Kingsley Baby Trilogy: The Hero's Son\The Brother's Wife\The Long-Lost Heir (5 page)

No, that wasn't really true, she thought, as she poured herself a glass of wine. Her father cared about her. At least, he once had. Maybe he would again if she were to free him from prison.

Is that the real reason why you're doing this?
she asked herself grimly, pausing to stare at her reflection in the window above the sink.
So you won't be alone?

Valerie wanted to believe her motives were completely altruistic: that she was working to free her father because he was an innocent man. Truth to be told, however, she knew her reasoning was a lot more complicated than that. She knew that freeing her father was a way of freeing herself—from the feelings of guilt and unworthiness that had followed her throughout her entire life.

Wasn't that why she had yet to go see her father, to confide to him what she was doing? To ask for his help? It wasn't really to spare his feelings or to keep from giving him false hope, as she'd told herself. It was because she was afraid to face him. Afraid to look into his eyes. Afraid of what she might see.

“He is innocent,” she whispered, and repeated the mantra in her head as she'd done many times in the last six weeks. Then, as if to further affirm her conviction, she opened one of the canisters on the kitchen counter and removed her mother's diary, leafing through the pages, tracing with her fingertip the words she now knew by heart.

A newspaper clipping slipped from the pages of the diary and floated to the floor. Valerie knelt and picked it up, spreading the article open on the tiny bar that separated the kitchen from the living area. She stared
down at the yellowed newspaper photo of herself and Sergeant Judd Colter.

In all these years, Valerie had never forgotten the way Judd Colter had looked at her the night her father had been arrested, the terror he had instilled in her. Only when the cameras had been trained on him outside their home had he shown her kindness and compassion. Only then had he acted as though Valerie were anything more consequential to him than a speck of dust.

He'd used those cameras to his advantage. He'd used
her,
and for that Valerie despised him. For that, he would have to pay.

She took a sip of her wine, grimacing at the bitter taste. Judd Colter had fooled a lot of people back then, but he'd never fooled her. The image he portrayed to the public was very different from the man who had terrorized her family. She'd seen the other side of him that night. The dark side.

Valerie shivered, remembering the coldness in his eyes.

Remembering her hatred of him.

Remembering what she had to do.

Unbidden, an image of Brant Colter materialized in her mind. She thought about the way her heart had quickened at his nearness earlier, the way her stomach had fluttered in awareness when he'd looked at her. The way she'd wanted him to kiss her.

But how could she possibly be attracted to a man who looked so very much like Judd Colter? How could she even entertain the notion that he might not be like his father? He was a Colter, wasn't he? He was a cop. They were all the same. They stuck up for each other.
They protected one another at any cost, even if it meant sending an innocent man to prison.

Even if it meant threatening a woman and her small child.

Was Brant Colter really any different? When push came to shove, regardless of what she found out, would he side with her against his family, his friends, his own father?

Valerie very much doubted it.

The doorbell rang, and she jumped, startled from her reverie by the unexpected sound. Cautiously, she walked to the front window and glanced out. A beige sedan she didn't recognize was parked in her driveway.

She glanced at her watch. It was after ten. Who would be visiting her at this time of night? She had no friends in town except for Angie, who was out of town tonight, and Julian Temple, who drove a Mercedes.

Valerie stepped back from the window, unsure what to do. Call the police?

And tell them what? That someone was ringing her doorbell?

A would-be murderer wasn't likely to do that, was he?

The doorbell sounded once more, and Valerie jumped again. Hand at her throat, she peered through the peephole. Brant's distorted image stared back at her.

“Valerie? Open up! We need to talk.” His deep voice vibrated through the wooden door, sending shivers of alarm through Valerie. She could imagine what that voice would do to her in the dead of night, with no one around but the two of them…

“Valerie, come on! I know you're in there. Don't you want to hear what happened tonight?”

Taking a deep breath, Valerie opened the door and drew it back. He stood on the other side, his expression grave as he stared down at her. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Valerie's heart began to pound inside her at the grimness of his features. The darkness of his gaze.

Then he pushed past her and walked inside.

Valerie closed the door and followed him. “What happened?” she asked anxiously. “Did you get the shooter? Did you see Harry?”

