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

by Amanda Stevens

  “Edward, please. Think of our good name. The Kingsley reputation—”

  Edward walked slowly toward her. “That’s exactly what I am thinking about. How far you were willing to go to keep your precious power. But it’s over now, Mother. It’s all over.”

  “No! I won’t let it be. There’s still time—”

  “What are you going to do?” Edward demanded. “Shoot us all? That would be a little hard for even a Kingsley to talk her way out of. It’s over, Mother. Drop the gun.”

  For a moment, Iris seemed to waver, and then slowly the gun lowered to her side and slipped from her fingers to the floor. She walked out of the nursery without looking back.

  David helped Bradlee to her feet. The effects of the drug were starting to wear off—or maybe the terror of the near fall had helped clear her head. She leaned into David as they walked into the nursery.

  Edward stood watching them. His gaze fell on David and he shook his head. “I’ve come into this room every night for over thirty years and prayed that wherever you were, you somehow knew I loved you. I would have moved heaven and earth to find you. I never knew what she did, but I should have. Somehow I should have known. I don’t know how I can ever make it up to you. How you can ever forgive me?”

  “You just saved my life,” David said hoarsely. “I don’t know what more a son could ask of his father.”

  Tears streaming down his face, Edward put his arms around David and held him as if he were three years old again.

  * * *

  IRIS KINGSLEY’S FUNERAL took place three days later at Saint Mary’s, an elegant old cathedral in downtown Memphis where she and her husband had been married, and where her twin grandsons had been christened. Dignitaries from all over the country turned out en masse to mourn the passing of a political legend.

  The doctor who had been summoned to Iris’s deathbed the same day she’d tried to kill Bradlee declared that her death was from natural causes. Her heart had simply worn out.

  But he hadn’t known about the empty bottle of sleeping pills David and Bradlee had found by her bedside—the same pills Iris had used to drug Bradlee. What was the point of making it public? Edward had suffered enough, and Iris’s coconspirator was behind bars for the rest of his life. It was time for the past to be laid to rest.

  After the service, David and Bradlee rode home in the limousine with Edward. Pamela and Jeremy left in a separate car and would not be returning to the mansion. The day after his mother died, Edward had asked Pamela for a divorce, and surprisingly, she hadn’t put up a fuss. Both she and Jeremy had moved out that same night, and Edward hadn’t had a drink since.

  When they arrived home, he said, “I’m going up to rest for a while. Why don’t you two get out of this gloomy house. It’s a beautiful day.”

  “He’s right,” David said, taking Bradlee’s hand. The two of them hadn’t had much of a chance to talk the last three days. There had been a million details to take care of.

  They walked out into the gardens and found a bench in the sunshine. September was coming to an end, and in the late afternoon, there was a definite chill in the air.

  Bradlee sighed deeply. “I feel as if I’ve been on an emotional roller coaster for days. I’m drained.”

  “I know what you mean,” David said. He put an arm around her shoulder and drew her close. Bradlee resisted for only a moment.

  Sensing her reluctance, he glanced down at her. “About the other night…you do understand why I said the things I did, don’t you? I wanted you to leave town because I was worried about you, Bradlee. I was afraid for you.”

  She drew a long breath. “You were so convincing. I thought for sure that—”

  “I know. Because that’s what I wanted you to think. But that night was as special for me as it was for you.” He stared down at her tenderly. “The earth did move, I swear it.”

  Her eyes glistened. “You don’t know how much I want to believe you.”

  “Then let me prove it to you.” His gaze softened, making Bradlee feel all weak and trembly inside. He put both arms around her and murmured against her ear, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

  A tear spilled over and ran down her cheek. “I’ve waited so long to hear you say that.”

  He thumbed away her tears. “I think I’m beginning to realize that. The question now is, what do we do about it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, we live on separate coasts, Bradlee. Where do we go from here?”

