Eden's Baby
Had a woman been murdered because she resembled Eden?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Books by Adrianne Lee
Title Page
Dedication
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Copyright
Had a woman been murdered because she resembled Eden?
Eden trembled. Instinctively she knew it was true. Cold seeped from her pores, chilling every inch of her. She was meant to have died tonight—with David framed for her murder.
The hotel suite she shared with David no longer seemed like an elegant love nest. Now it was like an expensive prison.
The stalker’s obsession had taken a macabre turn from fixated love to hatred. Only one question remained: Would Eden be the next victim?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Eden’s Baby is talented Adrianne Lee’s third book for Harlequin Intrigue. When asked about why she wanted to write romance fiction, Adrianne had this to say: “I wanted to be Doris Day when I grew up. You know, singing my way through one wonderful romance after another And I did. I fell in love with and married my high school sweetheart and became the mother of three beautiful daughters. Family and love are very important to me and I hope you enjoy the way I weave them through my stories. I love hearing from readers.” If you want a response or an autographed bookmark from Adrianne Lee, please send an SASE to P.O. Box 3838, Sequim, WA 98382
Books by Adrianne Lee
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Eden’s Baby
Adrianne Lee
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN
MADRID • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
In loving memory of Arnie and Kate.
Special thanks to: Clint Cresawn, Ruth Craven,
Sheila Keener and Stephanie K. Steppe of University of
Washington Medical Center; Miriam S. Cressman of
Virginia Mason Medical Center; Captain Ron Brothers of
the Issaquah Police.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Eden Prescott—The woman was torn between love and duty.
David Coulter—Was the handsome psychologist an object of obsessive love or a cold-blooded killer?
Valerie Prescott—Eden’s sister-in-law wore her heart on her sleeve.
Beth Montgomery—Eden’s sister was in a life-and-death situation.
Colleen MacLaine—Did David’s secretary want to be the only woman in his life?
Denise Smalley—Did she love David enough to kill her own sister?
Ariel Bel—Was this private nurse as caring as she seemed?
Lynzy Anders—David’s student aide seemed too guileless to be anything else.
Rose Hatcher—David’s former student was serving a life sentence in prison.
Detective Kollecki— Was he after the truth or bent on being right?
Prologue
Life imprisonment. Dr. David Coulter felt no sense of justice as he watched from the back of the Seattle courtroom. Rose Hatcher, wearing an abnormally bland dress, her carrot red hair hanging to her waist in a limp braid, stood as the verdict was read.
David swallowed his disgust. Rose could spend eternity in jail. It wouldn’t bring back Marianne DePaul, his most promising psychiatry student in years. Wouldn’t console her family.
Or ease his guilt.
How could he come to terms with the knowledge that someone’s obsession with him had led to the death of an innocent young woman? He jammed his trembling hands into the pockets of his jacket, unable to shake the certainty that Marianne’s murder was preordained, her fate sealed, the moment he’d shown a special interest in her. Singled her out in class.
Rage boiled inside him, rage against the woman being sentenced, a rage to take her life as she’d taken Marianne’s, a rage that defiled everything he had ever believed in.
He wheeled around and left the courtroom. Why hadn’t he realized Rose’s affection for him bordered on psychotic? His throat constricted. This was the second time he’d wrongly diagnosed someone—been tricked into taking things at face value. The first time had only humiliated him, left him distrustful of his professional and personal abilities to assess patients’ and friends’ motives.
This time someone innocent had died.
How could he have misjudged her so badly? He stepped aboard the elevator and punched the button with the force of his anger. His license should be revoked. He’d taken Rose’s affection as transference dependency, a “crush” that patients, and sometimes students, developed for their doctors or teachers. A daily hazard to psychiatrists.
The elevator stopped, and an elderly couple boarded. Why hadn’t he suspected the truth—that Rose had an antisocial personality disorder? He let out a ragged breath. At least there was no doubt of her guilt. Not only had they found physical evidence in her apartment—some of it personal items stolen from his house—but Rose had also confessed.
