The Secret Heiress

by Terri Reed

  The wide, wooden front door swung open with a creak that gave her the same creepy feeling as if she were watching a horror movie and the unsuspecting hero and heroine were about to find themselves in peril. What utter nonsense! She gave herself a mental shake.

  A tall, lean man stood on the threshold. He wore a sorely outdated dark suit and a white dress shirt that needed some bleach. His gray eyes studied Caroline as if she were a piece of artwork and he sought the flaw.

  She smiled, though she felt more like squirming. “Hello. I’m Caroline Tully. You should be expecting me.”

  Solemnly, the man nodded and stepped back. “Come in. I’m Horace,” the man said in a nasal drawl. His gaze flicked to the sky. “Nasty weather we’re having. The weatherman says the rain will continue on ’til New Year’s.”

  Not sure what to do with that tidbit of information, Caroline stepped inside. Don kept his hand at her back, the pressure soothing.

  “I’ll tell Mr. Maddox you’ve arrived,” Horace said with a deferential nod before quietly disappearing down the hall.

  “Interesting place,” Don muttered.

  Caroline nodded in agreement. “Most of the furniture looks like it’s been here since the house was built.”

  Despite the graceful and refined lines of the Federal style furnishings, the pieces did little to impress or offer welcome. The rose-colored damask material covering the horseshoe-shaped seats on two fiddleback chairs had faded to a lackluster hue. Everything looked worn and threadbare, including a thick and tattered leather-bound Bible that sat on an oil varnished table. The gold lettering on the cover was nearly worn away.

  A hutch loaded with dusty books sat against the wall beside an arched doorway. She noticed there were no signs of Christmas here, either, regardless of the presence of a Bible.

  Not even a hint of the commercialism of the season, no mistletoe in the arched doorways, no tree, snowmen or Santas, even.

  No nativity set commemorating the true meaning of the holiday.

  The strange sensation of being watched raised the fine hairs at the nape of Caroline’s neck. She tensed and searched for the source.

  Scarred hardwood floors stretched across the entryway and fed into a wide staircase with an ornately carved banister leading to the second story where two teens, a boy and a girl, waited at the top. Both had raven hair and light hazel eyes.

  Caroline smiled a greeting. Neither teen smiled back.

  Creeped-out, she glanced at Don. He’d been watching the teenagers, too. He met her gaze and shrugged.

  The butler returned. The teenagers scurried out of sight. “Mr. Maddox will see you now.”

  A flutter of nerves hit Caroline as they followed Horace up the stairs and down the hall to the other end of the second story. He opened a door and stepped aside.

  The room was shrouded in shadows. The curtains were closed and only a small table lamp in the corner glowed near a full-size bed where a wizened old man lay. Thinning silver hair covered his head. He stared at her with bloodshot eyes and lifted a hand, beckoning them closer. “Isabella?”

  Heart hammering in her chest, Caroline walked forward. She wasn’t sure what to say to this obviously ill man. Her grandfather. Compassion filled her, as it would for anyone brought low by sickness. She took his hand in hers. His skin had darkened on his arm and felt clammy, and the bones were so fragile. “No, I’m Caroline. And this is…my fiancé, Don.”

  The old man seemed to shrink a little. “I’m sorry,” Elijah Maddox said in a raspy voice. “I shouldn’t have brought you here, child. It’s not safe.”

  Stunned, Caroline glanced at Don. Good thing she had him to protect her.

  A thundercloud of anger darkened Don’s expression. He stepped closer. “So you know someone has tried to kill her?”

  Elijah’s eyes widened. “No!” He closed his eyes for a moment, a spasm of pain crossed his bony features. When he opened his eyes, real fear shone bright in the amber depths. He looked toward the door then back to Caroline. “Someone’s killing me!”

  TWO

  Don’s blood pressure skyrocketed. His fists clenched. He’d known coming here was a bad idea. “Why would you summon Caroline if you knew she’d be in danger?”