  “Do I give up my career and move to New York with you, or do you give up your career and move to L.A. with me?”

  “Exactly,” he replied. “Or do we strike a happy medium, and both move back here to Memphis?”

  Bradlee stared up at him in surprise. “You want to move back to Memphis?”

  He shrugged. “I think we’re both still Southerners at heart. Besides, I would like to get to know…my father. But it would mean both of us giving up our careers and starting all over. That’s a lot to ask.”

  She thought about that for a moment. It wasn’t such a difficult decision after all. There was only one place in the world that was home to her, and that was wherever David was. “You know, of course, you wouldn’t have to work another day of your life if you didn’t want to. Except for a generous trust fund for Edward, Iris left the entire Kingsley estate to you.”

  David’s eyes darkened as he glanced over his shoulder at the mansion. “I grew up in a tiny two-bedroom house,” he said. “I went to college on a scholarship and worked as a janitor in a high school to put myself through law school. That life is still more real to me than all of this.”

  “Having money doesn’t have to be bad, you know. Power doesn’t have to corrupt. You could do a lot of good with your inheritance, David. Think how many kids you could help go to college.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” he murmured, his lips in her hair. For a long moment, they were silent, then he said, “Don’t you think we’d better get started?”

  “You mean get back to the house?”

  “I mean on that houseful of kids you always wanted. We’re not getting any younger, Bradlee. But then, twins do run in my family.”

  Her heart began a slow, painful thudding in her chest. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

  “That’s the best way to have kids, I think.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this, David?”

  He took her hands in his, skimming her fingers across his lips. “You told me once you’d been waiting all these years for me to come home. I think in some fundamental way, I was waiting for that, too. I don’t know how or why, but you and I have always been connected, Bradlee. We always will be.”

  Her smile trembled as she stared up at him. “It’s called destiny,” she whispered, as he bent and touched his lips to hers.

  Bradlee melted into the kiss, knowing in her heart that this was good. This was right. She and David were meant to be together.

  After thirty-two years, they’d both finally found their way back home.

  SAWYER

  by USA TODAY bestselling author

  Delores Fossen

  A woman he'd spent one incredible night with and the baby who could be his will have Agent Sawyer Ryland fighting for a future he never imagined….

  Agent Sawyer Ryland caught the movement from the corner of his eye, turned and saw the blonde pushing her way through the other guests who'd gathered for the wedding reception.

  She wasn't hard to spot.

  She was practically running, and she had a bundle of something gripped in front of her like a shield.

  Sawyer's pulse kicked up a notch, and he automatically slid his hand inside his jacket and over his Glock. It was sad that his first response was to pull his firearm even at his own brother's wedding reception. Still, he'd been an FBI agent long enough—and had been shot too many times—that he lived by the code of better safe than sorry.

  Or better safe than dead.

  She stopp
ed in the center of the barn that'd been decorated with hundreds of clear twinkling lights and flowers, and even though she was wearing dark sunglasses, Sawyer was pretty sure that her gaze was scanning the crowd. Obviously she was searching for someone. The looking around skidded to a halt when her attention landed on him.

  “Sawyer,” she said.

  Because of the chattering guests and the fiddler sawing out some bluegrass, Sawyer didn't actually hear her speak his name. Instead, he saw it shape her trembling mouth. She yanked off the sunglasses, her gaze colliding with his.

  “Cassidy O'Neal,” he mumbled.

  Yeah, it was her, all right. Except she didn't much look like a pampered princess doll today in her jeans and body-swallowing gray T-shirt.

  Despite the fact that Sawyer wasn't giving off any welcoming vibes whatsoever, Cassidy hurried to him. Her mouth was still trembling, her dark green eyes blinking rapidly. There were beads of sweat on her forehead and upper lip despite the half-dozen or so massive fans circulating air in the barn.

  “I'm sorry,” she said, and she thrust whatever she was carrying at him.