“Harry's fine,” Brant answered wearily. “But the gunman got away.”

“That was convenient,” Valerie said dryly.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged. “It might be better for you that he got away.”

His gaze hardened on her. “I assume you're implying that you think my father—or my uncle or my friend or all of them—had something to do with the shooting.”

Valerie shrugged. “They were all three involved in the Kingsley kidnapping investigation. They arrested Cletus Brown. They were responsible for sending him to prison. They're the only ones I can think of who wouldn't want the truth to come out.”

“And you think they'd be willing to kill you to silence you.” There was something in his eyes that made Valerie's uneasiness grow. Why had she let this man into her home? He was a Colter, for God's sake. How could she trust him?

“I think they're trying to silence me, all right,” Valerie said and walked over to the bar to retrieve her wineglass. She froze when she realized she'd left the newspaper clipping on the counter. She glanced back
at Brant, hoping he wouldn't notice. But it was too late. He'd already followed her to the bar.

Valerie's fingers itched to snatch up the article before he could see it, but that would only call attention to it, add importance to it. So she did nothing but sip her wine and watch Brant's reaction.

He studied the picture for a moment, then slowly his gaze lifted. “I remember this picture,” he said. “It was shown all over the country after the arrest. My father has a framed copy in his office at the house.”

The thought made Valerie's skin crawl. “The press went crazy with that story. ‘The big, strong policeman who caught little Adam Kingsley's kidnapper taking the time to comfort the suspect's daughter.' The public loved it.”

“I remember seeing that little girl on the news,” Brant said. “I thought she looked so lost and alone that night, standing there watching her father being taken away. But a tiny part of me envied her.”

Valerie gaped at him in shock. “
Envied
her? Why?”

“Because she'd managed to do something I never could. She got my father's attention.” Brant glanced away, as if suddenly realizing how much of himself he'd revealed. He shrugged. “Kids sometimes get stupid notions.”

Valerie didn't quite know what to say. Suddenly she didn't know how to deal with the emotions rushing through her. She felt compassion for Brant Colter because she knew, instinctively, that it hadn't been easy being Judd Colter's son; and she felt guilty for not telling him who she really was.

But how could she tell him the truth? Who would believe her if they knew who she really was?

Brant certainly wouldn't. Not when his own father's reputation depended on her integrity.

He frowned, staring down at the picture. “God knows, my father has his faults. But what you're asking me to believe about him, about the others… I've known them all my life. They're basically good men, good cops. I've followed in their footsteps. Now you're asking me to believe that the three men who were responsible for my wanting to become a cop planted evidence to incriminate an innocent man. You're asking me to believe they conspired to send him to prison.” He took a deep breath, lifting his gaze to hers. “That's a lot to swallow.”

Valerie nodded. Her throat constricted suddenly, unexpectedly. “I know how difficult it is to believe someone close to you could be guilty of a horrible crime, but who else would want to silence me? Who else would be afraid of what I might find out by investigating the Kingsley kidnapping? Who else would stand to lose their reputations if the truth came out?”

If possible, Brant's eyes deepened even more. “Only one other person I can think of.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Who?”

“If Cletus Brown is innocent, the real kidnapper is still free. He—or she—would definitely have a vested interest in keeping the truth from coming out.”

“Yes, but—”

Brant shrugged. “But what? You've accused my father and my uncle and Captain Rawlins of letting their egos send an innocent man to prison, but you haven't suggested who you think really kidnapped Adam Kingsley. Surely you have a theory on that, as well.”

Valerie gazed at him in anger. His attack had been so subtle, she hadn't seen it coming. “I never claimed I could solve the kidnapping,” she defended. “All I want to do is prove Cletus Brown's innocence. Someone has threatened my life twice in two days. Even you have to admit I must be on the right track. I must be making someone awfully nervous.”

“I don't know
what
to think anymore.” He ran his hand through his hair, and moisture glistened in the dark strands. For the first time, Valerie realized it had started to drizzle outside. Somehow the knowledge made her house seem safer, cozier. More intimate.

She couldn't take her eyes off Brant Colter. She wondered again if he had tried to kiss her earlier what her reaction would have been. And if he tried now?