  “I didn’t know. Not when I sent Willard to find her,” Elijah insisted.

  “Who’s Willard?” Don asked.

  “A local private investigator.” His rheumy gaze pleaded for understanding. “I thought I was dying so I sent for you. But by the time I realized that someone wanted me dead, it was too late—you were already on your way.”

  Distress played over Caroline’s face. “Why do you think someone is trying to kill you?”

  Elijah shook his head. “Not trying. Succeeding. The doctor says I should be getting better but I’m not.”

  “What sickness do you have?” Don asked.

  “Addison’s disease. Or so the doctor claims.” His bushy gray eyebrows drew together. “No one believes me that there’s more to it than that.”

  Don exchanged a dubious glance with Caroline.

  “What is Addison’s?” Caroline asked.

  “My adrenal glands aren’t producing enough of their hormones, allowing my immune system to attack the glands. But Addison’s can be controlled with medication. I should be getting better, and instead…” He gestured around him.

  “Have you sought a second opinion?” she asked.

  “Dr. Reese is the only doctor around. I’ve asked to have a doctor from Jackson come in. Samuel said he’d see to it after the holidays. I might not make it that long.”

  “Why not go to the nearest hospital?” Don asked.

  Elijah frowned with frustration. “I don’t like hospitals. The doctor can come to me. But no one will call him.”

  “Why do you think someone wants you dead?” Don pressed, unsure what to believe, but needing answers so he could keep Caroline safe.

  The old man snorted beneath his breath. “Greed, why else? Once I’m gone—” He paused as a spasm of pain twisted his wrinkled face.

  Don’s thoughts turned to Samuel Maddox. Caroline’s uncle, Isabella’s brother. Don might not have a background in investigative work, but he knew the first rule—follow the money. Was Samuel the one behind the attempt on Caroline’s life and his father’s? He had the most to gain and the most to lose. “You named Caroline as a coheir in your will. I assume your son, Samuel, is the other heir.”

  “Yes. I’ve made provisions for his family of course, and the staff. But Samuel and Isabella’s child are my heirs.”

  He searched Caroline’s face. “You look so much like Isabella. When you walked in, I thought I was seeing her again.”

  Caroline blinked. “I do?”

  The wistful note in her tone brought an ache to Don’s chest.

  “Where is she buried?” Caroline asked.

  Elijah dropped his gaze. Anguish washed over his face. “Fayette Cemetery. In the family plot next to her mother.”

  “Can you tell us what happened to her?” Don asked. Though he’d read the brief report the NOPD sent to Trent, he wanted to learn what the family knew.

  Torment filled the old man’s face. “Murdered. My baby was murdered.”

  Blunt force trauma to the back of the head. The weapon used had been the base of a brass table lamp. The police found no fingerprints in the apartment other than Isabella’s suggesting the killer had worn gloves.

  The heartbreak on Caroline’s face twisted Don’s insides into knots. A fat tear rolled slowly down her cheek, leaving a wet trail. Don fought the urge to pull her close and soothe away her tears. A real fiancé would. But he wasn’t her fiancé. Not even close.

  A clap of thunder exploded in the charged silence. Don flinched, the sound triggerin
g old terrors, old memories. Caroline reached for his hand and held on tight. The warmth of her touch grounded him in the moment and made him feel needed as a man, not just as a bodyguard.

  Oh, brother, he was treading in deep water here.

  “The police said it was a burglary gone bad,” Elijah said. His brow furrowed. “Except…”

  “Except?” Don probed. The police report stated there were jewelry and other items missing, leading them to suspect robbery as the motive.

  “The lead detective told me there was no forced entry.”

  A cold knot of apprehension fisted in Don’s gut. Isabella Maddox had opened the door to her killer. A far different situation than a random intruder. That wasn’t in the report he’d read. Something wasn’t right about Isabella Maddox’s murder. But he wasn’t an investigator nor was it his job to solve a cold case. His sole intent was to protect Caroline.

