It was imperative that the Kingsley kidnapping story be told by Valerie Snow, not by Violet Brown. Who would believe a kidnapper’s daughter? Who would believe Cletus Brown’s daughter would be unbiased?
The truth about her identity would sabotage any chance she had of making people believe her. Of convincing the public that her father was innocent, and that the three men who had been heralded heroes were responsible for sending him to prison.
One of those men was Brant’s father. If she told Brant the truth now, whom would he believe? Her? Or Judd Colter?
* * *
BY THE TIME THEY arrived at her duplex in Memphis, the sun was setting. Brant’s car was still parked out front, and for the first time, Valerie realized how that must have looked to the neighbors. But she shrugged it off. She didn’t know anyone who lived in the neighborhood anyway. What did she care what they thought?
Brant insisted on walking her inside and checking the house before he left. The little red light on the alarm system shone when Valerie opened the door and let them inside. After a thorough check, Brant was satisfied that nothing was amiss.
“I’d better get going,” he said, and Valerie walked him to the front door. “I have an early day tomorrow.”
“Me, too.”
He paused on the threshold, gazing down at her. “About last night…this morning.”
“Yes?”
He tunneled his fingers through her hair. “I don’t have any regrets, either. Not one.”
Valerie closed her eyes as he dipped his head to kiss her goodbye.
* * *
NOT FIVE MINUTES AFTER Brant left, Valerie’s doorbell rang. Thinking it was Brant, she opened it without checking the peephole. The moment she saw who stood on the other side, she realized how careless she’d been.
The blonde standing on the other side looked familiar to Valerie, but for a moment, she couldn’t place her. Then it came back to her. She was the woman Valerie had seen with Brant at the fund-raiser, the one who had come up to him while he’d been dancing with Andrew Kingsley’s wife. The one who had linked her arm possessively through Brant’s.
Valerie stared at the blonde now, wondering who she was, and what on earth she was doing here.
“I’m Kristin Colter,” she said. “Austin Colter’s wife. May I come in?”
Valerie tried to suppress her shock. “By all means.” She stepped aside and waved Kristin in.
Kristin’s silk dress was misty blue, the exact shade of her eyes. Pearls shone at her throat and around her wrist, and her hair was pulled back and fastened with a pearl comb. She looked regal and elegant and as cold as ice as she turned in the living room and fixed Valerie with a frosty stare.
“What do you want?” Valerie asked. She walked into the living room and stood in front of Kristin, not about to be intimidated by someone who looked more like a China doll than a real woman.
“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all weekend.” Kristin glanced around the duplex. Her gaze came back to rest on Valerie, reflecting her distaste. “Where were you?”
“Away,” Valerie said evasively.
“With whom?”
Though the question was posed casually enough, Valerie sensed rather than heard the anger behind it. She smiled slightly. “A friend. I still don’t understand what you’re doing here. Or how it’s any of your business who I was with.”
If possible, Kristin’s gaze grew even colder. A darkness seemed to be simmering just below the surface. “You were with Brant. His car’s been parked in front of your house all weekend.”
Valerie shrugged. “I guess you have been looking for me, haven’t you?”
“Did you sleep with him?”
The bluntness of the question stunned Valerie. She gaped at Kristin for a second before retorting, “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, either.”
“So you did sleep with him,” Kristin said, evidently reading more into Valerie’s words than she’d intended. Kristin’s features hardened with hostility. She held her purse with both hands, and Valerie saw that her knuckles had whitened on the clasp. “He’ll never be yours, you know.”
“Oh?” Valerie tried to act indifferent, but there was too much going on here—revelations that were very unnerving.
“He’s never gotten over me,” Kristin said. “He’ll never love anyone else. Why do you think he hasn’t married in all these years?”
Valerie’s heart flip-flopped inside her. So she hadn’t imagined the intimacy between them at the fund-raiser. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. “I didn’t realize the two of you had a past.”
