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

by Amanda Stevens

  “You wanted to believe that he was your husband,” David said.

  His mother glanced up hopefully. “Then you understand how it could have happened?”

  David wasn’t sure he understood any of it, but he felt obliged to try. “You were very young, and you’d just suffered a terrible loss. This man preyed on your vulnerability.”

  She nodded. “He told me he had a child, a son that was the same age as Davey. He wanted me to look after the boy for a few days while he was out of town. He took me to a secluded cabin in the mountains, and told me he’d bring the boy there in a day or two. I was to wait for them. We’d have the time of our lives. He made it sound like an adventure, just the way my David would have.”

  Her eyes sparkled for a moment in remembrance, then darkened with reality. “I waited in the cabin for two days, and when he finally showed up with the child, I knew right away something was wrong. The boy was crying. He wouldn’t stop sobbing. He kept calling for his mommy. It nearly broke my heart.”

  “And this man, this cop,” David said grimly. “What happened to him?”

  “He left. He said he’d be back in a week and the three of us could spend a little time together before he had to take the boy back to his family. I knew by then the child wasn’t his, but I was afraid to ask too many questions. Afraid of what I might have gotten myself into. So I just didn’t think about it. I concentrated all my efforts on the boy. On comforting him. And after a while, he responded. After a while…he clung to me.”

  David knew what was coming. Like a freight train racing out of control, the truth was about to hit him head-on, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.

  “What happened when the cop came back?” he managed to ask.

  “I don’t know.” She glanced up, meeting his eyes briefly before turning away again. “I wasn’t there. I took the child and…left.”

  The weight of her words pressed down on David. His chest tightened painfully. “You kidnapped me. That’s what you’re saying.”

  She winced as if he’d physically struck her. “Please, try to understand. I loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you. I couldn’t bear the thought of someone taking you away from me. Not again.”

  “Not again? But I wasn’t your son. I wasn’t Davey.”

  “But I wanted you to be.” Her eyes pleaded with him for understanding. “I wanted it so badly that I just left that mountain and disappeared with you.”

  He rubbed his hands over his eyes. It was like the plot of a made-for-TV movie, stranger than any case he’d ever worked on. It couldn’t be true, and yet it was. He didn’t doubt the validity of her words—not for a second, because he’d always known that something about his life wasn’t right. “What about my birth certificate?” he asked numbly. “How did you manage that?”

  “My father and brother were in and out of prison all of their lives,” she said. “I learned things from them. I knew there were ways to get things done.”

  “So you bought a fake birth certificate.” He didn’t bother to ask her where she’d gotten the money to do so. He didn’t want to know. “All these years, I’ve thought you were my mother. I’ve thought you the most caring, the most loyal, the most generous woman I’ve ever known, when all along you perpetrated the most selfish act I can imagine. You kept me from my real family. Who am I, Moth—” he started to ask, then stopped himself short on the last word. He took a deep breath. “Who am I?”

  Without answering, she flipped several pages of the photo album until she came to a newspaper article. The headline read: Kingsley Baby Stolen From Nursery.

  A thrill of adrenaline shot through him. My God, he thought. Was she trying to tell him he was Adam Kingsley?

  He glanced up, unable to give voice to the dozens of questions crashing through his head.

  “Turn the pages,” she said softly.

  He flipped the page of the photo album and another headline read: The Search Continues For Adam Kingsley. Still another: Kingsley Baby Found Dead.

  David kept turning the pages. He couldn’t seem to stop himself. The headlines blurred before his eyes like some strange and horrifying kaleidoscope.

  Kingsley Kidnapper Found Guilty.

  Cletus Brown Sentenced To Life In Prison.

  And then, toward the back of the book, there were more recent articles with headlines proclaiming Cletus Brown’s innocence, and the revelation by the real kidnapper, an ex-cop named Raymond Colter, that Adam Kingsley might still be alive.