  “Does that mean she knew her attacker?” Shock reverberated in Caroline’s voice.

  “Maybe. It could have been someone delivering something or a repair man. But whichever the case, it wasn’t random.” She’d been targeted. Like Caroline. But was Isabella’s death related to the threat against Caroline? This situation kept getting more complicated every minute.

  “When was she…killed?” Caroline’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  “October 20, twenty-seven years ago.”

  Caroline made a strangled sound. “I was born September 30.”

  She leaned into Don as if her legs suddenly couldn’t support her. The need to protect rose sharply. Only this wasn’t a physical threat, but an emotional one. Don was out of his comfort zone. The best he could do was to remove her from the situation, allow her time to come to terms with the information she’d learned of her birth mother’s death and try to talk her into leaving—hiding somewhere until the police found the person who had tried to kill her. He let go of her hand, took her by the shoulders and steered her toward the door.

  She went willingly but as they reached the threshold she stopped abruptly. “He’s in danger.”

  “It could be the ravings of a dying man,” Don insisted in a low voice.

  Caroline wiped at her tears. “We have to find out for sure.”

  “No, we should leave now before the storm gets any worse.”

  Proud and beautiful, she held his gaze, her chin at a defiant angle, her shoulders squared. “Gorgeous” wouldn’t be swayed. “I’m not leaving until I know what’s going on. If someone is hurting him then it’s up to us to stop it.”

  Determined. Stubborn. And courageous. A potent mix that could get her killed. Respect for this gutsy lady grew even as he prepared to counter any argument. “If a crime is being committed, it’s up to the police to stop it. You’re not any safer here than he is. Remember, someone tried to kill you. That person could be in this house.”

  “Of course I’m safe. I have you.”

  Her confidence in his abilities sent pleasure curling through his system. He hoped he lived up to her expectations.

  Her gaze shifted back toward her grandfather. “He needs protection. If what he claims is true, then he must be a victim of the same person who has been attacking me.” The plea in her eyes tugged at Don. “Please, we have to help him.”

  Don lifted a hand to capture one last stray tear that fell from her lovely amber eyes. “You have such a tender and stubborn heart.”

  A smile touched her lips and pleasure lit up her eyes. “Does that mean we’ll stay? You’ll protect both of us?”

  Did he have a choice? Yes. But he couldn’t walk away and leave her here alone. He had a job to do. He’d see it through to the end. “We can talk to his doctor and find out what’s going on with his health.”

  “That’s a start.” She walked back toward her grandfather. “How do we contact Dr. Reese?”

  “Ask Horace or Mary,” Elijah said, his raspy voice sounding weak.

  Don started forward. “Mary?”

  “Mary is Horace’s wife.”

  A sharp burst of thunder rattled the window. On its heels followed a loud explosion that shuddered through the house. The sound filled the room, close and intense. What little light the lamp provided winked out throwing the room into blackness. Caroline let out a startled squawk echoed by another female shriek farther away in the house. Somewhere outside, dogs barked.

  Acting on training and instinct, Don pulled Caroline to the floor and covered her with his body. For a split second, he was catapulted back in time to Afghanistan. His unit had been pinned down under enemy fire in Kandahar. Screams of dying soldiers surrounded him. The dust of mortar shells demolishing the walls of the building where they’d taken refuge filled his nostrils. He could still feel the grit on his skin, in his eyes. Feel the despair building in his chest. The unspoken prayer on his tongue…

  “Don?”

  Shaking off the memory with a shudder, he eased off Caroline. “You okay?”

  “Yes.”

  Senses on high alert, Don evaluated the threat level. Whatever had exploded had been outside. No one else had entered the room and there hadn’t been any subsequent explosions or gunshots. For the moment they were safe. He got his feet beneath him and helped Caroline up.

  “Mr. Maddox?”

  “Still here,” he said with a wry note in his voice.

  “What was that?” She clutched his arm as they rose to their feet.

