“The perfect blend of high-stakes action and gut-wrenching psychological suspense.” —Iris Johansen on The Line Between Here and Gone

“Andrea Kane sets new standards for suspense.” —Lisa Gardner

“Andrea Kane delivers the kind of edgy suspense and romantic tension that will rev up your pulse and keep you turning the pages.” —Jayne Ann Krentz<

1

“A HOUSE?”

Lindsey Hall feathered her fingers through her hair, a puzzled expression on her face. “I don’t understand. Why would Harlan Falkner leave me a house?”

“A mansion, not a house,” Leland Masters corrected. He regarded her steadily, whatever he was thinking masked behind a professional veneer he’d perfected over forty years. One of Providence, Rhode Island’s most prominent attorneys, he’d represented the Falkners’ interests since Harlan made his first million, some thirty-five years ago. Now, it was his job to carry out his client’s final wishes.

He folded his hands in front of him, a formidable presence in an equally formidable office—all gleaming mahogany and polished tile—an office that Harlan Falkner’s money had helped pay for. “You’re aware of your relationship to Mr. Falkner.”

Lindsey’s smile was tight-lipped. “My relationship? If you mean my blood ties, yes, I know Mr. Falkner fathered me. But as for a relationship, we had none. I never even met the man. He made no attempt to contact me, not in twenty-six years. So why would he suddenly leave me a portion of his estate?”

Another thoughtful stare. Yes, he could see the resemblance. The same unusual coloring: fine, tawny hair, its hues ranging from gold to light brown and, in contrast, startlingly dark eyes. The same refined manner and natural grace. And the bone structure was there, although Miss Hall was slender and delicate in contrast to Harlan’s larger, more towering presence. She probably took after her mother on that score.

She hadn’t been at the will reading. Then again, she hadn’t been invited. It was better that way. The reaction from Harlan’s children would have been explosive. As it was, it hadn’t been pleasant. It had, however, been predictable. Until last week, they hadn’t known Lindsey Hall existed.

They knew now.

“Miss Hall, I don’t think Harlan’s—your father’s—motives are the issue here. His provisions are. He left you the mansion in Newport, along with a sizable sum of money, to be used at your discretion.”

“My discretion,” she repeated, turning her palms up in noncomprehension. “What does that mean?”

“The mansion has been vacant for years. It needs to be restored. Harlan thought you might enjoy doing that. If so, a portion of your funds could be used to renovate the house in whatever manner you choose.” Leland shrugged. “If not, you’re welcome to sell it and keep the profit, along with the rest of the money he’s left you. As I said, the choice is yours.”

A flicker of anger flashed in her eyes, followed by a spark of curiosity. “Why was the mansion vacant?”

The attorney shrugged again. “It used to be a family vacation home. Circumstances changed. Lifestyles changed.” He left it at that.

“I see.” Obviously, she didn’t see at all. Nor should she. But she changed the subject nonetheless. “What about Mr. Falkner’s legitimate children? Wouldn’t he leave the mansion to them?”

Leland had anticipated that question. “He thought you’d have a greater appreciation for it, based upon your career choice.”

That was his second reference to her inclinations toward design, this one more pointed than the first.

It found its mark, and Lindsey Hall’s delicate brows rose. “Are you saying Mr. Falkner was aware I’m an architect?”

“Mr. Falkner was aware of a great many things about you, Miss Hall. Your graduation with honors from Cooper Union, your unique contributions to the architectural firm you’re currently working for in Connecticut, specifically the fine work you’ve done restoring classic old homes. Many things.”

Lindsey’s jaw dropped. “He kept tabs on me?”

“He kept abreast of your accomplishments.”

She digested that with a jolt of surprise and an obvious swell of resentment. Based on her perception of things, Leland couldn’t Read Less