“We were engaged,” Kristin said. “Didn’t he tell you? No, I suppose he wouldn’t, at that.”
“What’s the point of this little visit?” Valerie wanted the woman out of her house. She felt dirtied by Kristin’s presence. She couldn’t stand to think of Brant being with someone like her, holding her in his arms. Making love to Kristin the way he’d made love to her.
Kristin was busy opening her purse. “The point is, how much do you want?”
“I beg your pardon?”
She pulled out a checkbook. “How much do you want to drop this Kingsley-kidnapping nonsense?”
“Let me get this straight,” Valerie said slowly. “You’re trying to buy me off?”
“That’s what you want, isn’t it? What other reason could you possibly have for wanting to dredge up all that old business?”
Valerie looked at the woman in disgust. “That ‘old business’ involved the kidnapping and murder of a child. An innocent man was framed for the crime and sent to prison for life. I’m not after money,” she said. “I’m after the truth.”
It was as though Kristin hadn’t heard a word Valerie said. She pulled the top from a silver pen and opened her checkbook. “I repeat—how much?”
Valerie shoved an angry hand through her hair. The woman’s single-mindedness was infuriating. “This isn’t about money! It’s about justice! Surely you understand the concept. Your husband is a D.A., for God’s sake.”
That seemed to jolt Kristin from her icy arrogance. She glared at Valerie with open hostility. “My husband is also a Colter. You’re trying to destroy his family. I simply won’t allow it.”
“There may not be anything you can do about it,” Valerie replied, folding her arms. Then, realizing she looked too defensive, she dropped them to her sides.
“There’s always something I can do.” With quick, jerky movements, Kristin shoved the checkbook and pen back into her purse and snapped it closed. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
Valerie thought she had a pretty good idea. A petty, vindictive, spoiled debutante used to getting her own way, primarily because of her looks. A coldly ambitious woman who was only too happy to ride on her husband’s coattails, as long as he was on his way to the top.
A woman who might even be willing to resort to violence, to get her own way.
A chill crawled up Valerie’s spine, although she was careful to show no outward fear. “You’d better go,” she said calmly enough. “Before I call the police.”
Kristin laughed, an ugly sound that deepened the chill inside Valerie. “Yes, you do that,” she said. “You call the police. Let’s see whose side they’re on when they get here. I’m a Colter, remember?” She laughed again, but to Valerie’s relief, she headed for the door. As she pulled it open, she turned to glance over her shoulder. “I’m warning you. Leave my family alone.” Hatred glinted in her eyes as she added, “And stay away from Brant.”
* * *
AS SOON AS BRANT got to work the next morning, Lieutenant Bermann, his immediate superior in Robbery and Homicide, stuck his head out the door of his glass cubicle and hollered, “Hey, Colter! Captain Rawlins wants to see you ASAP.”
Brant got up from his desk and walked down the hallway to Hugh’s office. After knocking on the door, he entered the room, then stopped short just inside. Hugh wasn’t alone. Raymond Colter occupied one of t
he chairs in front of Hugh’s desk, and Brant’s father sat in the other. Austin Colter stood at the window. He’d been staring down at the street when Brant first entered, but now his gaze locked with Brant’s and he scowled in displeasure.
Brant walked slowly across the room to Hugh’s desk, and looked down at his father. Although Brant knew his father had been making progress in his physical therapy, he certainly hadn’t known that he’d recovered enough to be out and about like this.
Brant thought about the mud and pine needles on the shoes beneath his father’s bed the other night, and an uneasiness came over him again. Was it possible his father had been the man in the woods that night? Had he hit Brant over the head to keep from being discovered?
If so, what had he been up to at the Kingsley mansion?
His father’s expression gave nothing away. His mouth had been drawn slightly to one side by the stroke, and the lines in his face had deepened, making him look far older than his years. But his eyes were just as dark, just as probing as they’d ever been. He met Brant’s gaze now without blinking.
“What’s going on?” Brant asked.
