Kingsley Baby Trilogy: The Hero's SonThe Brother's WifeThe Long-Lost Heir

by Amanda Stevens

  Dan Sterling, Hope’s father and Jake’s immediate supervisor, had called him over and introduced him to his wife and daughter. Joanna had immediately taken him under her wing, clucking and fawning over him like a mother hen, introducing him around and making sure he got enough to eat.

  Hope, on the other hand, had remained intriguingly aloof all day, reading a book or sitting alone, quietly watching all the rookies make fools of themselves, drinking too much, talking too loud, and trying to out muscle the more seasoned officers in a baseball game.

  She’d been wearing white shorts with a lavender top that did incredible things to her eyes, and as Jake rounded the bases after hitting his third homer, he saw her watching him from the bleachers. He nearly missed home plate. When he came back into the dugout, he pointed her out to Brant Colter, another rookie.

  “Hope Sterling? Forget it,” Brant had said. “You’re not her type.”

  “Oh, yes, I am,” Jake assured him. “I’m exactly her type. I’m going to marry that girl someday.”

  Well, “someday” had never arrived, Jake thought now, staring at Hope’s profile. “Someday” had remained as elusive as a dream that he couldn’t recall the next morning.

  The wedding march sounded, and everyone stood, turning expectantly to catch the first glimpse of the bride. Valerie entered the chapel slowly, on the arm of her father, a man who had spent over thirty years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Everyone inside the church was familiar with their story, and Jake suspected there wasn’t a dry eye in the place as the two of them walked down the aisle side by side. He saw Joanna openly dab at her eyes, while beside her, Hope’s face held an expression of such longing that it tore at Jake’s heart.

  Was her sadness for Valerie and her father? For all the time that had been lost to them?

  Or was her emotion more personal than that? Was she remembering her own wedding? Jake wondered. Or the wedding that had never been?

  Was she thinking, like him, of another time and another place? That elusive “someday”…

  * * *

  THE RECEPTION WAS HELD in a community center within walking distance of the church. Hope only intended to stay for a few minutes, just long enough to congratulate Brant and give her best wishes to Valerie. The two of them seemed so happy, so much in love that it was almost painful to witness.

  But then before she could make her exit, it was time for the bride and groom’s first dance together. Then everyone started dancing, and before Hope knew it, she was swept onto the floor by first one old acquaintance, then another, and she spent the remainder of the evening reminiscing and feeling more relaxed than she had in a long time.

  Maybe she still did belong here, she thought wistfully. After all these years, maybe she could still come home.

  “Mind if I cut in?” said a deep voice over her partner’s shoulder—a voice Hope knew as well as she knew her own. A shiver of pleasure raced through her as she looked up to meet Jake’s gaze.

  George Bailey, another cop who had been under her father’s command, frowned, his arms tightening around Hope. “Get lost, McClain.”

  “Your wife’s looking for you,” Jake said.

  George shrugged. “Which one?”

  “The current one.”

  George stopped abruptly. “Jeez, Karen’s here?”

  Jake motioned toward the doorway. “Over there somewhere.”

  “If you’re lying to me, McClain…” George’s gaze scanned the room nervously before he took off in the direction Jake had sent him.

  For a moment, Jake and Hope stood facing each other. Then he smiled. “Dance?”

  “You used to hate to dance,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Times change. People change.”

  Hope walked into his arms and felt them close around her. Her eyes drifted shut for a moment, absorbing the sensations spiraling through her. Excitement. Attraction. And yes, even a little fear.

  She shivered, and Jake pulled her even closer. Hope thought she caught a glimpse of her mother’s beaming face in the crowd, but she quickly dismissed it. She didn’t want anything, even her mother’s good intentions, intruding on this moment. Because if she tried hard enough, Hope could almost pretend the last ten years had never happened. She could almost believe she and Jake were still together, and that she had worn this lavender dress just for him.

  And maybe she had.

  “Is George’s wife really here?” she asked.

