“That may be true,” Hope replied. “But she can’t force me to stay here against my will. No one can do that.”
“There are always more subtle ways of getting what we want.” He reached out and grasped her arms with his hands, pulling her toward him so quickly, Hope had no time to resist. His mouth came down on hers, hot, fierce and possessive. His tongue tried to part her lips, but Hope shoved him away, resisting the urge to bring her knee up between his legs as her father had taught her to do to ward off an attacker.
Instead she pulled away from him, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. “Don’t ever do that again,” she warned.
“You’re right.” His tone was surprisingly contrite. “That wasn’t very subtle. I apologize.”
Hope had expected him to laugh in her face or try to grab her again, but instead he turned and walked back to the hearth, holding his hands over the flames.
She studied his face in the flickering light, wondering who he really was. Wondering if the man standing before her was capable of murder. And if she had just provoked him.
As if reading her thoughts, he looked up, meeting her gaze in the firelight. “I am sorry, Hope. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Believe it or not, that’s the last thing I want to do.”
His expression held genuine regret, and his eyes were shadowed with something that looked very much like pain. In that instant, Hope thought he had never looked more like Andrew.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jake spent a restless night, tossing and turning and worrying about Hope being in that house with Michael Eldridge, a man they knew very little about. A man who may have killed her husband. It sent chills down Jake’s back to think of that same man kissing her picture. Wanting her. Perhaps even touching her…
Jake couldn’t get the images out of his mind, and when morning finally came, he got out of bed with more resolve than he’d ever had. He would find out everything there was to know about Michael Eldridge. The sooner they knew who and what they were dealing with, the sooner he could get Hope away from that house. Away from those memories…
But would he ever really be able to do that? he asked himself grimly as he drove to his office later that morning. Andrew had been an important part of Hope’s life for ten years. She had been with Andrew a lot longer than she’d been with Jake. Was what he and Hope once shared, what they shared now, strong enough to vanquish a dead husband who still haunted her dreams?
He knew she no longer loved Andrew—might never have really loved him. But as long as she thought there was a possibility he remained alive, she would never give her feelings for Jake a chance. She would suppress them as she had done last night. As she had done ten years ago when she broke off their engagement.
As Jake saw it, he could do one of two things. He could walk away as he’d done ten years ago, his pride intact, or he could fight for her this time. And the only way he knew how to do that was to find out the truth about Michael Eldridge. It always came back to that.
Because you can’t fight an enemy you know nothing about.
Sitting down at his computer, Jake logged on to the Internet, using his favorite search engine to look for the term “Grayson Commission,” one of the few pieces of information he’d been able to glean from Benny before all hell had broken loose in the warehouse. Having no success at first, Jake thought the guy must have made the whole thing up, or else all references to the Grayson Commission were so obscure or so well hidden, one had to know exactly where to look to find them.
But finally he got a hit. The Grayson Commission came up in a listing for political groups, and following the trail, Jake quickly realized the association. It was on the fringe, out of the mainstream. He jumped to one of the chat rooms where he listened in on a discussion concerning Ruby Ridge and Waco. As soon as he’d entered the room, “Mac,” the ID he used on the Internet, appeared in a corner of the screen. After a few minutes, someone calling himself “Nukum” addressed him.
Nukum: Who the hell are you?
Mac: A curious bystander. I’m interested in a group called the Grayson Commission. Ever heard of it?
Nukum: Yeah, but I’ve never heard of you. What are you doing in here?
Mac: It’s a free country, last I heard.
Nukum: Not for long, pal.
Mac: So you don’t know anything about the Grayson Commission.
Nukum: I didn’t say that. As a matter of fact, I’ve been studying this group for a long time.
Mac: Then you ought to be able to help me out here.
Nukum: Maybe. What’s your angle? Are you into radical politics?
Mac: I know who the Freemen are.
Nukum: Man, you are way off. The Grayson Commission is full of subversives, all right, but they work from inside the system. Like the Trilateral Commission, only not so global.
Mac: What’s their agenda?
Nukum: To place handpicked officials in positions of power, both locally and nationally, in order to establish an independent base of power for the elite few, that is, their own membership. In other words, they’re into making money, man. Big time.
Mac: You seem to know all about this group. Are you a member?
Nukum: I don’t know [eu1,.8][su1]all[xu about it. No one does.
Mac: I hear it’s pretty hush-hush.
Nukum: Right up there with Area 51.
Mac: Who are some of the members?
Nukum: You’re better off not knowing.
Mac: Why’s that?
There was a pause.
Nukum: Because if you knew that, you’d be dead.
* * *
HOPE AGREED TO MEET Jake for lunch at the Rendezvous, a basement restaurant downtown world-renowned for its ribs. They were both late arriving, so most of the lunch crowd had already cleared out by the time they chose a corner table and placed their orders.
Hope was glad that she’d taken the time to change from the white linen dress she’d been wearing earlier into jeans and a dark blue top. She hadn’t eaten here in years, but it hadn’t changed at all. Even though a lot of businessmen lunched at the Rendezvous, the atmosphere was still very casual, and jeans were definitely more practical for eating ribs than a white linen dress.