  David turned the pages until he reached the end of the book. Then he sat numbly as the images continued to flash inside his brain. Adam Kingsley. He was Adam Kingsley.

  Was it possible?

  David knew all about the kidnapping. One of his professors in law school had reenacted Cletus Brown’s trial in the classroom. David had even been assigned to Brown’s mock-defense team.

  He thought about that now and wished he could appreciate the irony. He’d gone over every aspect of that case in preparation for the classroom trial. He knew the most minute details of Adam Kingsley’s kidnapping, but he hadn’t known that he was Adam Kingsley.

  What a joke, he thought. What a great joke. The best joke he’d ever heard.

  So why wasn’t he laughing?

  The woman who had been his mother less than an hour ago reached out to him beseechingly. When he jerked away from her touch, she put a trembling hand to her lips. “You said I would still be your mother,” she whispered. “You said nothing I could tell you would change that.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. “I had no idea you were a kidnapper when I said that.”

  “I wasn’t the one who took you from your home, David. You have to believe that.”

  “Oh, I believe it. But in the eyes of the law, you’re just as guilty as Raymond Colter. It’s called conspiracy. You may not have taken me from the nursery, but you sure as hell didn’t return me, either. You let my family think I was dead. You let an innocent man spend over thirty years in prison for a crime you knew he didn’t commit. What kind of person could do something like that?” He was being deliberately cruel, but he couldn’t seem to stop. He told himself a man shouldn’t care about these things. Shouldn’t feel all the turbulent emotions churning inside him. He was too logical for that, too indifferent. What happened all those years ago should have no bearing on his life now. He’d been relatively happy until a few minutes ago. Why let what he’d just learned change that?

  But it was no use. He couldn’t shake the almost-overwhelming sense of betrayal, the cold, hard anger growing inside him. He couldn’t forget that his whole life had been a lie.

  “God, what a mess,” he said, walking to the window to stare out at the street. “You know, of course, that if and when the police get involved, you’re going to need an attorney. I can recommend someone—”

  “I don’t want an attorney,” she said in a low voice. “I’m going to go to the police and confess.”

  David whirled at that. In spite of everything, the notion of her spending the rest of her life in prison was not something he could ignore. He strode across the room to stand over her. “Listen to me. This is a very serious situation. I don’t want you to talk to anyone about any of this until you’ve spoken with an attorney. Not the police, not McClain, no one. Do you understand?”

  But she was already shaking her head. “I won’t drag this thing out, put you through any more grief than I already have. I’ll take my punishment, whatever it is. In the long run, it won’t really matter anyway.”

  Something in her tone alarmed him. “What do you mean, it won’t matter?”

  She gazed up at him. Pain shimmered in her eyes. “I’m dying, David. I found out last week I have a brain tumor. There’s nothing that can be done. But at least now I can make retribution before I go. I can face up to my sins and ask to be forgiven.”

  David didn’t know if that was possible. But he still couldn’t help caring for her, grieving for her. She’d been his mother
for too long for him to turn his back on her completely. No matter what she’d done. He knelt in front of her. “There must be something they can do for you.”

  She shook her head. “There’s nothing. Just accept it. I have.”

  “I don’t want you to die.”

  She reached out as if to touch his face, then let her hand fall back to her lap. “I’ve had a good life, David—far better than I deserved because my happiness was stolen from someone else. Don’t grieve for me. Just find a way to get on with your life.”

  He drew a long, weary breath. “I need some air,” he muttered, rising and turning toward the door.

  “David.” She stood suddenly and caught his arm. “What are you going to do?”

  “About what?”

  “About…the Kingsleys?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess at some point I’ll want to see them.”

  Fear flashed in her eyes as she clung to him. “Make them come to you, David. Make them come here.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t go back there,” she babbled. “Whatever you do, don’t go to Memphis.”

  It was all he could do not to remove her hand from his arm. Suddenly, she had the look of dementia in her eyes. A chill crawled through him as he stared down at her. “Why shouldn’t I go to Memphis?” he asked softly, trying not to alarm her any further.

