Shadow Lover (5 page)

"Disgusting,"
Warren
said, and this time he did sniff.

"You think I can't do it?" Alex said calmly.

"Oh, I have every confidence in your abilities,"
Warren
murmured. "I expect you'll end up convincing everyone you're Alexander
MacDowell
. I just think you'll have an easier time tricking Carolyn than seducing her. I don't think she's a woman who has much use for the opposite sex."

There was a faint, unexpected undertone of pride in
Warren
's voice, and Alex thought he could understand why. Sexual indifference was a matter of power to a man like Warren
MacDowell
. A power Alex had no intention of cultivating, at least not in this lifetime.

"We'll see," he said. "If I can get her to trust me enough to sleep with me, then we should have no problem whatsoever. Unless Patsy decides to be difficult."

"Leave my younger sister to me,"
Warren
said. "I know how to handle her. She doesn't waste much time thinking about anything other than her own interests. The family business holds little charm for her. She's more concerned about her own greedy pursuits."

"But won't my sudden reappearance put a dent in the funds she uses for those pursuits?"

"I can handle her,"
Warren
said again. "She's married well—three times—and she trusts me. We're actually quite close. If I accept you, she will."

"And her children?"

"They might not be so easy,"
Warren
conceded. "But then, I never would have gotten involved in this charade if I didn't think you were the man capable of pulling it off. Once you manage to convince Carolyn, the others should be a relatively simple matter if you watch your step."

Alexander surveyed him out of half-closed eyes. He had no illusions about his coconspirator. Of all the celebrated
MacDowells
,
Warren
had the strongest sense of self-interest, coupled with a useful lack of morality. When he'd first come up with the crazy idea of passing himself off as the missing heir, Warren had been the obvious choice for a partner in crime.

He'd considered other possibilities before approaching
Warren
, discarding them quickly.
Constanza
and Ruben were too loyal, Patsy too caught up in her endless quest for pleasure to make an effort to ensure she could continue to pay for it.

And Carolyn Smith. She would have been his first choice. After years on her own she was living with Sally
MacDowell
, taking care of her during her final illness. She knew more about the
MacDowell
family than anyone else—with her help no one would dare stand up to him.

But some sixth sense had sent him in
Warren
's direction instead, and now he basked in his customary good luck. Carolyn would never have tolerated such deceit—she was obviously cursed with a strong sense of morality.

"You think Sally has any doubts?"
Warren
asked after a moment.

"Not a one. She needs to believe in me. She's dying, and she doesn't want to leave this life without finding her son again."

"Just make sure she doesn't start agreeing to things like DNA tests and the like. There's a limit to what we can do, who I can bribe."

"Don't worry, she won't," Alex said with calm assurance.

Warren
stared at him for a long moment, then nodded, satisfied. "I won't deny it's gone extremely well so far. The next few days will be the test."

"The next few days will be simple," Alex murmured. "If you do your part."

"I'm the one with the most to lose,"
Warren
said huffily.

"I doubt it. If I get unmasked you'll just insist you were taken in like everyone else. I'm willing to bet there isn't a shred of proof tying us together. Is there?"

"You think I don't trust you?"

"I think you don't trust anyone. Neither do
I
." Alex sat up, turning to look at him. "Don't worry about it,
Warren
. I'm not going to get caught. If I am, cover your ass and don't worry about me. I'm very good at getting out of tight places."

"I'm supposed to believe you won't betray me?"

"If you don't believe that, why did you get involved in this?" Alex countered smoothly.

"Because you look eerily like him,"
Warren
said after a moment.

"And because I showed up on your doorstep and offered you a chance to get your hands on all that lovely money," Alex said bluntly. "Don't forget that."

"My sister's dying,"
Warren
said. "She'll die happy if she thinks her son is back—"

"You don't give a shit whether your sister dies happy or not. You only care that she dies with her estate settled, not tied up for years proving that the real Alexander
MacDowell
is dead."

"What if he's not?"
Warren
said suddenly. "What if the real one does suddenly appear?"

"He's dead,
Warren
," Alex said in a low, cool voice. "Trust me, he's not coming back."

Carolyn had probably had to suffer through worse dinner parties in her life, but at the moment she was too miserable to remember them. A table had been set up in front of the bay window in Sally's room, and Sally even managed to sit in her wheelchair, the bright color of happiness in her pale cheeks. Alex sat beside her, attentive, charming, and
Warren
was surprisingly expansive. Carolyn sat across from the interloper, quiet, saying little, eating even less, listening to the liar as he spun his web.

Not that he reminded her of a spider, she thought objectively. He was too golden and glorious for that, with his slanted blue-green eyes, his sun-streaked hair, his tanned skin stretched taut over his high cheekbones. He had the same slightly Slavic look that the real Alexander had had, which was probably what made the deception work.

His mouth was what fascinated her. It was the mouth of a satyr, cynical, voluptuous, utterly and completely sexual. He smiled, he laughed, showing perfect white teeth; he talked with lazy charm, holding the rest of them spellbound. Holding Carolyn spellbound, even as she fought it.

He was good. He was beyond good—he was masterful, enchanting Aunt Sally, charming Uncle Warren, telling old tales of a childhood he hadn't lived. Someone must be helping him, Carolyn thought, plastering an expression of polite interest on her face as her brain worked feverishly. Some of the little bits he was coming up with would only be known to members of the family. Someone must have told him about the time Alex had gone skinny-dipping at
South
Beach
on
Martha's Vineyard
and the police had caught him. Someone must have told him that Alex was dangerously allergic to shrimp.