His father said nothing, but beside him, Raymond spoke. “That’s what we’re hoping you’ll tell us, Brant.”
Brant’s gaze shifted to his uncle. Raymond was wearing a dark gray Italian-cut suit with a silk tie and expensive-looking loafers. Brant had never seen his uncle dress this way before. He looked very successful, very sophisticated; and a comparison to the man sitting beside him was inevitable. Although there were only four years separating their ages, Raymond looked at least twenty years younger than his older brother. And infinitely stronger.
Brant couldn’t help wondering if Raymond had dressed that way on purpose, if he had intended for the comparison to be made.
Across the room, Austin Colter, a younger version of his father, said, “Are you out of your mind? What the hell are you doing with that Snow woman?”
Brant spared him a glance. “I don’t see how that’s any of your damned business.”
“No,” Hugh said quietly. “But it is my business.”
Brant turned back to Hugh. “What’s going on here?” he asked again. “What’s this all about?”
Hugh looked down at his desk, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet Brant’s eyes. “Are you involved with Valerie Snow?”
So that was what this was all about, Brant thought, his anger rising. “Define ‘involved.’”
“Dammit, you know what I mean,” Hugh said. “This is serious, Brant.”
Brant started to deny it, but then shrugged. “All right,” he conceded. “I might be.”
At the window, Austin cursed. Raymond shook his head sadly, but there was no expression at all on his father’s face. He stared straight ahead, unblinking, but his eyes were bright and alert. He wasn’t missing anything, Brant realized.
“I was afraid of that,” Hugh said wearily. “That’s why I’m asking Lieutenant Bermann to take you off her case.”
Brant leaned forward suddenly, planting his hands on the surface of Hugh’s desk. “You can’t do that. Someone’s trying to kill her. If you take me off the case, she’ll be a sitting duck.”
“I’ll have Bermann assign someone else to her case,” Hugh said. His voice was soft and even, but his expression told Brant he’d made up his mind. There was no use arguing.
But Brant wasn’t about to give up without a fight. “That’ll take days, maybe even weeks, and you know it. Everyone in the division has a heavy caseload right now. No one’s going to be willing to give this case the time and attention it needs.”
“Not like you, you mean,” said Austin. “Seems to me you were willing to give it plenty of time and attention.”
Brant straightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He glared down at Hugh. “This is just between you and me, Hugh. What are they doing here?”
“We’re worried about you, Brant,” said Raymond.
“I’ll just bet you are.”
“Calm down,” Hugh advised softly. “This is for your own good, Brant.”
“Is it?” He glared at Hugh, then shifted his focus to first his father, then Raymond and then Austin. “Someone tried to kill us both this weekend.” He gauged their expressions carefully. Both Raymond and Austin wore identical masks of shock and Hugh looked worried. Brant glanced at his father, but there was still no reaction.
Hugh said, “All the more reason you should be taken off this case, Brant. You’re too close to it. Too personally involved.”
“So I’m just supposed to let Valerie fend for herself to save my own skin, is that it?” he retorted angrily. “Or is there another reason you don’t want me on this case? Maybe you think it’ll be easier to get to her if I’m not around.”
“You’re out of line, son,” said Raymond.
That last word sent Brant’s temper almost to the boiling point. “I am not your son,” he said through clenched teeth. He glanced at his father and saw him blink once, very slowly, but whether or not there was any significance in the gesture, Brant had no idea.
“Do any of you remember a man named Remy Devereaux?” he asked.
“Devereaux?” Hugh repeated. “You mentioned him the other day. Said you thought you saw him on the street.”
“Yeah,” Brant said. “Turns out I was right. He tried to run Valerie and me off a mountain road this weekend. He tried to kill us, and I can’t help wondering why. Remy was always available for hire, as I recall.” He paused, then added, “He’s dead, by the way.”
Was it Brant’s imagination or had his uncle breathed a sigh of relief? Had Hugh looked quickly away to avoid Brant’s eyes? Had the smirk on his cousin’s face deepened?
