The Best-Kept Secret

by Adrianne Lee

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Dear Reader

  Title Page

  Dedication

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Copyright

  “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Mac gathered Tia to his bare chest, and the nightmare faded as she pressed her cheek near his heart. He gently rubbed her back through her T-shirt, his hand moving in slow, soothing strokes.

  “It’ll be okay, Tia.”

  She wanted to believe him, but he didn’t have all the facts. Her nightmares weren’t dreams. They were reality in the world of Tia Larken.

  As the moments passed, her pulse hummed faster. Her anxiety diluted into something sweet—and forbidden. The thrum of Mac’s heart sent blood rushing through her veins with sizzle and promise.

  She lifted her head and found him gazing down at her. He lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss sent ribbons of passion floating through her, soft and silken. She reached her hands around his neck to pull him closer, letting him know she wanted this. Wanted more.

  She knew they had to stop, or Mac would regret this. But pleasure dragged his name from her parted lips. “Oh, Mac. Mac…please stay…”

  Dear Reader,

  Hi, all. As far back as I can remember my mother was an avid reader of mystery, and her tastes in books helped me shape my own. So I think it is only fitting that I now have her reading and enjoying Harlequin’s wonderful Intrigue line. Thanks, Mom.

  I wish you all a happy and loving holiday with just a sweet pinch of mystery to keep it interesting. I love hearing from readers. Reach me at: P.O. Box 3835, Sequim, WA 98382. Please enclose an SASE for response.

  The Best-Kept

  Secret

  Adrianne Lee

  To Betty Ann Patterson, who believed in me when I needed it, and who gave me back my dream.

  THANKS

  Dave Tilbor, VP Marketing Services at Galoob Toys in San Francisco; Sharon Anderson, Director of Human Resources at Irwin Toy Limited in Toronto; and Judy Strege, great writer and friend; and always, Anne Martin, Kelly McKillip, Susan Skaggs and Gayle Webster.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Tia Larken—A devastating secret changed her life.

  Mac Coy—His life depended on the woman he secretly loved.

  Grant Coy—The P.I. masqueraded as his twin—and died for it.

  Suzanne Chang—Nothing the head of marketing said rang true.

  Gwen Gallagher—Mac’s trusted vice president revealed the biggest surprise of all.

  Ginny Gibson—Tia’s best friend had a secret of her own.

  Bud Gibson—The security guard knew everything about Tia’s past…almost.

  Will Holden—He was always asking Mac for more money.

  Bijou Novak—Mac’s head of sales seemed very nervous.

  Nancy Rice—Mac’s assistant liked his new look—a lot.

  Stewart Stewicki—A helpful, concerned employee?

  Fred Vogler—The operations manager had a thing for matches.

  Chapter One

  The man on the sofa stared at the television, his chest heaving with grief.

  “Today in a bizarre accident,” the newscaster said, “local toy manufacturer Mac Coy died when a virtual reality simulator he was testing shorted out, electrocuting him.”

  The anchorwoman wore a Christmas-green suit with a silver Santa on her lapel. The set around her sported pine boughs sprinkled with tiny white lights and tied with plaid ribbons. The decor conveyed the warmth of the holiday, while the anchorwoman’s words, spoken in a flat and emotionless tone, sliced the man’s heart like a jagged edge of a shattered tree ornament.

  Maybe it was the tree across the room, the decorations all around him, that made him feel connected to her, but he could swear she stared directly at him, speaking to him alone, as though they were captured in some lost Yuletide episode of “The Twilight Zone.” “No one is quite sure how this happened.”

  The man was dead certain how it had happened. Murder. Murder made to appear accidental. That VRS had been rigged. He tossed back a shot of Cuervo Gold.

  The newscaster continued, “A spokesman for Coy Toys said that Mr. Coy’s death is even sadder coming as it has at this time of year with the company’s impending release of a revolutionary breakthrough in the industry.”