  “Because he didn’t act alone.”

  “What? Who are you talking about?”

  Her eyes were wide and dazed with fear. David thought he was beyond shock, but to see his mother’s face, to realize how close to the edge she really was made him wonder if he could believe anything she’d told him today. What if her illness had made her delusional?

  Her grip tightened on his arm. “I heard Raymond talking to someone on the telephone in his apartment one day. I didn’t know it then, but they were plotting your kidnapping, David.” He could feel her nails dig into his skin through his suit coat. “It was someone in that house who helped him. Someone who was there that night.”

  It was his turn to grip her arm. He grabbed her shoulders and held her in front of him. “What are you saying?”

  Her eyes glowed with an inner intensity—or was it insanity—as she gazed up at him. “Someone in that house paid Raymond Colter to kidnap you. Someone connected to that family wanted you gone. If you go back there now—”

  A wave of nausea rose in David’s throat. “I don’t believe that. Why would my own family hire someone to kidnap me?”

  He felt a tremor course through her as she slowly backed away from him. “I don’t know. But if you go back there, your life could still be in danger. Whoever hired Raymond Colter to kidnap you might still want to harm you.”

  * * *

  IN HER HOTEL ROOM in Cannes, Bradlee Fitzgerald awakened suddenly, an inexplicable finger of apprehension wending its way up her backbone. Getting out of bed, she slipped across the shadowy room and stepped onto the tiny, ornate balcony that overlooked the harbor. An impressive array of yachts, outlined in lights and moored for the night, were strung across the glassy water like diamonds glistening on black satin.

  The night was warm and starlit, but the dream that had awakened Bradlee sent an icy chill rushing through her veins. She wrapped her arms around her middle and stared down at the dark waters of the Mediterranean, wondering why the nightmare had returned now, when so many miles and so many years separated her from Adam Kingsley’s kidnapping.

  Even though she’d only been three years old when it happened, Bradlee had been certain back then that she was somehow to blame for Adam’s disappearance; that buried somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind was a clue to his whereabouts, if only she could remember.

  The psychiatrist her parents had taken her to after the kidnapping had assured them that her trauma would abate with time. The nightmares would eventually disappear, but perhaps a change of scenery would help.

  Her father, Bradford Fitzgerald, had just been hired by one of the top law firms in the city and had no intention of throwing away what promised to be a brilliant future for the sake of a few bad dreams his daughter was experiencing. He refused to leave Memphis, and as a result, her parents had divorced. Her mother had moved with her to Southern California, where Bradlee had grown up.

  She’d been twelve years old when she learned the facts behind her parents’ breakup, and for a while, Bradlee had blamed herself. The guilt had been so overwhelming that the old nightmares had returned, as they always did in times of distress. Night after night, she’d had visions of a shadow standing over her while she lay helpless in her bed. It was the shadow of someone she knew, someone she trusted, someone she didn’t dare give a face to.

  It was the shadow of Adam Kingsley’s kidnapper.

  As a child, she’d seen pictures of Cletus Brown, the man convicted of abducting Adam, but his image hadn’t stirred her fear. Not like the dreams had. It wasn’t until last year that she’d understood why. After serving thirty-one years in prison, Cletus Brown had been proved innocent, but even when the real kidnapper, Raymond Colter, had come forward and confessed, Bradlee had felt no sense of relief, no sense of justice or peace. Because it wasn’t Raymond Colter’s shadow she saw in her dreams.

  And now the nightmare had come back just when Bradlee thought her life was finally on track. She’d just finished shooting a much-coveted layout for Charisma, the L.A.-based fashion magazine for which she freelanced on a regular basis, and she’d been extremely pleased with the results.