  “Not sure.” Quickly orienting himself to the dark, he led her to the window and drew back the curtain. Outside, the answer was clear. A huge oak tree a couple yards from the house had been split in two by lightning. Half of the tree’s charred remains had landed across the power lines. Sparks danced from the exposed wires torn from their fasteners. The other half of the tree landed in the driveway, effectively blocking the rental car.

  Caution traipsed up his spine. What were the chances that lightning would strike that tree causing it to fall in exactly that way? He wanted to inspect the trunk. But that would have to wait until he had Caroline in a secure location.

  “I guess the option of leaving before the storm gets worse is off the table,” Caroline murmured.

  “We can borrow a car.”

  She made a scoffing noise. “No.”

  “Roger that.” Of course she wouldn’t give in that easily.

  Horace appeared in the doorway carrying a lit candle. The glow pushed the shadows to the corners. “Mr. Maddox?”

  “We’re okay here,” Elijah answered from the bed. “The others?”

  “Everyone is accounted for, sir.” He moved all the way into the room to offer Don a pewter candleholder with a thick unlit candle in the center. “Just until the backup generator kicks in.”

  Don took the holder, tipping it so the wick could touch the lit one in Horace’s hand. “Is the power out in the whole house?”

  Horace nodded. “Yes. Phone lines down, too. Mrs. Maddox would like to meet you downstairs.” From the research, Don knew that must be Abigail Maddox, the wife of Caroline’s uncle Samuel.

  “I don’t think we should leave Mr. Maddox,” Caroline said.

  From the bed, Elijah said, “Go on, child. I’m tired and need to rest. Mary will be along shortly to keep me company.”

  “Nothing can be done at the moment,” Don stated in a low voice.

  “We’ll return shortly,” Caroline assured her grandfather.

  Elijah nodded, but his gaze narrowed to Don. “Keep her safe.”

  “Of course,” Don replied.

  They followed Horace downstairs. When they hit the entryway, quick footsteps coming down the hall heralded the arrival of a stylish woman in her early forties wearing tailored black slacks, a pink cashmere sweater and pearls. Her light blond hair was coiffed in an elegant upd
o. She carried a lit hurricane lamp that added a bright glow to Don’s candle.

  The woman came to a stop in front of Caroline. “You look just like Isabella,” she said in clipped modulated tones, her eyes assessing.

  Hearing of her likeness to Isabella from this woman was different than hearing it from Elijah. There was no sentiment in Abigail’s matter-of-fact tone. Just a statement of fact that left Caroline feeling hollow. Elijah had clearly loved his daughter, but there was no indication of warmth or affection coming from her sister-in-law.

  “This is Caroline Tully and I’m Don Cavanaugh. Her fiancé,” Don said after a tense heartbeat. “And you are?”

  “Abigail Maddox.” Gesturing to the teens coming down the stairs, she said, “My children, Landon and Lilly. Fraternal twins.”

  Finding her voice, Caroline said, “Nice to meet you.”

  “Children, please go out and retrieve…your cousin and her fiancé’s travel cases and bring them in,” Abigail said.

  Caroline’s stomach clenched. Cousins. She’d always wanted cousins. Neither of her adopted parents had siblings. But surely they shouldn’t be sent out into the storm. Lightning had just struck.

  The twins’ eyebrows dipped in tandem.

  “That’s Horace’s job, Mother,” Landon whined.

  Lilly crossed her arms over her chest. “And it’s almost time for dinner!”

  “The bags can wait,” Don said. “It’s not safe out there right now.”

  Impatience flashed across Abigail’s face. “Please. It’s just a storm. I’m sure you’d like to freshen up before dinner.” Her green eyes narrowed on her children. “Do it.”

  Caroline flinched and exchanged a glance with Don. Aunt Abigail certainly wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type.

  Landon’s shoulders slumped. “Fine.” He turned his dark-eyed gaze to Don. “Where are your bags?”

  Don held out the keys to the rental. “The trunk.”

  Landon took the keys and headed toward the door.