A clammy chill swept him. Feel it, David. All of it. All the pain and anger. Acceptance was at the other end of this nightmarish tunnel. How many times had he told his patients that? What worthless advice! Would acceptance ease his guilt? Restore his trust in his own judgment of people?
He stepped from the elevator and started across the lobby. It would certainly not reassure his secretary, his dentist’s receptionist, his new student assistant, an ex-patient and an old girlfriend, all of whose names were on an apparent hit list investigators had found in Rose Hatcher’s apartment. He shuddered to think they might all have been intended future victims because of their association with him.
He left the King County Courthouse, emerging into the crisp February afternoon. Exhaust smoke fouled the air, but David hardly noticed the vehicles moving along the street as he joined the few pedestrians sharing the sidewalk. He crossed Fourth Avenue and headed up the hill to the parking lot.
At the next corner, he encountered a street vendor selling flowers.
The man poked a flower in his direction. “Last chance to remember your Valentine.”
A familiar fragrance reached David, freezing him in place and unsettling his stomach. His gaze riveted on the single white rose the man held toward him. It was just like the one Rose had left on his doorstep after killing Marianne.
Chapter One
Five months later
A rare July thunderstorm battered David Coulter’s Mercer Island home as he set the telephone receiver back in its cradle. An open bottle of wine was breathing on the counter, and salad and steaks waited in the fridge. He’d planned on sharing dinner with an old friend. It seemed she’d gotten a better offer.
Good for her.
Bad for him.
“At least Shannon won’t be lonely tonight.” He wished he could find someone to share his life with. Friends were nice, but their company o
nly eased the emptiness inside him; he needed someone to fill it. A vision of Eden Prescott flashed into his mind, and he pondered the tender glances they’d exchanged lately. Had he imagined a longing in her eyes? He shook his head at his foolishness. Eden was the most loyal woman he’d ever met—and her loyalties belonged to her husband.
Even if she felt as he felt about her, she’d never act on those feelings.
Wind seemed to steal into the old house, brushing a chill over his naked body. Banishing Eden from his thoughts, David hurried back to the warm bathroom, snatched up a small towel, wiped steam off the mirror, then draped the towel around his neck.
His damp hair stood on end, and the shadow of a beard darkened his jawline. He reached for his comb. It was gone. Not another one. He groaned. How many did that make in the last two months? Three? A shiver skittered along his spine. If Rose Hatcher weren’t still behind bars...
“Whoa, old man. Talk about classic paranoia.” He chuckled at himself. No obsessed students were getting in here and taking his combs. He lathered his face and shaved. More likely he’d simply set a comb down somewhere, then gotten busy with something else and forgotten where he’d put it. It would turn up where least expected. Probably in the fridge.
The doorbell rang, its merry chime chasing off the concern. Who the hell could that be? He grabbed his robe off the hook on the bathroom door, struggled into it and cinched the belt as he hurried to the foyer. He peered through the peephole.
In the eerie yellow glow cast by the porch light, he saw a bedraggled and wet-looking woman, petite in stature, her short black hair plastered to her head. His heart jumped. “Eden.”
He yanked the door open, oblivious to the fact that he wore nothing more than his short terry-cloth robe, that his cocoa brown hair was damp and mussed and that a towel still draped his neck and a dab of shaving cream adorned one earlobe.
“Hello, David.”
Her husky voice held him rooted in place, eliciting an unbidden, decidedly warm stirring in his belly. His mouth was suddenly as dry as the night was wet. “Eden?”
Her cornflower blue eyes widened as she took in his appearance. “I’ve caught you at a bad time.”
“No, you haven’t, but what are you doing out in this storm?” David kept her standing outside, his manners lost in the surprise of finding her on his doorstep. He noticed the mascara smudges underscoring her eyes. Had she been crying? Had something happened to her sister? “Is it Beth?”
“Well... no. Maybe.” She looked confused, desperate, about to bolt. “I—I have no right to barge in on you. I—I should have called.”
“Nonsense.” She wasn’t even wearing a coat or boots. Had no umbrella. Water dripped from the tips of her hair. Something was damned wrong. “Please, come pin.”