  The models, the swimsuits, the dazzling Riviera had all produced a breathtaking effect, and Bradlee knew that Karen Cory Black, the editor-in-chief of the magazine and a close friend, would be ecstatic. There would be other assignments forthcoming, more than enough to keep Bradlee and her two assistants busy throughout the coming year.

  But for the next three months, Bradlee was a free woman. No temperamental models to deal with, no frustrating clients to worry about, no impossible deadlines to meet. Just her camera, her backpack, and a Roman holiday she’d been planning for years.

  So why the nightmare?

  Stress, she told herself as she gazed down at the darkened water. But more likely it was the phone call earlier from her mother. “I heard from your father,” she’d said in the formal tone she always used when referring to her ex-husband. “He told me something amazing. Something we both thought you might want to know.”

  “What is it?” Bradlee asked, wondering if her father was about to plunge into marriage for the sixth time. Or would this be number seven?

  Her mother paused dramatically. “They think they’ve found Adam Kingsley.”

  Bradlee gasped. Adam had been missing for over thirty years. To think that he might have been found after all this time—

  She closed her eyes, conjuring an image of a dark-haired little boy with sad eyes. She hadn’t forgotten what he looked like. In all these years, she hadn’t forgotten.

  “Are they sure this time? I mean, after that terrible business with Andrew’s murder and that man claiming to be Adam—how much more can Iris take?”

  “Iris Kingsley is strong enough to take just about anything,” Bradlee’s mother said dryly. “But you’re right. I don’t think she’d take a chance on being duped by another impostor. The fact that she told your father—or anyone—means she’s positive this time. Beyond a doubt.”

  “So what are they going to do?” Bradlee asked, trying to quiet the flutter of nerves in her stomach.

  “Bring him home, I guess. If he wants to come. This is all very secretive, of course. Your father only told me because he thought you should know, considering the way you’ve always felt about the kidnapping and all. He even suggested you might think about going to Memphis when everything’s settled. You know, to see Adam for yourself.”

  And therein lay the cause of her apprehension, Bradlee thought, shivering as the breeze off the Mediterranean picked up. That was the reason for her nightmare. The prospect of going back to Memphis sudden
ly terrified her.

  You’re being silly, she chided herself. So what if she did go to Memphis? There was nothing to be frightened of there. She’d been back dozens of times to visit her father over the years. He still maintained close ties with the Kingsleys, and Bradlee had even stayed at the mansion on occasion, when her presence at her father’s place had made things a bit too awkward for whichever new wife he might have had at the time.

  Bradlee had gone back last year when it was discovered that Adam might still be alive, and again a few months ago, when his twin brother, Andrew, had been killed. So why was this time any different?

  She closed her eyes as a tremor of fear passed through her.

  This time was different because if Adam had truly been found, he would have to be warned. If he came back home, his life could still be in danger, and Bradlee might be the only one who could save him.

  This time, she couldn’t let him down.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Thirty-two years later=m

  Bradlee pulled her rented Porsche to the side of the road and got out to walk slowly along the tree-shrouded lane. Up ahead was the entrance to the Kingsley drive, protected by massive iron gates and a guard stationed in the gatehouse who would not allow anyone onto the grounds who hadn’t been sanctioned by the family.

  The guard didn’t worry Bradlee, however. She was expected. For the next few weeks, she would be staying with the Kingsleys, and she marveled at how easily her mission had been accomplished. Almost like fate had stepped in to help her.

  As it turned out, her father had impulsively married his current fianc;aaee, and they’d only this week returned from their honeymoon. Bradlee could hardly have imposed on the newlyweds to accommodate her stay, so upon arriving in Memphis, she’d checked into the Peabody Hotel and then phoned Iris Kingsley to pay her respects.

  Iris, as Bradlee had known she would, had insisted that Bradlee move out of the hotel and spend the remainder of her vacation at the Kingsley mansion. She would not take no for an answer, and besides, she knew Bradlee was as anxious as the rest of them were to see Adam again. To make sure that he was all right. To see what kind of man he’d turned out to be.