“Nothing? Like hell!”
He closed his eyes and saw Marcie’s beautiful face, so still and untouched by death as she’d lain in her coffin. The image was etched like a brand in his brain. He’d taught her to lie still when they’d had sex.
Not your fault.
Wrong.
He’d married a vulnerable young woman for her class—to improve his image, to add glamour to the lie that was his life. Everything about Luke McKade was a lie, including his official bio. There was no Luke McKade. The press’s Man of the Year was a myth. Every word in every article, in every magazine and newspaper that had ever been written about him were fantastic fabrications that a poor, ambitious boy with a head full of dreams had invented so that nobody would ever know what he really was—a Pueblo Indian woman’s bastard born in shame and despair to a man…
“Cut!”
Even in his wild, dark mood, Luke wasn’t about to think of his rich, powerful father…or the rest of that blue-blooded bunch he wanted to have nothing to do with in New Mexico.
He yanked Marcie’s picture out of the drawer and set it on his desk. He would keep it there until the sight of her beautiful face no longer made his gut clench. Only then would he put it away.
But he couldn’t look at it. Not tonight.
When he sprang to his feet and headed toward the door, the phone rang.
Curious, he stopped to read his Caller ID.
Brandon Baines.
Baines wasn’t calling about Marcie. Lawyers, who defended Mexican drug lords like Spook Rodriguez and Texas big shots’ kids gone wrong, didn’t call old law school classmates just to be nice.
Five years ago, Luke had sent Baines a client, a very special client.
Baines had screwed up so royally, they hadn’t spoken since.
The client had gotten five years in the federal pen with no chance of an early parole. At the sentencing, the eighteen-year-old client had screamed at Luke, “You deliberately set me up.”
“This is good,” Baines had said without missing a beat. “We’ll appeal.”
“You think this is good—’cause you charge by the hour. I’ll tell you what’s good, you slick, lying jerk. When I get out, I’m gonna shoot myself a lawyer—” the boy had turned on Luke “—and a bastard.”
Luke had lunged at him.
“This is good,” Baines had said, grabbing Luke, holding him back as three deputies stepped protectively in front of the prisoner.
“I’ll show you who the bastard is, you no-good, spoiled, son of a bitch,” Luke had snarled.
“Easy. Little Red’s your half brother, McKade,” said Baines.
“The hell he is. Nobody can know that. Understand? Nobody!”
Luke McKade’s official bio didn’t mention a pampered little brother gone wrong, didn’t mention Big Red Longworth, the famous ex-governor of New Mexico who was their biological father. Luke had deleted those folders from his database. They didn’t exist. He’d deleted them from his heart—an organ that didn’t exist, either.
Killer instincts. Baines didn’t give up easy. When the phone wouldn’t stop ringing, Luke slammed out of his office.
Little Red was due for parole any day.
I’m gonna shoot myself a lawyer…and a bastard.
Maybe the kid was already out. Maybe he was in Austin.…Maybe Baines was calling to warn him.
Luke was on his way home.
If the kid was here or on his way, Luke decided he’d leave the doors unlocked tonight. That way he’d be easy to find.
It was time he and the kid had it out. Way past time.
This is good.
2
The temperature was still ninety degrees when Luke’s Porsche leapt the last cedar-clad hill. Wheels spinning, the Porsche took the drive on two wheels, skidding to a halt. As the garage door lifted, he saw the empty space on the right side of the garage.
Marcie.
She was never coming back.
He parked on her side and got out. She was everywhere, almost a living presence tonight. If their sprawling one-story showplace with its tall chimneys, numerous balconies, and the impressive copper roof had been built with his money, it reflected Marcie’s taste and exquisite beauty. Adjoining the house were guest cottages. Beneath the mansion were the maid, Lucinda’s quarters. Marcie, who had loved to entertain, had thought of every comfort, caring even about Lucinda’s.
Marcie had loved stunning views and had chosen this lot to build their modern dream palace a thousand feet above shimmering Lake Travis. Windows that lacked lake views looked out upon lush gardens with fountains, reflecting pools and bird feeders.
These barren limestone hills covered with cedar and live oak on the outskirts of Austin with their vistas of the jewel-blue lake were fast becoming Texas’s answer to the Mediterranean. Or at least they had been Luke McKade’s answer—until Marcie had walked, taking her furniture and that hideous cat of hers, Mr. Tom. Without her and that spoiled beast she’d been so devoted to, the place felt as cold as a tomb.
Not that there weren’t any number of computer jackals with money to burn who’d made offers on the house the minute Marcie split. Lake Travis was the place to live among his set. Every day more trees were cleared, more castle sites started, each castle having to be bigger and more impressive than the one before.
He wasn’t about to sell. The house was image. He’d live here, in desolate splendor even if it reminded him of her—if it killed him. He’d buy a second car or maybe a new boat first thing Monday, so he could quit staring at that empty spot in his garage.
When Luke pushed open the immense brass-studded, teak front doors, he heard his phone. He raced for it. Brandon Baines was on his Caller ID.
Baines was persistent as hell. He took what he wanted or kept pushing until he got it. He wouldn’t let go of anything or anyone he considered his. He was especially ruthless with women. When they’d been in school he’d gotten a law student, a friend of Luke’s, pregnant. Even after her powerful daddy had made a stink, Baines had considered the girl his property to do with as he pleased.
When Baines had offered her money for an abortion, she’d refused. Her father had thrown her out then. In the end, Luke had let her move in with him for a couple of months until she could get on her feet, a fact that had infuriated the possessive Baines, who’d wanted to run things. When the baby was born, Baines had come to the hospital and tried to force the woman to give up her little girl and come back to him.
When she’d taken her daughter and vanished, Baines had blamed Luke. “Because of you, I’ve got a little bastard out there. The bitch could turn up with