  Sawyer didn't take it and backed up, but not before he caught a glimpse of the tiny hand gripping the white blanket.

  A baby.

  That put his heart right in his suddenly dry throat.

  To find out what happens,

  don't miss USA TODAY bestselling author Delores Fossen's SAWYER,

  on sale in May 2014,

  wherever Harlequin Intrigue books are sold!

  Copyright © 2014 by Delores Fossen

  Enjoy this sneak peek from THE VISITOR, book four in

  The Graveyard Queen series by Amanda Stevens.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The blind ghost returned in the spring and with her, my nightmares. The days warmed, the magnolias opened and foreboding settled in like an unwelcome caller.

  Night after night I lay in a dream-like state, worn out from the physical labor of my restorations and the mental anguish of my dark gift, but too frightened to succumb to a deeper sleep because she would come to me then. The specter that had followed me through the veil. I wanted to believe she was merely my namesake, the ghost of some long-dead ancestor, but I very much feared she was a vision of my future self. A projection of the tortured woman I would one day become.

  Discomforted by my thoughts, I glanced over at John Devlin, the Charleston police detective who lay sleeping beside me. His ghosts were gone now. His daughter, Shani, had finally been able to move on, thus breaking the tie that had kept her mother—Devlin's dead wife—bound to him. In the ensuing months since their departure, I'd allowed myself a glimmer of hope that Devlin and I might finally be together. We'd forged a strong bond since that fateful day. An unbreakable connection that neither ghost nor human could sever. Or so I wanted to believe.

  But as the temperature climbed and the days lengthened, my blood ran colder. A shift in the wind brought a whiff of something unnatural. Distorted shadows crept across my bedroom ceiling. As the pull from the other side grew stronger, I couldn't help but wonder if my visitor had brought with her a warning or prophecy.

  On this moonlit evening, her presence seemed especially pervasive. I couldn't tune her out no matter how hard I tried. She'd only ever come to me in my dreams, but I was awake now and could still hear her calling to me. Amelia. Amelia Gray. Come to me!

  Careful not to rouse Devlin, I rose and tiptoed from the room, slipping down the hallway, through the kitchen and out to my office, which was located at the very back of the house. The long windows afforded a view of the garden where moonlight dappled the freesia. I stood there probing the shadows, the flutter of every leaf, the quiver of every limb spiking my pulse.

  A draft seeped in through the windows as the smell of dust and dried lavender permeated my office. I peered through the layers of moonlight and darkness until I saw her. I didn't outwardly react to her watery form, but everything inside of me stilled as a terrible acceptance stole over me. She was here. Not just in my memory, not just in my nightmares, but here. And now I could no longer deny that I was being haunted by a look-alike specter.

  As she floated toward me, I became mesmerized by her grotesque thrashing, unable to wrench my gaze away even as terror stabbed through my chest with each painful stroke of my heart. She wore a white lace frock suitable for a wedding or burial. Moonlight shone upon and through her so that I had no trouble distinguishing her all-too familiar features—the straight nose, the high cheekbones, the slightly parted lips. The same quiet pretty that stared back at me from the mirror except for one notable exception. Her eyes were missing.

  Beneath the empty sockets, her cheeks were darkly stained from an endless river of tears. Levitating outside my window, she placed a pale hand against the glass and a wintry chill shot through me, a bone frost that came only from the other side. The windows rimed and a crust of ice formed in the corners of the panes. Minuscule fissures fanned out from her splayed fingers as the glass crackled beneath the pressure of her brittle cold.

  Why are you here? I wanted to cry out. What do you want from me?

  But I already knew the answer. She wanted my essence, my life force, my humanness. She wanted what every ghost craved—to be alive. That's what made them so dangerous. That's what made them so voracious.

  She drew ever closer, until her dead lips were pressed to the glass. The key. It's your only protection. Find it!

  “What key?” I whispered.

  Find it!

  “Amelia?”