He was an attractive man, no question. The epitome of “tall, dark and handsome.” He made Valerie's insides quiver, just looking at him. But he was also a cop and a Colter, and kissing him would seem just a little too much like fraternizing with the enemy.

“Maybe another detective should be assigned to my case,” she suggested. “I don't see how you can remain objective, under the circumstances.”

His eyes were deep and dark and full of mystery as he straightened from the bar and took her arm. Valerie felt the warmth of his touch all the way to her soul. “Believe me, you don't want me off this case,” he said gravely.

Valerie strove for defiance, but could only muster a soft, “Why not?”

He stared down at her. “Because no one wants to find the truth more than I do.”

V
ALERIE GLANCED
in her rearview mirror as she pulled into the parking lot of the Sunnydale Nursing Home, half expecting to see Brant pull in behind her. But in the hour or so it had taken her to drive here, she'd seen no indication that she had been followed. She wasn't sure if that was good news or bad.

Maybe Brant had taken her suggestion seriously. Maybe he'd decided to remove himself from the case. That thought should have made Valerie breathe easier, but didn't. In spite of herself, she'd believed him last night when he'd said no one wanted the truth more than he.

Things had certainly taken a strange turn, Valerie decided, as she walked into the lobby of the nursing home. Suddenly, she and Brant Colter were after the same thing, albeit for very different reasons.

An aide showed her down the hall to Odell Campbell's room. It was hard to think of the man—a stranger she didn't even remember—as her uncle. But when she walked into the room and saw him slumped in a rocking chair near the window, his vacant eyes staring outside but seeing only God knew what, something welled inside Valerie. It wasn't recognition, exactly; only a faint stirring of some emotion she couldn't quite define.

Other than her father, this man was her only living
relative. There was a bond between them, and it hurt Valerie to see what the disease had done to him.

She crossed the room and knelt beside his rocker. “Hello,” she said softly.

There was no response, not so much as a blink, and Valerie glanced up at the aide, who still stood in the doorway. “Poor thing,” she said sorrowfully. “He's getting worse every day. I can't remember the last time he spoke.”

“Can I have a moment or two alone with him?” Valerie asked.

“Sure. But don't expect miracles,” the woman warned, before closing the door.

Valerie knelt silently for a moment, gazing at her uncle's profile. In spite of his age and the toll the disease had taken, she could see a faint resemblance to her mother. The knowledge brought sudden tears to her eyes.

“My name's Valerie,” she said softly. “But it used to be Violet. Violet Brown. I'm Grace's daughter.”

Was it her imagination, or had his eyes flickered? He didn't turn his head, didn't make any outward movement at all, but Valerie could have sworn his eyes blinked in response.

“Do you remember Grace? She was your sister. She told me once that the two of you were very close as children. You used to take care of her.”

Again that tiny flicker. His cracked lips opened, and the sound he emitted was hardly recognizable as human. Valerie's first inclination was to flinch away from him, but compassion stirred inside her. She reached out and placed her hand over his. His skin felt like parchment, dry and thin and very fragile.

“Gracie,” he whispered.

Valerie's heart surged. “Yes! Gracie. That's what you always called her. Do you remember her? Do you remember her husband, Cletus?”

Valerie watched his expression closely for any sign that he might have heard her, might have recognized her father's name, but Odell's expression became blank again, his eyes vacant and staring. She began to wonder if she had imagined him whispering her mother's name.

Trying to smother her disappointment, Valerie pulled up a straight-backed chair and sat down beside him. After a moment, she began to talk to him about her mother and father, about what had happened after the Kingsley kidnapping. She talked for at least ten minutes and didn't get one reaction from her uncle.

Finally, she sighed and stood. For a long time, she stared down at him. Then she said softly, “I'm glad I came to see you. I don't know why you did what you did back then, but it seems to me you've paid for it. I forgive you, and I'm sure my father would, too, if he knew.”

The cracked lips moved again, but no sound came out. Valerie bent and listened closely.

“Are you trying to tell me something about my father?” she whispered.

“Innocent,” the voice croaked. “Innocent.”