  The man laughed, a bitter, pained, mirthless burst of noise that echoed off the living-room walls. Holly Beary’s Heart, a breakthrough meant for the good of the world. For the joy of children everywhere. Instead, it had fostered industrial espionage. And now murder. His insides ached with cold, as though he’d swallowed a block of ice.

  The newscaster shuffled the pages on her desk. “Mac Coy’s brother, CEO of Quell Inc., Grant Coy, could not be reached for comment.”

  The man glanced at the phone, unplugged from the wall, and winced. His brother was dead. His twin. The other half of him. The better half. What the hell did the press expect him to say? That he was bereft? And angry enough, for the first time in his life, to commit a violent crime? To rip the murderer limb from limb?

  If he had the faintest idea how to go about finding the murderer.

  He clicked off the television set. The screen crackled in protest, then faded to black. The sudden silence emphasized his grief. His guilt. Gripping his glass tightly, he tossed the remote control aside and lurched to his feet. His head swam. The room spun. The miniature lights on the six-foot tree, the only illumination in the room, blurred.

  He shook his head. Tequila splashed from his glass down the front of him. He cursed, shrugged out of the T-shirt and wiped himself off with it.

  He dropped back to the sofa and tossed down the rest of the drink. His third. No, fifth. No. Hell, he’d lost count. He didn’t usually drink anything stronger than coffee. Didn’t like dulling his wits. Now he no longer cared. He needed desperately to blunt his heartache. To blot out all thought.

  Except revenge.

  His gaze slid to the presents beneath the tree. To one gift in particular. The one to his brother from him—a silly joke gift, something his brother would never open. A laugh they would never share.

  The knot in his throat grew. He brushed a hand over his newly short hair, for the first time in a week hardly noticing the different length, and poured another drink. He slumped on the sofa, his eyes riveted to the gift. He sipped the liquor, wondering how he was going to find out who’d killed his twin.

  Afraid there was only one way he could.

  “YOU’RE JUST AFRAID.”

  “Afraid?” Tia Larken scowled at her best friend and brushed her dark hair from her cheek with a nervous hand. The airport lounge reeked of Christmas cheer this Friday evening, the crowd as merry as the paper Santa coasters beneath their drinks. Competing with the revelers and a garland-crowned television—tuned to the eleven-o’clock newscast—which sat two feet from them, Tia raised her voice, repeating, “Afraid?”

  Ginny Gibson nodded, setting a spike of her short red hair waving at the crown of her head. “Prewedding jitters.”

  Tia swallowed against the knot in her throat. She and Ginny had just landed from a week-long layover in Taiwan. Friends since their teens, they’d gone to flight-attendant s
chool together and hired on with Air Orient five years ago. She’d expected Ginny to say she was “afraid” Grant would find out about her past.

  But even Ginny didn’t know the worst of her past.

  A sigh slipped from Tia. If either of them knew the truth about her, they’d walk away and never look back. She’d die if she lost Ginny, but would she really mourn the loss of Grant? A month ago she’d have said a resounding yes. But lately she’d felt him slipping away—as though he did know her secret. Almost as though he had found someone else.

  Or had her secret merely made her see Grant in a clearer light? A less-flattering light?

  Her indecision on the matter had nearly driven her crazy the past week. If only she could open up to Ginny…Fear danced with the wine in her belly. No, she couldn’t risk it. Besides, Ginny seemed preoccupied with her own secret worries. “It’s not prewedding jitters.”

  “Sure it is.” Ginny slurped the last of her hot buttered rum and asked the bartender for a second. She turned her ardent brown eyes back toward Tia. “Just like my cousin Brenda. The moment she said yes to her boyfriend, she became as nervous as a cat with new kittens and stayed that way a whole year until after the ‘I do’s’ were said. Then whammo—” Ginny clicked her fingers “—she relaxed.”