Jake ordered a pitcher of beer and filled their mugs when it arrived. After the waitress had departed, he remained silent for a moment, then glanced up at her. “We may be into something a lot heavier than either of us realized.”
“What do you mean?” Hope asked, alarmed by his tone. Jake always had a tendency to look intense, but she could tell something was bothering him today, something—as he said—heavy.
He rubbed at a spot over his eyebrow, buying himself some time, she thought, because he wasn’t sure where to start. Or how she would take it.
“Do you remember I told you that the guy in the warehouse in Houston mentioned an organization called the Grayson Commission? He implied that he worked for them. He also said that he’d hooked up with this group over the Internet.”
“Yes, but you thought he may have made the whole thing up, just to throw you off track.”
“But he didn’t,” Jake said. “There is something called the Grayson Commission. At least, people on the Net seem to know about it, and it sounds like a pretty dark little group, from what I could gather. Businessmen, politicians, even some criminal types in some sort of unholy, moneymaking alliance to get their own people elected to public office, so that they can change or adapt policy to the benefit of their own membership.”
Hope grimaced. “Sounds like the plot of a really bad made-for-TV movie.”
“Yeah,” Jake agreed. “Except this is real life. And you and I may have landed right smack in the middle of it.” He paused, taking a long swig of beer. “I think we’ve gone about this all wrong, Hope. We’ve been operating on the assumption that Michael Eldridge—and whoever is backing him—is in this for the money. But what if the Kingsley legacy they’re really after is power? Political clout? Think about it for a minute. If this o
rganization has somehow managed to recruit a Kingsley look-alike who is good enough to convince Iris he’s her long-lost grandson, there’s no telling how far he could go with her help. To the governor’s mansion. Capitol Hill. Maybe even the White House.”
“Wait a minute,” Hope said, trying to catch her breath. “You’re moving way too fast for me.”
“Sorry.” Excitement gleamed in Jake’s eyes. “But all the possibilities have been going around in my head all morning. I think we may be on to something really big here.”
“Let’s just take one thing at a time,” Hope suggested. “Supposing this Grayson Commission, if it really does even exist, is after the Kingsley power and political expertise with an eye toward getting Michael elected to public office—with Iris’s help. If they’re not after the money, why kill Andrew?”
Jake shrugged. “It’s like I said last night. With Andrew out of the picture, Eldridge had a better shot of being accepted by Iris. There she was, grieving for her dead grandson when out of the blue, her other grandson who’d disappeared thirty-one years ago—had even been thought dead for most of that time—appears on her doorstep, looking for all the world like the grandson she just lost. If Andrew had still been alive, do you think she would have welcomed Eldridge into her home without questions? Without reservations? Without an investigation? I don’t think so. Not the Iris Kingsley I remember.”
“All right,” Hope conceded. “I guess I can buy all that. But if the Grayson Commission is as powerful as you say and they’re ultimately after the Kingsleys’ political pull, then why didn’t they try to recruit Andrew? Wouldn’t that have been easier than trying to plant an impostor inside the family?”
“For all we know, they may have approached him at some time or other, but Andrew never had any political ambitions, did he, Hope?”
In fact, he’d had very few ambitions, period, Hope reflected, but somehow, admitting it to Jake would seem disloyal to Andrew’s memory. He’d been her husband, after all, even if at times loyalty had not been a two-way street. But Hope had taken her vows seriously. The idea of divorce had torn at her; still tore at her now when she remembered the look on Andrew’s face the night he’d stormed out of the house.
Guilt was a funny thing. She’d been entertaining thoughts for days now that Andrew might still be alive, might be deceiving her in just about the worst way possible, that he might even be willing to commit murder to pull off that deception, and yet she still felt twinges of guilt that she hadn’t been able to make her marriage work. Guilt that she had feelings—powerful feelings—for a man her husband had detested.
“If all this is true,” she said slowly, “then we’re no longer talking about someone in the family, or even close to the family, being responsible for Michael Eldridge’s arrival in Memphis. The people you’re talking about are strangers.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Jake said, warming to the subject. He was completely in his element, Hope thought. Solving life-and-death riddles as if they were of no more consequence than the crossword puzzle in the Sunday paper. “I keep coming back to Pamela and Jeremy. For my money, they seem to have the most to gain. Jeremy especially. Like you said, he doesn’t have a prayer of being Iris’s heir, and from everything you’ve told me, I doubt she’d be willing to back him in the political arena, either.”
“You’re right about that,” Hope replied.
“Think how it’s been for him, growing up in that house, knowing he’d never get his hands on the Kingsley fortune and he’d never have access to the Kingsley power. Power that Andrew so carelessly threw away. I would imagine a lot of resentment would have been built up over the years, and I can see how he might easily have been recruited by an organization like the Grayson Commission. They could have convinced him that by helping Michael Eldridge pose as Adam, Jeremy would not only gain access to the fortune denied him all these years, but when and if Eldridge came into political prominence, Jeremy would be right there calling the shots from the sidelines, gaining vicarious power through his Kingsley look-alike.”