  Jake grinned. “One of them is bound to be.”

  “How many times has he been married? I’ve lost count.”

  “We all have. You have to give him points for trying, though.”

  “You never did.”

  “What?”

  “You never tried marriage,” Hope said. “Why not?”

  He hesitated, then said, “I almost did. Twice.”

  Hope gazed up at him. “What happened? The second time, I mean.”

  He shrugged. “I guess it was pretty much the same thing that happened the first time. She decided she couldn’t be a cop’s wife after I got shot that time. I don’t know if you remember it or not.”

  Hope remembered, all right. She and Andrew had been out of the country, vacationing on the C;afote d’Azur. She didn’t find out about the shooting until a month later when they returned home. Even though Jake was okay by then, Hope had been devastated by the news. Rather than telling herself that it only proved she’d been right to call off their engagement, all Hope could think was that while she’d been lying on a beach on the Riviera, Jake had been lying in the hospital, fighting for his life. He could have died, and her not there.

  Hope sighed without meaning to.

  “It’s warm in here,” Jake said. “Let’s get some air.”

  They walked outside to the little courtyard in back of the community center. The moon was up now, but veiled by a thin filigree of clouds. A light breeze drifted through the trees, stirring the scent of the wisteria.

  “Nice night,” Jake murmured.

  “Very,” Hope agreed. She shivered a bit in the breeze. “Valerie and Brant seem so happy, don’t they?”

  “Yeah. Especially considering what they’ve been through.”

  “I remember when the story broke last summer,” Hope said. “We couldn’t believe Cletus Brown, Valerie’s father, had been proved innocent after all those years. In all the excitement over the discovery that Adam might still be alive, I just kept thinking about Brant—what all of that must have done to his family. To him. He had to shoot his own cousin in order to save Valerie’s life. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have someone love you that much—”

  Jake stared down at her in the moonlight. “You had that once,” he said with a bitter edge in his voice. “I would have done anything for you back then.”

  “Except give up being a cop,” Hope said softly.

  He hesitated. “Yeah. Except that.” Maybe it was her imagination, but Hope thought the bitterness in his voice had turned to regret.

  She glanced up at him. “Is there a chance you could ever go back? To being a cop, I mean.”

  Jake shook his head. “The board’s decision was final, and besides, I don’t feel the same about the department anymore. I could never go back.”

  Hope smiled wistfully in the moonlight. “I know what you mean. Earlier, when I was inside with George and David and Sarah and all the others I knew from the old neighborhood, I got to thinking that maybe things hadn’t changed that much. That maybe I did still belong here, but…” She trailed off with a shrug. “Ten years is a long time. I guess it’s true what they say. You can never really go home.”

  “Maybe not,” Jake said. “Maybe that wouldn’t be the healthiest thing to do anyway. Living in the past rarely is. Maybe what you and I should do is concentrate on the present. On what we feel now.”

  Hope’s heart accelerated. Her stomach fluttered with awareness. “I don’t—”

  “Be honest, Hope. There is something between us.”
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  “I wasn’t going to deny it,” she said softly. “I was going to say, I don’t know how I feel.”

  “That’s okay.” Jake smiled down at her in the soft, filtered light. “No one’s rushing you. We’ve got all the time in the world to figure it out.”

  Did they? Suddenly Hope wanted more than anything to believe it was so. To forget that there was a man out there who looked exactly like her husband, a man named Michael Eldridge who might be waiting for the opportunity to destroy the fragile bond she and Jake were just now attempting to rebuild.

  He bent to kiss her and Hope closed her eyes, a storm of emotions washing over her. Not sadness this time. Not regret or remorse or thoughts of what might have been. When Jake kissed her this time, it was like a first kiss. Like the promise of a new beginning.

  Hope parted her lips and let her tongue gently mate with Jake’s. Tightening his arms around her, he pulled her close, until their bodies melted together and the kiss deepened. The sensations rushing through Hope intensified. The night suddenly came alive with their passion.

