Deadly Vows by Brenda Joyce

standing at the stove, smiling not at him but at his brother, telling Rick how wonderful he was. Nor would he recall her last dying days, when he had been so terrified that she would leave him. It was Rick she was always asking to see, Rick she was always whispering to.
    He was an adult now. He knew that she had made Rick swear to take care of his younger brother, but that knowledge didn’t change anything. Lily had loved Rick greatly; to this day, he wasn’t sure that she had ever wanted him, much less loved him. The more troubling his behavior had been, the more distant she had become, looking at him with sorrow. She had never looked at Rick that way.
    â€œYou were a mistake!” his father, Paul Randall, had said.
    Hart had been accepted at Princeton University at the age of sixteen. Rathe had been a personal friend of the university’s president, but his test scores were superior anyway, allowing his early admittance. Yet instead of going to New Jersey and registering for his first term, he had gone to New York City. Returning to Manhattan as a young man in a suit with a few dollars in his wallet had been strange—and exhilarating. He liked the fact that when he stepped out into the street and raised his hand, a cab instantly pulled up. He liked walking into a fancy restaurant and being called sir. But the trip to the city was hardly impulsive; he had hired an investigator to find his biological father. He had not only found PaulRandall, he had been shocked to learn that he had a pair of siblings.
    Randall had been living in the same house, on Fifty-seventh Street and Lexington Avenue, where he was murdered last February. Hart had succumbed to uncharacteristic nervousness as he approached the brownstone. In spite of having rehearsed a nonchalant introduction, he was speechless and perspiring by the time he reached the front door. He had imagined their first meeting while on the Manhattan-bound train. No optimist, he had nevertheless imagined various scenarios that ended on a happy note.
    When he had told Randall who he was, the man had turned deathly white with shock. Instead of inviting him in, he had stepped outside onto the front stoop where Calder stood, closing the door behind them. “Why are you here?” he had cried. “What do you want? My God, my wife must never know.”
    Instantly understanding that his father did not want him, he had come to his senses. “For some odd reason, I thought it appropriate for us to meet.”
    â€œIt is not!” Randall had exclaimed. “Please leave—and do not come back.” He had shut the front door in his face. Stunned, trying not to feel anything just then, Hart had heard his half siblings behind the door, asking their father who that was.
    â€œJust a boy selling encyclopedias.”
    Now, Hart stared down at Fifth Avenue, his hands clenched so tightly on the sill that his knuckles were white. Francesca had jilted him. He would always have been the man she had settled for. Except, in the end, she had realized she did not want to settle.
    He turned. To his amazement, Rick was still interviewing Connie, as if this were one of his criminal investigations. Well, it was hardly that. As far as he was concerned, the drama was over.
    Rick saw him staring and walked over, his strides decisive. “Francesca must be in trouble.”
    He raised his brows. “Really? Why would you reach that conclusion—when you begged her this morning to postpone our wedding?”
    Rick’s eyes widened. “Are you blaming me?”
    Hart said, scoffing, “Hardly. But don’t pretend to care. Don’t pretend that you are not delighted by Francesca’s sudden change of heart.”
    Bragg was somber. “I’m not delighted, Calder. I can see you are hurt. But I am worried about Francesca.”
    He clapped his hands. “Of course you are. And is your white steed outside?”
    â€œHaven’t you heard a word