  I might have jumped at the sound of my name, but after years of living with ghosts, I'd learned to quell my reflexes. I took a tentative step back, testing my freedom, but I could still feel the apparition's pull through the window even though she had faded.

  Devlin moved up behind me. The power of his presence never failed to excite me, but I could take no pleasure in his warmth at that moment. I was too shaken by the look-alike revenant and the chilling message she had brought me.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I couldn't sleep.”

  “What's wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I lied.

  He placed his hands on my shoulders. “My God, your skin is like ice.”

  “It's cold in here.”

  “Come back to bed. I'll keep you warm.” His fingers trailed down my arm, drawing shivers. “Come back to bed, Amelia.”

  Oh, what the drawl of my name could do to me!

  “In a minute,” I said.

  He rested his chin on my head with a sigh. “Something's bothering you. Tell me.”

  I hesitated, my gaze scanning the darkness. The ghost was gone, but I sensed another presence in the darkness. An unseen watcher that I hoped was nothing more than a conjuring of my troubled subconscious. I wanted so much to confide my fears to Devlin, lay all my cards on the table, but that would mean telling him about the ghosts. That would mean revealing my gift.

  If he remembered anything of his time on the other side, perhaps he would have been more receptive to my secrets. But he'd awakened from his coma without any memory of those moments before and after his heart had stopped beating. As his wounds healed, his disdain for the supernatural returned, stronger than ever, leaving me to wonder if he used his denial as a means of protection in much the same way that I'd once clung to my father's rules.

  “I thought I saw something in the garden,” I told him.

  He was instantly alert. “Just now?”

  “A few minutes ago.”

  He turned me to face him. “Why didn't you wake me?”

  “Because it was probably nothing more than a shadow.” Why had I even mentioned it? Was I testing him? Prodding him to admit that he, too, could sense an otherworldly presence?

  “I'll take a look around,” he said.

  “You're wasting your time. You won't find anything.”

  His expression remained stoic, but I felt the same stir of exhilaration and trepidation that I'd experienced upon our first mee
ting. I suspected I would always find myself a little disconcerted in his company. The power of his charisma could be overwhelming, and yet his manner remained formal and reserved. He was a beguiling puzzle, my Devlin. An enigma to his very core.

  “It's not a waste if it puts your mind at ease,” he said, lightly kissing my forehead. He disappeared into the kitchen and I heard the back door close behind him. A moment later, he was in the garden, the beam of his flashlight outing tree trunks and exposing dark corners. Moonlight glinted in the new silver at his temples—a souvenir from his near-death experience—and bathed his face and shoulders in an ethereal glow.

  My breath quickened as I watched him in the garden. Without ghosts feeding on his energy, he'd lost that gaunt, desolate look. His eyes were no longer sunken, his cheeks no longer hollow, but regardless of his physical well-being, he would always be tormented by memories. There would always be an empty space inside his heart that I could never fill.

  He lingered in the garden, his shoulders rigid as he lifted his face to the moon before turning—with a shudder, I could have sworn—back to the house.

  “All clear,” he said as he came into my office. “Nothing to worry about.”

  I let out a breath. “Thank you for checking. I'm glad you're here tonight.”

  “I'm glad, too.” He moved back to the windows and we stood gazing out into the moonlit garden where the early yarrow gleamed like silver. Garlands of wild roses cascaded down from the tree branches, adding a touch of old-world romance to the night as nothing else ever could.

  Devlin slipped his arms around my waist, pulling me against him once more. “I've missed you so,” he murmured against my ear. “I'm sorry I haven't been around much lately.”

  I dropped my head against his shoulder and turned my face up to his, scouring his profile in the dark. Marveling yet again that after all this time, after all we'd been through, he could remain so unknown to me. A stranger still in so many ways.

  “You've nothing to apologize for,” I said. “Your job is important.”

  “This case…” Dread crept into his voice. “It's a bad one.”