  “Your cousin Brenda was always a ditz. I’m not nervous,” Tia insisted, even though both could see the tremble in her hand. She glanced at the ring Grant had given her and frowned. The three-carat, pearshaped diamond glinted like an icicle in the light thrown by the television. She pulled in a bracing breath. “Engagement rings are supposed to symbolize love, but…I’m not sure I love Grant.”

  “What?” Ginny gaped at her. “Grant Coy is every woman’s fantasy come true. He’s easy on the eyes, keeps himself in great shape, is well-read, loves the arts, knows how to dress, earns a terrific living, is—according to you—fabulous in bed.”

  “Considering you’ve never met the man, you sure have a strong opinion of him.”

  “I’ve seen his photo, and I listen when you talk about him. And best of all, he’s not a pilot. What more could you want?”

  What more, indeed? Tia mused, knowing full well exactly what she wanted: to be someone else. “I can’t marry a man I don’t love.”

  Ginny sighed and gazed at her pointedly. “Aren’t you just getting cold feet because you’re a masochist who doesn’t believe she deserves anyone so perfect?”

  Not even someone half as perfect. Tia struggled to swallow her wine. She’d tried convincing herself it would work out, but from the moment she’d learned the truth about herself everything had changed. The ground had literally turned to mush beneath her feet. And every passing day reinforced the fact that Grant Coy deserved someone better than Tia Larken. Someone who was free to love him. Someone who loved him.

  She glanced at the ring again, knowing it was only a matter of hours before she returned it. “I’m not looking forward to this evening.”

  “This isn’t about that old business with Crimble, is it?” Ginny’s brown eyes burned into her. “‘Cause if it is, you should just tell Grant. If he’s half the guy I think he is, he’ll understand.”

  She had told him about Crimble Industries. He had understood. But it was what she couldn’t tell him that had her palms sweating. Her pulse beating erratically. If she really loved Grant, she would tell him the secret. Would want to tell him. Would have to tell him. But either way, the engagement was over. She’d found out she couldn’t marry anyone. “I wish it were that simple, Ginny. But some things in a person’s past are insurmountable.”

  “Phooey. If none of us can overcome our past, then I’m in huge trouble.”

  Uneasiness sifted through Tia. If she didn’t shift the subject a bit, Ginny would push and push to find out what in her past was so serious that she’d break up with Mr. Perfect over it. Better to let her think they were incompatible on an important issue. “When we were in junior high, Ginny, do you remember how I described my ideal man?”

  “Sure. He had to be sweet and make you laugh and he had to love kids.”

  Kids. Yes. Tia’s heart squeezed with such pain she could barely breath. She could never be a mother. But if she could, she’d want the father of her children to be someone more like Grant’s brother than Grant. She gave Ginny a weak smile. “When Grant and I met at the shelter last year, I was under the impression he did love kids. But lately I’ve begun wondering if it wasn’t his brother who’d convinced him to volunteer. There’s no doubt Mac Coy loves children. He’s dedicated his lifework to them. He’d be a great dad.”

  Tia thought of her own father and shuddered.

  Ginny smirked and tapped the coaster with her index finger. “Sounds to me like your ideal man would be ol’ Santa here.”

  Despite the solemnity of her feelings, Tia grinned. “Yeah, I guess that would be about right.”

  Ginny grew serious. “Are you actually going to break up with Grant three weeks before Christmas?”

  Tia sighed. “I don’t—”

  “Oh, my God, Tia.” Ginny interrupted, pointing to the tinsel-topped television. “Isn’t that Grant’s brother?”

  Tia snapped her head around. Mac Coy’s photograph filled the screen. She leaned closer, straining to hear.

  The newscaster looked as though she sat in a Christmas card, an evil elf telling the boys and girls their favorite holiday had been canceled, that Mac Coy, their champion, had died. Tia gasped. Her heart constricted, then leaped inside her chest. “Mac…no…he can’t be dead. This is awful.”

