Propelling himself away from the door, Andrew lunged toward the steering wheel and grabbed it. Carol screamed, trying to shove him away. For several moments, they struggled. Then the car careened off the road, out of control as they missed a curve, and Carol screamed again. She threw up her arms to protect her face as the car plowed down an embankment, straight toward the trunk of a tree.
The last thing Andrew heard was the sickening crunch of metal against wood. The last thing he saw was the splatter of blood against the windshield. The last thing he thought was that this time, Jake had won.
The game was finally over.
CHAPTER ONE
The car reminded him of a sleek, red bullet—low-slung, fast, and dangerous. Jake McClain shoved a tiny plant into the freshly dug hole, then stood to admire the clean, smooth lines of the Viper as it tooled around the sharp curves in the drive leading up to the Kingsley mansion.
Next to Jake, his father, who had been the gardener at the Kingsley estate for as long as Jake could remember, was on his knees, still bent over the flower bed in front of the house.
Each hole had to be precisely dug, each plant had to be gently, almost lovingly placed inside, and then the dirt had to be carefully tamped in place. His father’s movements were slow, methodical, precise, and Jake bit back an oath. At this rate, they would be out here all night.
“Pop,” he said, trying to temper his impatience. “Whose car is that? I haven’t seen it around here before.”
Gerald McClain glanced over his shoulder as the vehicle came into view, then he returned to his work. “It doesn’t concern you. Stay out of the Kingsleys’ business.”
Jake scowled. Ever since he’d moved in with his father a couple of weeks ago, the two of them had been at each other’s throats. Jake had known it would be this way. He and his father were both too strongly opinionated not to have disagreements, but what else could he do? His father had recently suffered a mild heart attack, and there was no one else to watch out for him, to make sure he didn’t overdo. The Kingsleys sure as hell wouldn’t.
Unfortunately, however, since Jake had sold his house to cover the legal fees he’d incurred fighting his dismissal from the police department, his father had decided that Jake was destitute and had nowhere else to go. He thought he was doing Jake a favor by letting him move back home.
It was true Jake was down on his luck right now, but that wouldn’t last long. He’d already opened a private investigation firm and was actively seeking clients. And in the meantime, if his living on the Kingsley grounds afforded him the opportunity to continue looking into Andrew Kingsley’s death, Jake figured he could put up with a little harassment from his father.
From all indications, Kingsley had been into something pretty heavy before his death, and Jake had been determined to find out what it was, to bring down Andrew Kingsley if it was the last thing he ever did. Instead, Kingsley had died in a car crash, and Jake had been booted off the police force for instigating an unauthorized investigation—an infraction that should have warranted a reprimand or a suspension at worst; but Jake had been dismissed because Iris Kingsley was still a powerful woman in these parts. She didn’t like having her grandson’s memory tarnished, especially by the likes of Jake McClain.
He wondered if she was up there now, staring down at him with smug satisfaction that he had finally been put back in his place.
The red Viper pulled around the circular drive and stopped in front of the house. Jake couldn’t see the occupant of the car, but his instincts—and his father’s attitude—told him that something was definitely going on. He shielded his eyes from the sun and waited for the driver to emerge. When no one got out, he turned back to his father.
“Pop,” he said. “You know everything that goes on around here. Who is that?”
Gerald glanced up at him. “Leave it alone, Jake, and get back to work. You’re supposed to be helping me today.”
“We’ve been out here all day without a break,” Jake reminded him. “Why are you being so secretive?”
His father heaved a weary sigh. He sat back on his knees, rubbing his gloved hands along the tops of his thighs. “All right. I know you. You won’t give me a minute’s peace until I tell you. Word has it around the staff that a man claiming he might be Adam Kingsley is coming to see Miss Iris and Mr. Edward today. I reckon that’s him.”
Jake glanced down at his father in shock. “You’re kidding.”
“He contacted Miss Iris yesterday.”
“Yesterday? You mean she’s agreed to see him this quickly? He must have told her one helluva story.”
Adam Kingsley, Andrew’s twin, had been kidnapped from the mansion when the boys were only three years old. Until recently, the authorities had believed that Adam was dead. Shortly after the kidnapping, his body had been recovered from a shallow grave near the Kingsley estate and buried in the family plot. But everything changed a few months ago when the real kidnapper had finally admitted to the crime, thirty-one years after he’d taken Adam.
An ex-cop named Raymond Colter confessed that he and a woman had kidnapped the child for ransom, and then the woman had vanished with the boy. According to Colter, Adam Kingsley was still alive the last time he saw him, and his story was borne out when the body was exhumed. DNA testing proved conclusively that the remains were not those of Adam Kingsley but of another little boy named Johnny Wayne Tyler, who had been murdered by his stepfather.
Colter’s story kicked up a storm of controversy, not just in Memphis, but all over the country. And as expected, an army of impostors claiming to be Adam Kingsley had descended upon the family. Their attorney, Victor Northrup, had set up a task force within his law offices to handle and investigate each claim. To Jake’s knowledge, not one of the would-be heirs had made it past Northrup’s assistants.
Until now.
As Jake stood watching, the door of the mansion opened and Iris Kingsley appeared in the doorway. He hadn’t seen the woman in months, and he was amazed at how much she’d aged since he’d spoken with her after Andrew’s death.
Always thin, she looked frail enough now to be blown away by a puff of wind. Even from a distance, Jake could see the deeply creviced face and the clawlike hand that clutched the front of her black jacket. She hardly seemed strong enough to wield the kind of power that had gotten him fired from the police department, but Jake knew her appearance was deceiving. At eighty-five, Iris Kingsley was still as tough as nails. And still very powerful.
A shadow stirred behind her, and Iris turned to say something over her shoulder. Then the shadow stepped forward, into the sunlight, and Jake’s breath caught in his throat.
Hope.
She was still living in the Kingsley mansion. Jake had harbored some notion that after Andrew’s death, she might move out, might even go back to her old neighborhood, where her mother still lived. But such hadn’t been the case. She was still a Kingsley, and Jake would be a damned fool to ever forget that fact.
As with Iris, the months since Andrew’s death had taken a toll. Hope looked too thin and too pale in the subdued navy dress she wore. Her straight, brown hair was pulled back from her face, giving her features a gauntness that wasn’t altogether unattractive. She had the appearance of a woman who needed taking care of, and Jake wished like hell he wasn’t having the thoughts he was having.
She didn’t notice him at all. He was just a workman in the gardens, not worthy of her or Iris Kingsley’s attention. Both of their gazes were glued to the car, and in a moment, the door opened and a man climbed out.
The car was parked at such an angle that the women couldn’t see his face, but Jake could. The man glanced in his direction. Their gazes collided, and the impact was almost like a physical blow. Jake stood for a moment, too