* * *

V
ALERIE THOUGHT ABOUT
what her uncle had said as she walked down the hall toward the lobby. Had he really said “innocent,” or had she simply heard what she'd wanted to hear?

The latter seemed more plausible, given his condition. And besides, even if it hadn't been her imagination, a
man in the advanced stages of Alzheimer's wouldn't be considered a reliable witness. It would be her word—hearsay—and no court in the country would accept it as evidence.

“Miss Snow?” She turned and saw the aide who had shown her to her uncle's room hurrying down the hall toward her. “I was afraid I'd missed you,” she said breathlessly. “I need to ask you something.”

Valerie gazed at her curiously. “What is it?”

“Are you related to Mr. Campbell?”

Valerie hesitated. “As I told you earlier, I'm a reporter for a newspaper in Memphis.”

“Right,” she said. “But if you aren't a relative, I was hoping you might at least know how we could get in touch with his next of kin.”

“Why?” Valerie asked evasively. “Is there some problem?”

“No, not really. It's really kind of strange, though. And sad. You see, Mr. Campbell's lawyer admitted him to the nursing home. It seems Mr. Campbell had been living on the streets for years, even before he became ill. Everyone thought he was just another homeless person, but he had money. Quite a bit of it. He just wouldn't use it on himself.”

Valerie gazed at her in astonishment. “What do you mean?”

“I mean he wouldn't touch a penny of his savings. He drew up a will years ago, leaving everything to his sister and her daughter. But his lawyer, a Mr. Dickey, hasn't been able to locate either one of them. You'd think they'd want to know about him, wouldn't you? You'd think they'd at least come to see him, poor old soul.” The woman's gaze hardened. “I'll bet after he's gone,
they'll turn up. Won't be able to claim that inheritance fast enough.”

“I'm sorry,” Valerie said, reeling from what she had just learned. “I can't help you.”

The nurse nodded. “It was just a long shot. Will you be back to see him?”

“I'll try.”

Valerie walked outside into brilliant sunlight. Shading her eyes, she crossed the parking lot to her car and got in. Her hand shook when she inserted the key into the ignition, and she sat for a moment, trying to regain her composure.

Her uncle had been on the streets for years, a homeless person living off handouts and garbage, when all along he'd had money in the bank. Money he wouldn't touch.

Money he was leaving to her.

How ironic was that? she thought, feeling slightly sick to her stomach. The money that had been used to buy Odell's testimony, to get him to help send Valerie's father to prison, would be hers the moment her uncle passed away.

* * *

S
ECURITY WAS TIGHT
that night for Austin Colter's fund-raiser, the first such event to be held at the Kingsley estate since little Adam Kingsley had been kidnapped. A guard stationed at the gatehouse inspected the guests' invitations before allowing the cars to proceed up the drive, a private road that led back into a deep forest of pines. Around a sharp curve, the drive abruptly gave way to a wide, sloping lawn and manicured gardens adorned with marble statues, colored fountains and giant topiaries.

The house was a redbrick Tudor affair with a gabled roof and hundreds of windows that reflected light like gemstones.

Julian pulled the Mercedes around the curved drive and parked in front of the mansion. An attendant opened the door for Valerie and helped her out, while another climbed behind the wheel. The car sped off, and Julian and Valerie were left standing at the foot of the marble stairs that led to the front entrance.

For a moment, Valerie couldn't move. The pictures she'd seen of the mansion had not prepared her for the reality, for the sheer enormity of the place.

An eerie chill descended over her as she stood staring up at the house. It was brilliantly lit, as it would have been on that night thirty-one years ago. The movers and shakers of the state would have been arriving for Edward Kingsley's fund-raiser, just as they were tonight for Austin Colter. No one would have suspected that in just a few short hours, a terrible tragedy would occur, one with far-reaching consequences.

One that would change lives forever.

Valerie shivered again as her gaze drifted over the row of second-floor windows. She'd read somewhere that the nursery was located at the rear of the house, with a small balcony that overlooked the back gardens. According to newspaper accounts of police testimony given at the trial, it was from this balcony that the kidnapper had gained access to the house. He had somehow scaled the wall, climbed onto the balcony, and entered through the French doors, which had been left unlocked by the nanny.