  Jake pulled back long enough to whisper her name in the darkness, a dusky entreaty that sent shivers of desire up and down Hope’s back. Then his mouth claimed hers again, hungrier this time, more demanding. His hands moved over her, and everywhere he touched set Hope on fire.

  My God, she thought in a daze. It had never been like this before, had it? How could she have given this up?

  A touch of longing swept through her, shadowing the desire. How had she done without this man’s kiss, this man’s touch for ten long years? How had she managed to convince herself, even for a moment, that she and Jake were not meant to be?

  As if sensing her mood, Jake broke the kiss and pulled away to stare down at her in the moonlight. He pushed back her hair from her face with a hand that was exquisitely gentle, but his eyes were still dark and intense, still burning with passion.

  “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say here,” he murmured huskily.

  Hope managed a weak smile. “Me, neither.”

  “I didn’t plan for that to happen, you know.” His tone turned ironic. “Then again, I feel as if I’ve been waiting for it most of my life. Ten years, at least.”

  “Jake—”

  “I’m not trying to rush you, Hope. I know it hasn’t been that long since Andrew died.”

  At the mention of her husband, a shadow seemed to creep over the courtyard. Hope shivered in Jake’s arms. “No, it hasn’t,” she said, gently pulling away from him.

  Jake let her go, watching her with hooded eyes. “You still have feelings for him, don’t you? Even though you wanted to divorce him.”

  “I’m not sure how I feel about Andrew anymore,” Hope answered truthfully. She stepped away from Jake and the wind suddenly grew colder, the courtyard darker, the shadows more menacing at the mention of her husband’s name.

  A premonition of dread slipped over Hope. It wasn’t that she saw someone lurking in the shadows. It wasn’t that she heard stealthy footfalls in the darkness. But just the same, she had the strongest sensation that someone was out there watching her. He had seen her with Jake. He’d seen them kiss. And he hadn’t liked it. Not one bit.

  I’ll see you both dead first, the wind seemed to whisper.

  A fist of fear closed around Hope’s heart. What if Andrew was still alive? What if he’d changed his name, his identity, so that he could come back here and renew his relationship with Hope, his rivalry with an old foe? How far would he be willing to go to keep Jake from winning this time?

  “It’s late,” she whispered. “I have to go.”

  Jake started to protest, but then he must have seen something in her eyes, the look on her face, for a shutter closed over his own expression. “You’re right,” he said. “It is late.”

  Maybe too late, his tone seemed to imply.

  * * *

  JAKE STOOD OUTSIDE his father’s cottage, on the edge of the Kingsley grounds, and stared up at the house. How many times had he done this same thing as a child? Stared at the Kingsley mansion from a distance, trying to imagine all the riches within.

  There was only one treasure inside that house he coveted now, but in many ways, Hope was still just as unattainable to him as she had been for the past ten years. Something was still coming between them—Andrew’s memory, Jake suspected—and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. How could you compete with a ghost?

  His gaze went to the west wing of the house, where Hope’s suite was located. A light shone from one of the windows, and Jake watched, hoping to catch a glimpse of her inside.

  And then suddenly she was there, a dark silhouette in the window, staring out at the garden. At him, he wanted to imagine.

  “She’s very beautiful,” a voice said from the darkness.

  Jake whirled, tense and alert. How the hell had he let someone slip up on him like that?

  You’re losing it, McClain. In more ways than one. For a moment there, he’d thought the voice sounded like Andrew’s, and the hair on the back of Jake’s neck stood on end.

  “Who’s there?” he said.

  The grounds around his father’s cottage lay in deep shadow. Jake peered into the gloom from where the disembodied voice had spoken. All was silent, and for a split second, he thought he must have imagined the voice. Then slowly, the shadows stirred and a man stepped into the moonlight.

  Jake’s mouth went completely dry as he stared at the apparition before him. Then, almost instantly, relief washed over him. Not Andrew after all, but the would-be heir prowling the Kingsley grounds.

