Shadow Lover (22 page)
It hadn't taken him long to find out the lay of the land, once he decided how he was going to deal with it. Alex had never been declared dead—his grieving mother had refused to allow it. Once she died the estate would be in disarray until they managed to come up with some proof. Anyone amoral enough and devious enough would welcome an effective imposter with open arms.
And if his memory served him, dear Uncle Warren was the perfect patsy.
It had been amazingly easy. He'd tracked
Warren
down to his men's club and simply sat near him in a quiet corner of the bar and waited.
Warren
's gaze had drifted past him with patrician lack of interest,
then
he'd frozen.
"Who are you?" he'd demanded in a hoarse voice.
Alex had smiled. "Your long-lost nephew?"
"He's dead."
"Maybe. It would be convenient if you could prove it. But you haven't been able to, have you?"
Warren
reached for his dark amber drink, his perfectly manicured hand shaking. "What would you know about it?"
"I know a lot of things. I happen to look like a missing member of your family. I even looked like him back when he disappeared—the cops picked me up and questioned me when they were looking for him. With the right sort of help I could convince anyone I'm Alexander
MacDowell
."
"And why would you want to do that?"
"For money," he said lightly. "Oh, I'm not greedy. I wouldn't expect everything that
MacDowell
was going to inherit. After all, I'd need help if I wanted to pull this off. But think of the convenience. No delay in proving whether he's dead or not. No question about inheritance. We work out something nice and cozy, just the two of us, and once the old lady dies and there's a generous amount of disposable income, I'll take off and never be heard from again."
Warren
had stared at him in disbelief. "And you think I'd trust you? You must be the con artist who's been trying to get in touch with my sister. I thought I had the lawyers take care of you."
"Don't be too hasty, 'Uncle Warren,'" he'd murmured. "You strike me as a smart man. You wouldn't want to dismiss an opportunity like this without careful consideration."
"Who the hell are you?"
"My name's Sam
Kinkaid
." He'd used the name deliberately, but
Warren
hadn't even blinked. Obviously, Sally's former husband had been erased from his memory banks.
Warren
leaned back, looking at him for a long, thoughtful moment. "I could call the police."
"But you won't. You'll go back to your
Park Avenue
apartment and you'll think about this. You'll mull it over, thoughtfully, over a couple of scotches. You won't talk about it with anyone, because you're smart enough to know that a secret stretched three ways always breaks. And then, in a few days, maybe less, you'll call me."
Warren
wrinkled his nose in fastidious disapproval. "You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?"
"It takes balls to carry off something like this. The question is
,
do you have any?"
Warren
stared at him for a long, speculative moment, and Alex figured he'd set the trap well enough. He rose, towering over the old man. "It's up to you. Here's my phone number. I'll be waiting to hear from you."
"You can expect to hear from my lawyers,"
Warren
said coldly.
Alex had only grinned at him. "Thanks for the drink, Uncle Warren."
His instincts told him when
Warren
would call, and his instincts were right. In less than a week he was being drilled privately in
MacDowell
family history, some of which was familiar, some of which was entirely new to him. He heard about Patsy's new marriages, her adult children; about Sally's illness and her devoted servants,
Constanza
and Ruben.
And he heard all about Carolyn Smith, the foster child who was brought into the family and had never left.
And he'd remembered that innocent kiss. The first and last taste of innocence in his wicked, self-absorbed life. And he'd looked up at dear Uncle Warren and smiled. Knowing he was going to have a chance to taste her again.
Chapter 14
I
t was a frosty night in late April. Alex had never spent a year in
She hadn't said a word when she walked past him—maybe she was just going to spend the rest of Sally's life ignoring him. He'd put her through the wringer quite effectively, but he couldn't be sure he hadn't pushed her too far. He wanted her shaken, unwilling to fight back. He didn't want her dangerous.
It would be warm in
Italy
tonight. The stars would glitter down on his newly patched roof, and life would be peaceful. Once he had his questions answered.
He'd already turned off the security system before he stepped out onto the
flagstoned
terrace that led to the library door. It was a simple enough matter to use his credit card and open the catch.
He was ready to move fast, in case she screamed, but she just lay there on the sofa bed, watching him.
He was right—there was a chair wedged in front of the hall door. She should have realized the outside door would be just as dangerous.
"Mind if I turn on a light?" he asked in a conversational tone as he closed and locked the outer door. She wouldn't be able to escape that quickly with the chair in her way. He could take his time.
"Yes." Her voice was flat, uncompromising.
"You prefer to conduct this in the dark?"
"Conduct what? I have a very loud scream."
"Most of the people in this house are deaf, either by choice or by age. And I can move fast, even in the dark. I can stop you before you even start."
"Why are you here?"
He moved closer. He could see fairly well in the dark, and she looked pale, stubborn,
angry
.
Which was good.
He'd been half-afraid he'd find her crying.
He wasn't usually susceptible to crying women. But somehow he knew he wouldn't be able to take Carolyn Smith's tears lightly. Especially if he'd caused them.
He'd caused her enough tears, years ago. He didn't owe her any more. "Mind if I sit?" He figured studious politeness wouldn't hurt.
"Yes."