He glanced at her across the dish of scampi, a faint, knowing gleam in his eyes. "Did you suggest the menu, Carolyn?" he murmured, making no attempt to serve himself.

"I have a weakness for shrimp," she said lightly.

"So do
I
," Alex said. "A fatal weakness."

"Oh, my heavens!" Sally said in a shocked voice. "I'd forgotten, darling! You're allergic to the stuff. Carolyn, how could you have done such a thing?"

"It's been eighteen years." Her calm voice didn't betray her unexpected flash of guilt. Not for endangering the imposter. But for troubling Sally. "I'd forgotten as well."

"So you weren't trying to kill me?" he asked gently.

She toyed with her wine glass,
then
gave him a cool smile. "It wouldn't have been a very effective way to do it, now would it? After all, the shrimp is quite recognizable. If you were someone who knew he was allergic to shrimp you simply wouldn't touch it."

Her barbed statement went over Sally's head. "Don't talk to Carolyn of murder," Sally said brightly. "She's an expert on the subject."
   

"Oh, really?" His eyes were deceptively languid. "How many people have you murdered?"

"No one," she said. She smiled at him. "Yet."

"She loves reading trash,"
Warren
explained broadly. "Murder mysteries, all that sort of garbage. She fancies herself an expert on modem crime because she's read a few whodunits."

"Hardly." Carolyn managed to keep the irritation from her voice.

"You'd better think twice before committing a crime, boy,"
Warren
went on. "Carolyn's the type to catch you red-handed. She's a regular Miss
Marple
."

"Don't be ridiculous,
Warren
," Sally said with surprising vigor. "I read spy thrillers and I'm not about to join the CIA or the KGB. What do you read, darling?" She turned to Alex with an almost flirtatious smile.

"I don't have time to read,"
Warren
announced loudly.

"I wasn't asking you," Sally said. "And anyone with any sense finds the time to read, or their brain atrophies and their soul shrivels."

"Even when they read trash?"
Warren
snapped.

Carolyn drained her wineglass. She had a splitting headache, but there was no way she was leaving Sally alone without her protection.
Warren
had a tendency to upset her, and the unexpected stimulant of her prodigal son would no doubt take its toll as well. She'd been going downhill steadily since last fall—Carolyn dreaded the thought that something might accelerate the inevitable process.

"Depends on what you define as trash, Uncle," Alex said smoothly. "I like reading honor novels, myself."

"You would," Carolyn muttered. Indeed, the teenaged Alex had been reading Stephen King when he disappeared. Once more, the stranger had done his homework.

"Tell me, Alex, do you have any plans now that you've finally returned to the bosom of your family?"
Warren
demanded.

"
Warren
!" Sally's voice held a distinct warning note.

"I'm not quizzing him about his past," her brother said impatiently. "Though I admit I'm curious. There's no reason not to ask him what he plans to do now, is there?"

"He doesn't have to answer anything he doesn't want to. It's wonderful just to have him back."

Alex met Carolyn's eyes across the table, between the bickering siblings. The light was a soft glow of candlelight, and for a moment she let herself be drawn in by the sheer intensity of his eyes, the rich, disturbing promise of his mouth. "Are they always like this?" he asked with just the right note of amusement.

Carolyn was not amused. "Don't you remember?"

He rose, towering over the table and stretching with lazy, unconscious grace. No true
MacDowell
would ever stretch, Carolyn thought, surreptitiously moving her cramped muscles. They were all too well bred, too carefully instilled with polite behavior.

"They used to argue about me," he said.

"They still do."

Sally looked up mid-tirade, her faded eyes troubled. "I'm sorry, darling. You shouldn't have to listen to us two old buzzards arguing on your first night back."

"Don't call me old,"
Warren
snapped. "You're ten years older than I am."

"And dying to boot," Sally snapped back. "You're old, I'm antique." She wheeled her chair away from the table. "You go along now, the pair of you. And Carolyn, send Mrs. Hathaway in to help me, would you? I'm quite tired."

"You don't need the nurse tonight," Carolyn protested. "I can help you—"

"I wouldn't think of it, dearest," Sally said fondly. "What's the use of having a private nurse on call if I don't use her? Besides, I'm having a bit of … discomfort. She can give me a shot."

Sally never admitted to pain. A
MacDowell
never did. She probably referred to her long, hard labor to bring forth the two-week-overdue Alexander
MacDowell
as a slight twinge. According to family legend, she'd spent two weeks in a private hospital, refusing all visitors until she emerged with her infant son.

"If that's what you want," Carolyn said reluctantly, knowing when she was beaten. She wouldn't stay with Sally until she slept, but no force on this earth could make her spend the rest of the evening in Alex's company. "I'm tired as well. If you don't mind, I'll just head for bed."

"Carolyn, you can't leave Alex alone on his first night back!" Sally protested.

"
Warren
's here." It sounded rude, almost a refusal, and Carolyn had never refused Sally any of the small requests she'd made of her over the years.

"You and I both know that
Warren
is a pest who'll start cross-examining Alex the moment he gets a chance. Now, don't glare at me, Warren, I know you can hear me, and I have no qualms saying it to your face. Carolyn will keep you both company and make sure you leave Alex alone."