And what about his father? What was his reaction to the news of Remy Devereaux?
“What are you getting at?” Austin demanded.
“I think that’s pretty clear,” Brant said. “Valerie Snow is trying to uncover the truth about what happened the night Adam Kingsley was kidnapped. Remy Devereaux was hired to stop her.”
“Are you saying you think one of us had something to do with it?” Raymond asked in disbelief.
Brant shrugged. “I don’t want to think that. And I wouldn’t have, if not for this little ambush today. You’re all acting guilty as hell.” He strode across the room, leaving dead silence in his wake. When he reached the door, he glanced back as Hugh called his name.
“No matter what you think about us, you’re off the case, Brant. That’s the end of it.”
“Is it?” Brant opened the door. “You seem to be forgetting that when I’m off duty, my time is my own.”
“I don’t have to tell you what could happen if you interfere in someone else’s case,” Hugh warned. “We’re talking possible suspension.”
“We both know that’s not going to happen,” Brant replied. “Because Valerie’s case isn’t going to be assigned to anyone else, is it?”
He strode out the door and was halfway down the hall when someone grabbed his arm from behind. Brant whirled, shaking off the hand. “Get your hand off me,” he said to his cousin.
Austin sneered. “Don’t think I don’t know what all this is about. Why you’re so anxious to side with the enemy and make the rest of us look bad.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Brand said. “Nor do I care.”
“This is about Kristin, isn’t it?”
Brant just shook his head. “You don’t know how far off the mark you are, Austin.”
Austin’s eyes darkened with anger. “She told me, you know. She told me all about how you came sniffing around when we were separated, begging her to take you back, trying to force yourself on her. It must have killed you when we got back together. It must have killed you that she chose me over you—not once, but twice.”
“Your ego is only exceeded by your stupidity,” Brant said. “I’ve had enough of this.” He turned to go, but Austin grabbed him again.
Brant glan
ced down at Austin’s hand on his arm. Then slowly he lifted his gaze. “I’ll only say this once more. Get your hand off me.”
Something in his face must have alarmed Austin, for he did as he was told. But he didn’t back away. He glared at Brant defiantly. “You’re trying to ruin me,” he accused. “You’ve always resented me because of Kristin. And because you know I’m the son your father always wanted. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re siding with that woman to get back at me. To sabotage my campaign. Why don’t you just tell the press you think our fathers are guilty? But then, you don’t have to, do you? Your actions speak louder than words.”
“As usual, you’re wrong on so many counts, I wouldn’t know where to start to straighten you out,” Brant said coldly.
“I’m on to you,” Austin said. “This is all working out perfectly for you, isn’t it? You get to ruin my career and discredit your father all at the same time. And the fact that you’re taking down my father and Hugh Rawlins is just a minor detail, isn’t it? Hell, you’re even getting to sleep with the woman who’s out to destroy us all—”
Brant slammed Austin up against the wall, his hands grabbing the lapels of Austin’s expensive suit. “I advise you to shut your mouth,” he said almost calmly, “before I shut it for you.”
“Let him go,” ordered a slurred voice from down the hallway.
Brant turned to see his father walking toward them. His steps were slow and measured, but he was managing without a walker or a cane. For a moment, seeing his father looking almost like his old self threw Brant. He stared at him in shock.
“Let him go,” his father said again as he neared them. Even though his words were slurred, his voice was strong and deep, much as it had always been.
Brant turned to Austin. He released his suit coat and stepped back, gazing at his cousin in disgust.
Judd glared at both of them. “Look at the two of you. Acting like kids.”
“Tell him to stay away from my wife,” Austin said angrily.
Brant started to retort, but Judd pointed his finger at them. “Shut up,” he said. “Shut up, the both of you.” His gaze shifted to Austin. “Get out of here, Austin.”
Kingsley Baby Trilogy: The Hero's SonThe Brother's WifeThe Long-Lost Heir Page 17