  “You must be Eldridge,” Jake said.

  The man continued to move toward him, but stopped a few feet away from Jake, as if he didn’t want to be examined too closely in the moonlight. He smiled Andrew’s smile, his gaze going to the lighted window in the mansion. “You were watching her.”

  Jake shrugged. “What if I was?”

  Michael’s eyes never left Hope’s window. Without meaning to, Jake followed his gaze. Hope remained at the window, and he wondered if she could see the two of them out here in the darkness. Watching her.

  “A woman like her would be hard to forget.” Jake turned and found Eldridge’s gaze on him now. There was something in his eyes that sent a cold chill straight through Jake’s heart. “I imagine a man would be willing to do just about anything to hold on to someone like her.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  After church the next morning, Hope drove across town toward the airport to meet Jake at his office. He’d called earlier, telling her in a low voice that he had some information about “the situation.” But he hadn’t wanted to tell her over the phone, nor had he wanted to meet on the grounds, and Hope had agreed. She didn’t want anyone overhearing the conversation and reporting back to Iris before they had all the facts.

  The lobby and most of the offices were deserted as Hope entered the building and took the elevator up to the third floor. Jake’s door stood ajar when she arrived, and she knocked gently before pushing it open and peering inside.

  As usual, Jake sat at his computer. He stood when he saw her and motioned her inside. When they were both seated—she on one of the leather chairs and he on the edge of his desk—he told her what he’d learned.

  “Michael Eldridge has a record.”

  Hope stared at him in surprise. “You mean he’s been in prison?”

  “Juvenile detention. He was arrested for breaking and entering at the age of fifteen. Actually, the records were sealed when he turned eighteen, but I have a friend in the Houston Police Department who used to work with me here in town. She stuck her neck out for me and got into the files.”

  Hope frowned. “You just found this out today? On Sunday morning?”

  “Actually, Sunday morning is the best time to use the computers at a police department,” Jake explained. “Not as many prying eyes. But I knew about this last night.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Hope demanded. She thought about t
he way she’d felt in the courtyard, as if someone was watching her from the darkness. And now to find out that Michael Eldridge had a record…

  “I started to,” Jake said. “But somehow a wedding didn’t seem the appropriate place. And then other things…distracted me.”

  Their kiss, Hope remembered, feeling her face heat in spite of herself. For a while last night, she had felt as close to Jake as she ever had. Maybe even closer. Then her doubts about Andrew had intruded, and the moment had ended—torn asunder by her fear.

  She glanced at Jake now, his expression solemn, his eyes cool, and she wondered if she should try to explain. The reason I ran out on you last night was because I thought my dead husband was watching us from the shadows. I thought he might try to kill you. You know how competitive he always was.

  Hope cringed inwardly. She would sound insane. And maybe she was.

  She cleared her throat. “Having a record may make him look suspicious, but it still doesn’t tell us whether or not he’s an impostor.”

  “No, but it’s a start,” Jake said. “And there’s one other thing. His lawyer was a man named Charles McGee. He was a partner at Northrup, Simmons and Fitzgerald before he died last year in a car crash. He was recruited by the firm shortly after he defended Michael, and he made partner a few years later.”

  “So what does that mean?” Hope asked.

  Jake shrugged. “Maybe nothing. But I don’t much believe in coincidences. Supposing this Charles McGee saw Andrew Kingsley one day after McGee started working at the firm. Wouldn’t be surprising. The firm has managed all the Kingsley holdings for years now. Supposing he just happened to mention to someone—Victor Northrup, say, or even Jeremy Willows, who clerked at the firm that year—that he had a client in Houston who bore an amazing resemblance to Andrew Kingsley.”

  “And?”

  “It’s an interesting little tidbit,” Jake continued, “Filed away in someone’s memory and all but forgotten until years later when bam! It’s discovered that Adam Kingsley may still be alive.”