes, estranged half brother. But family was family and she intended to get to the bottom of this.
Donald, she thought, had better come clean if he knew what was good for him.
Chapter 1
Just when I thought there were no surprises left when it came to you, you had to show me I was wrong, didn’t you, Dad?
Several states away, in a prestigious law firm in Beverly Hills, California, high-powered attorney Dylan Kelley was watching the same news broadcast as his much-loved uncle Donald.
Biting off a curse, Dylan aimed his remote at the huge flat-screen TV on the opposite wall and terminated the broadcast. The screen went to black and, for a moment, silence ensued.
Dylan shook his head in dazed disbelief. So much for his father’s straight-arrow image.
“You really outdid yourself this time, Dad,” he muttered under his breath, anger beginning to set in and take a firm hold.
He wondered if either of his brothers or his sister, Lana, knew about this latest turn of events. Worse, what if his mother had caught this bulletin? She was a strong woman, a woman who had, over the years, slowly constructed walls and barriers around herself. He’d been a witness to that, watching the walls as they came up, holding her in.
Holding everyone else out.
He realized now, as an adult, that she’d done it to protect herself against being hurt. As if she somehow knew that this was in the offing.
Had she suspected? Did she know? He felt incredibly bad for her, incredibly angry at his absentee father for having done this to her.
Dylan sighed, sitting back down at his desk for a moment. For just a split second, his knees felt weak. If he felt like this, how must his mother feel?
Just goes to show you, he thought. Fairy tales were just that, fairy tales. They had no bearing on real life. The press and people in general had called his parents’ marriage a real-life, magical fairy-tale. Years ago, he’d stumbled across an old article in a magazine, an interview with his father written when Hank had just been starting out on his political rise—his eye even then on a very lofty prize.
His father had freely admitted, apparently with pride, that he had married an exceedingly rich woman who supported him in every way, eager to make him happy, eager to give him his heart’s desire, no matter what it was. Along the way, she’d also given him the perfect photo op family.
Dylan took in a deep breath as he closed his eyes and remembered being trotted out with his brothers and baby sister, all perfectly groomed, him wearing a suit he’d hated at the time, to stand around his father and mother, big smiles pasted on all their faces for the camera that froze their supposed happiness forever in time.
Or at least long enough to generate a favorable impression with the voting public. His father had been
the family-values candidate.
He wondered if his father saw the irony in that now.
Agitated, Dylan dragged his hand through his thick, dark hair, remembering that the creation of those family portraits provided almost the only occasions when he actually got to see his father. The rest of the time, Hank was busy traveling, glad-handing potential constituents up and down the length and breadth of California, professing his undying willingness to work until he dropped for the good of the people of “this glorious, sun-kissed state of ours.”
And the voters had believed him. Believed every single word. They’d sent his father to the United States Senate, confident that he would represent them to the best of his ability, which was definitely good enough for them.
Who his father wound up representing, apparently, was himself, Dylan thought darkly, his mind going back to the jarring news story expounding on the fact that his father was being investigated on charges of illegal activities and criminal misuse of campaign funds.
One of the newscasters, looking properly shocked, said that there were allegations the missing campaign funds had been spent on setting up his mistresses, one of whom was said to be currently pregnant.
Mistresses.
Damn it, Dad, what the hell were you thinking? Didn’t you just once think about this getting out and hurting Mom? Dylan demanded silently.
He hadn’t seen his father in—what? Six months? A year? More?
He’d lost track. The last few times he had been the one to seek out his father, who never just showed up to see how his son was doing or how life was going for the family in general. His father was always too busy to take the time to stay in touch.
And now I know what you apparently were too busy with, Dylan thought angrily.
Well, if the prosecutors had their way, he was still going to have to go to his father in order to see him. And this time it would be because his father was incarcerated.
Private Justice Page 1