  Ginny covered her hand with her mouth, shock thick in her dark eyes, her face so pale her freckles stood out beneath her makeup. “Poor Grant.”

  Tia’s misgivings collided with a burgeoning heartbreak. She lurched off the stool, laid a twenty on the bar and grabbed her purse and flight bag. She hurried out into the concourse. Her legs felt shaky and tears burned her eyes. Holiday travelers slewed past her like river water around a fish bent on swimming upstream.

  “Where are you going?” Ginny asked a bit breathlessly as she fell into step beside her.

  Tia shivered. “To Grant’s.”

  “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

  “Well, I’m certainly not going to break our engagement on the same day his brother died. I don’t hate the man, Ginny. And right now, he needs me.”

  They stepped out into the rainy night. Buses and cars and taxis alternately parked and pulled away from the walkway. Tia told a porter she needed a cab, then stepped back to wait.

  “Here comes my ride,” Ginny said. She hugged Tia goodbye. “I’d be happy to find a man with half the promise of Grant Coy.”

  “You will.” Tia assured her.

  “I’m not holding my breath. God knows, my male role models haven’t given me much to hope for in that area.”

  A car pulled to the curb. The driver was one of Ginny’s three brothers. Tia couldn’t tell which one through the darkly tinted, rain-streaked windshield. But it didn’t matter; all three were as shady as a stand of giant elm trees.

  ON THE RIDE from SeaTac International Airport to Grant’s condo in Kennydale, Tia didn’t hear the carols blaring from the cab’s radio. How could she break up with Grant now? Grief surged again, washing away her concerns about the engagement like the rain spilling off the windshield of the car.

  All that mattered right now was Mac had died. It seemed unreal. A bad dream.

  A whole year had passed since they’d first met. Reluctantly, she dredged up old memories. At the homeless shelter last Christmas and into the ensuing two months, he’d been so good with the kids, always bringing new toys for them. Tia had thought him a bit of a nerd with his long hair and glasses, his baggy clothes, his awkward manner with adults.

  But looking back now, she realized he’d been determined to bring some joy into the lives of those unfortunate children whose parents had fallen on bad times. Now she saw only his kindness. Why hadn’t she noticed earlier? While he was still alive
? While she could praise him for his dedication?

  Anguish closed her throat. If she felt this upset, Grant would be inconsolable. Somehow, she would have to help him through this.

  The taxi parked beside Grant’s red Porsche. She paid the driver and hurried up the front walk of the two-story building. The wreath she’d given Grant hogged the top half of his door, looking too cheerful, too bright on this night of tragedy. A yuletide song began issuing from the decoration at her approach.

  She cringed, her gaze dropping. A gaily wrapped present sat on the mat. She bent and picked it up. It fit her palm perfectly. The tag read, “To Grant, from Santa.”

  Frowning, Tia used her key to let herself into the condo. The unmistakable scent of pine engulfed her. The only light in the room came from the Christmas tree, soft, but sufficient. She glanced around the living room, orienting herself to sounds and sights, letting her eyes adjust.

  The curtains stood open at the glass door, as though Grant had been standing there earlier looking out at Lake Washington. Rain pattered the roof and streaked the window. The knot in her stomach tightened. She locked the door, slipped off her shoes and coat, and left them beside her flight bag. Where was Grant now?

  As if on cue, a gentle snore arose from the sofa. She found him slumped over, half-sitting, half-lying on the armrest. Her toe stubbed the heavy leaded cocktail glass overturned on the floor. Wincing in pain, she placed it on the coffee table next to the uncapped liquor bottle, set the present from Santa beside it, then sat next to Grant.

  Her heart ached. She tapped his bare shoulder, speaking his name quietly. He rolled toward her, moaning. She pulled him into an awkward embrace, caressing his naked back, murmuring sympathetic nothings. He felt so warm, so vital, so alive. How could anyone he loved have died? Touching Grant now, she knew she had never wanted to make love to him so badly. To reaffirm his belief in life.