Little Adam Kingsley had then been taken from his crib—possibly after having been drugged—and
somehow lowered to the ground, then spirited away without a trace while two other children—his twin brother and a little girl—slept on in the same room, and the nanny in an adjoining room.

The kidnapping had taken daring and cunning and, it had always been speculated, an accomplice. Possibly someone inside the Kingsley house.

For a while, the police had suspected the nanny, a young woman named Jenny Arpello, who had worked for the Kingsleys only a short time before the kidnapping. But after Valerie's father was arrested, no connection between the two could be made, and Jenny Arpello had eventually been cleared and was now living up north somewhere.

Valerie thought about what Brant had said last night—that if Cletus Brown was innocent, the real kidnapper was still free, and he—or she—could be trying to stop her from finding out the truth.

Valerie's mission took on a new and more ominous reality. Suddenly, she was dealing with more than a police cover-up, more than a few old men who wanted to fiercely guard their reputations. The specter of the kidnapper loomed over her, a man or woman who had once brutally killed. Who would do so again, if cornered.

Was there a connection, she wondered, between the police cover-up and the kidnapper? Was she really dealing with two separate crimes, two separate threats, or just one?

Somehow she had never let herself make that association: that the police—in other words, Judd Colter, Raymond Colter and Hugh Rawlins—had been involved in the kidnapping itself. But what if they had been? That
would make them even more desperate to silence her, wouldn't it?

Desperate enough to kill.

Again.

She shuddered at the implication of her thoughts.

“Cold?” Julian casually put an arm around her shoulder, but Valerie quickly pulled away, not wanting him to get the wrong idea.

“Just a little nervous.” Julian had expressed a not-so-subtle interest in her before, but Valerie had always been quick to let him know their relationship was—and always would be—nothing more than business. Julian Temple just wasn't her type.

And what
is
your type?
she asked herself dryly. How could she possibly know what her type was when she'd never indulged herself in fantasies, never allowed herself to become seriously involved? She had always believed herself to be the daughter of a killer, too tainted to become close to anyone.

But what about now? What if she proved her father's innocence? Might she have a chance then to love and be loved?

And if so, who would
be
her lover? Who would be the man of her dreams?

Unbidden, an image of Brant Colter rose in her mind, and she shivered again, not from fear this time, but from something just as dangerous. Would he be here tonight?

“Here we go,” Julian said, offering her his arm. “I wonder if the Grande Dame herself will make an appearance. I can't remember the last time Iris Kingsley appeared in public. She's always been a tough old
broad, but there've been rumors for years about her frail health….”

Julian babbled on as they presented their invitations again at the front door, then entered a large, marble-floored foyer. A butler took Valerie's wrap and motioned for them to follow. As they passed along open doorways, she had only a brief impression of the rest of the house—high, vaulted ceilings with skylights; oil paintings and rich tapestries lining darkly paneled walls; glossy wood floors covered with thick, Persian rugs; bronze statuettes adorning marble fireplaces and glass-topped tables; and in one room, a magnificent concert-grand piano.

The butler led them into the ballroom, and here, Valerie had more of a chance to observe her surroundings. She caught her breath. The room was resplendent with dazzling chandeliers, gilt-framed mirrors and huge arrangements of flowers—azaleas and roses and the more exotic hothouse varieties of lily of the valley, orchid and bird-of-paradise—bedecking every corner and crevice of the room and trailing down the gorgeous curved staircase.

A mass of women in glittering dresses and men in somber black tuxedos milled about on the dance floor while an orchestra tuned up on the gallery above the ballroom. It was an impressive gathering, and Valerie felt a little like Cinderella crashing the ball as she and Julian hovered on the fringes.

Like scavengers, she thought uncomfortably.

Julian squeezed her arm. “There's Austin Colter,” he said, nodding toward a dark-haired man a few feet away from them. “He's already working the crowd, I see.”

Valerie looked in the direction Julian indicated. The man's back was to her, but she could tell that he was
talking animatedly to a group of older, distinguished-looking men. He turned suddenly, as if sensing her stare, and Valerie gasped.

For a moment, she thought he was Brant. Then she realized that what she was seeing was a rather remarkable family resemblance. All the Colters looked amazingly alike.