“This still sounds pretty far-fetched to me,” Hope said. “But if the Grayson Commission is behind everything that’s happened, there’s another connection we haven’t yet explored. Remember the night Pratt had us taken to his compound in Shepherd? He said that Jonas Thorpe had come to him by way of Houston.”
Jake glanced up at her, a spark of admiration in his eyes. “I’d forgotten about that. But you’re right. We can’t discount Simon Pratt in all this. According to what I read on the Net, organized crime is heavily involved in the Grayson Commission. And Pratt definitely had a connection to the Kingsleys through Andrew.” Jake refilled their mugs from the pitcher of beer while they waited for their food. “There’s also another person we haven’t discussed.”
Hope took a sip of her beer. “Who?”
“Iris.”
She gazed at him in shock. “You can’t seriously think she’d be involved with an organization like the Grayson Commission. Why would she?”
Jake shrugged again. “For power, what else? From all I’ve ever heard about Iris Kingsley, that’s what she’s always craved more than anything else. She must have been pretty bummed out when Edward, her only son, went against her wishes and decided not to run for more than two terms as governor.”
Hope winced. “Livid was more like it, according to Andrew. He once told me that after Edward made his decision, Iris didn’t speak to him for almost two years, even though they were living in the same house. She blamed Pamela for Edward’s downfall, and generally made everyone’s life miserable. Then one day, she just sort of snapped out of her bitterness and started pinning all her hopes on Andrew.”
“Who, as you’ve pointed out, had absolutely no political aspirations. She must have seen the end of the Kingsley dynasty coming for a long time, but then a man claiming to be Adam turns up and suddenly there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.”
“But what if he’s not Adam?” Hope asked.
“Maybe it doesn’t matter to her. Maybe the fact that he looks like Andrew is enough. As long as the Kingsley power is restored and the dynasty continued, maybe it doesn’t matter to her who this man is. Think about it for a minute, Hope. Why didn’t she want him investigated?”
“What you say makes a certain kind of twisted sense,” Hope admitted. “But, Jake, there’s no way she would have had anything to do with Andrew’s death. You have to know that.”
“And I’ll concede that point. Reluctantly,” Jake said, but Hope could see how much he relished the possibility that Iris was somehow involved in all this. “But what if the Grayson Commission didn’t contact her until after Andrew’s death, when she was vulnerable and lonely and needed something to focus on other than her grief? Iris Kingsley is a very complex woman, Hope. I don’t think we can afford to lose sight of how powerful she is, or how much that power means to her.”
“Jake—”
“I know how you feel about her.” He stared at her across the table. “I know she’s always been good to you, and you feel a certain amount of loyalty to her. I can understand that. But we have to keep an open mind. We have to consider all the possibilities. I thought that’s why you hired me. To find out the truth about Eldridge, no matter where that truth leads me.”
“I did. And you’re right. We do have to consider all the possibilities. Only—”
“Only what?”
She glanced at him accusingly. “Do you have to enjoy all this quite so much?”
He leaned across the table. “Admit it. You like it, too. It’s fun being part of the hunt.”
“You call being hit over the head and tied up in a burning warehouse fun?” she demanded.
“It has its moments.” He sat back and eyed her with amusement. “You know, you’ve got a real flair for police work, Hope. Who would have thought it?”
She would have retorted that she certainly did not have a flair for police work, that she still had nightmares about Pratt’s Dobermans ch
asing them through the woods, but just then the platters of food arrived, along with a stack of paper napkins.
The succulent aroma of barbecued pork ribs stirred hunger pangs in Hope. After the serious nature of their discussion, she was surprised to find she even had an appetite, but she and Jake both attacked their meals with gusto.
When they were finished, they had not only an alarming pile of bones stacked beside their plates, but an equal number of napkins. Eating ribs was a messy business, and Hope had enjoyed every minute of it.
“I’m stuffed,” she groaned. “I can’t believe I ate so much.”
“You can afford it.” Jake gave her an appreciative glance. “I’ve been thinking you’re a little on the skinny side.”
“Oh, really? I’m the exact same size I was when I first met you,” she informed him. “And I don’t recall any complaints back then.”
Suddenly, in the midst of their playful sparring, a memory of something Jake had said to her the first time they’d made love shot through Hope. “You’re so perfect,” he whispered. “Everywhere I touch. Here.” He kissed her neck. “Here.” His hand cupped her breast. “Here.” His fingers skimmed down her stomach. “And here…”
Hope’s eyes lifted to meet Jake’s, and in that instant, she knew he was experiencing the very same memory. The remembered sensations wove a bond of intimacy between them, making Hope wonder what it would be like to be in Jake’s arms now, having him explore all the erotic places he’d once known so well.
I’ve missed you, she thought suddenly, with an intensity that stole her breath away. God, how I’ve missed you.
“Mrs. Kingsley?” said a voice at Hope’s side.
Reluctantly Hope tore her gaze from Jake’s and glanced up. The woman was an acquaintance whose name Hope couldn’t recall, but she remembered having met her at a dinner party Iris had given before Andrew died.
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