He sat anyway, on the end of the mattress, near her body beneath the fluffy duvet. She moved out of his way as if he
were
an errant rattlesnake, and he almost reached out and caught her ankle beneath the covers. He resisted the impulse. He was in trouble enough—he didn't need to make it worse.
They sat in the darkness, in uneasy silence, for endless minutes. He wanted her to break it, but she was even more stubborn than he was. As stubborn as Sally herself, he thought, with a trace of annoyed admiration. If he wanted to accomplish anything and get to bed, he was going to have to be the one to push things.
"Don't you want to ask me anything? Yell at me?"
"Why should I bother? Yelling won't help. And I'm afraid all my questions have already been answered."
It was better this way, he told himself. Better that she believed he was an imposter, a charlatan, a cheat. He told himself that, but he didn't believe it.
"All right," he said lazily. "So I guess it's my turn to ask the questions. What are you going to do about it?"
"About what?"
"About your newfound certainty that I'm an imposter? I don't see you rushing in to warn Sally, but you may be waiting until morning. Or are you planning on going to the police?"
"I was considering the lawyers."
"Not your best choice," he murmured. "How do you know some of them aren't in it with Warren and me? And you know how ruthless lawyers can be. There's a lot of money at stake here. Warren
MacDowell
might not know any hit men, but I wouldn't be surprised if some of the
MacDowell
family lawyers weren't capable of digging someone up."
"Maybe they expect you to do the job."
He shook his head. "I'm a con artist, not a killer," he said. "If a deal falls apart I disappear. I don't try to force it."
"I don't see you disappearing."
"I'm not sure this has fallen apart. What are you going to do, Carolyn?"
She let out a tight breath of air. There was a slight catch in it, as if she'd been crying, but he knew she hadn't. "I don't know yet. That depends on a number of things."
"Like what?"
"Like what happened to the real Alexander
MacDowell
. Is he really dead?"
He knew she wouldn't see his wry smile in the darkness. "You tell me. You're the only witness to that night on the
"No, I'm not. Whoever tried to kill him knows what happened."
"But who says he or she is still alive? Maybe it was some outraged parent who finally had had enough of Alex tomcatting around his daughter and decided to blow him away."
"I don't think so."
"Do you think he's dead?"
She didn't answer. "Why are you still here? If you had any sense you'd get the hell out of here."
"I told you, I'm not sure this deal has fallen apart. You really want Sally to wake up and find her long-lost son has disappeared once more? It would kill her."
"She's dying," Carolyn said, her flat voice betraying no emotion.
"Yeah, so she is. Maybe you'd just as soon hurry the process along. After all, you're bound to inherit a tidy little sum of money, and you won't have to deal with this family any longer. You must have gotten pretty damned tired of jumping every time they snapped their fingers."
"It wasn't like that."
"You mean
Warren
loves you like a niece?" he mocked her.
"
Warren
doesn't love anyone—you should know that. He's obviously been your source of information about this family. He's not big on sentiment, honor, or family feeling."
"No, he isn't."
"I haven't stayed for Warren and the rest of the family."
"I assumed you stayed for the money," he said.
"If that's all you can understand, then go right ahead and believe it."
He knew perfectly well it wasn't true. He wished, for her
sake, that
it was. If she were a cold-hearted gold digger, or even a normal young woman with a reasonable amount of self-esteem and greed, she'd be much better off than she was now, prey to the emotional forces of the
MacDowells
.
"All right, you're devoted to Sally," he drawled. "You stayed with her out of love and gratitude, and you couldn't care less about your inheritance. So where does that leave you? Are you going to say the words that will destroy her last few weeks? Or are you going to sit by and watch a con man make a fool of her?"
She hesitated. "I don't suppose
Warren
hired you for Sally's sake," she suggested. "To make her last few months easier?"
"You really are naive, aren't you, darling?" he said lightly. "Haven't you already told me that
Warren
doesn't have a sentimental, honorable bone in his body? He wants his inheritance unencumbered."
"And what are you supposed to do? Sign over all that money and disappear again? Don't you think that will be a little suspicious?"
"And who's going to question it?"
She leaned back against the pillows, her face still. "I could."
"But you won't." He moved then, and she made no effort to evade him. Maybe she knew it was useless. He loomed over her in the darkness, putting his hands on her shoulders. Small shoulders, delicate bones, beneath his strong hands.
She sat motionless, staring up at him, and he couldn't resist. He brushed his mouth against hers, lightly, just enough to tease. "You know what we can do about this little problem, Carolyn?" he whispered. "It's perfectly simple, and I don't know why I didn't think of it before. Your inheritance isn't that large—
Warren
showed me the will. You could do with a bit more to augment it. I'm sure I can arrange for
Warren
to shift some of Alexander's inheritance to you. Wouldn't that make life easier?"
He kissed her again, increasing the pressure slightly, and her lips were soft and pliant beneath his. The smart thing to do would be to back away, leave her tempted, wanting.
But the temptation was too much for him. With a faint groan he slanted his mouth across hers, pushing her mouth open with his, using his tongue.
She kissed him back. She couldn't help it, he could feel it in her mouth, in her hands as she reached for his shoulders, trying to push him away, and instead clung to him. She kissed him back, and it was almost more than he could bear.