Her hand was icy cold and wet as he caught it and gently, firmly, pulled her inside and led her into the living room to the marble fireplace, where a roaring fire burned.
The miniblinds were closed against the storm, but the downpour drummed overhead, muffling the soft sounds of classical music issuing from the stereo against the far wall.
The room was massive, in perfect proportion to the house, and offered a grand view of Lake Washington when the blinds were open. But other than the stereo, the only furniture was a creamy leather sofa centered near the hearth with a single brass floor lamp at its side.
He saw Eden frown and assumed she was wondering at the lack of personal items. Not wanting to discuss that, he said, “I’ll get you a towel.”
“Thank you.” She stepped out of red flats that looked as if she’d waded through a puddle, and hunched toward the flames, chafing her hands together. “I am rather chilled.”
David hastened to the linen closet and grabbed a thick blue towel that was almost as large as Eden, then veered into the kitchen and filled two glasses from the open wine bottle. Eden was shaken. Maybe in shock. Whatever had brought her here could just as easily send her back out into the night. He’d seen the misgivings in her eyes, in her hesitancy at coming inside. The last thing she needed was to tear back out into this storm.
But she might.
He hurried back to the living room, breathing a sigh of relief the moment he saw her still standing at the fireplace. Thunder rumbled overhead. David slowed his step and let his gaze roam from Eden’s sleek raven hair, to the delicate paleness of her neck, over every petite curve, past the shapely arch of her calves, to her graceful bare feet. A tightness jabbed his groin and made him suddenly aware of his lack of clothing.
She spun around, and their gazes met and held. “Peter has filed for divorce.”
Peter was her husband. Whatever David had expected, it wasn’t this. He’d been certain it was Beth. His patient. The link that had brought them together months ago. Although they’d grown friendly during their association, Eden seldom mentioned her marriage. “I’m sorry. I can see it has shaken you.”
“Oh, yes. And I really need to talk to someone about it. Was I wrong to come here?”
“No, of course not.” Dear God, he should have said yes. How could he bear to hear her despair over her husband? How could he control feelings for her that defied anything he’d ever felt for other women?
The thought was like a cold splash of reality. Even if what he felt for Eden was the genuine, once-in-a-lifetime thing, he had no right to act on it. She was destroyed by the failure of her marriage. She loved another.
“Here. Some cabernet will help warm your insides.” He handed her the towel and one of the wineglasses. “Would you like to sit on the sofa?”
“No. I’d rather stay by the fire.”
“Sure.” He remained standing also, keeping a good three feet between them, terrified that the least encouragement from her would shred his already shaky professional detachment, that he would reach out to help her and be lost in the need she exuded, in the need coursing his own veins.
Be strong, be strong, he chanted silently, painfully. “What happened?”
“It seems my... husband has found someone else he wants to marry.”
Oddly there was no pain in her eyes, just anger and fear. What did that mean? “I’m sorry.”
The words felt so inadequate.
“Don’t be.” She gazed into his eyes. “The marriage was over long ago.”
David felt the invisible, intangible, irresistible allure of her emotional and physical hunger... for him?
“It was?” He swallowed hard. No. He was misreading her. She didn’t want him as he wanted her. His gaze snagged on her movements with the blue towel—a blue that matched the cornflower of her eyes—as she dabbed it delicately against the sides of her heart-shaped face, her dripping hair. He ached to take the towel from her. Perform the task himself. He fought the urge. “Are you saying you don’t love your husband?”
The question made her laugh. “I despise him.”
“You do?” Why had he said that? He should have said, I see. No one was more aware than he was of that fine line between love and hate. He could not take her declaration at face value. It might not mean she actually despised her husband.
David took a swallow of wine. It wasn’t necessarily that she’d come here because she felt something for him, either. She might just be lashing out—a normal response from someone betrayed by a lover. “Then—forgive my rudeness—why are you so upset?”
“I—I. . .”
“I won’t judge you, Eden. Surely you know me well enough by now to know that.” She looked like a startled deer about to bolt. David respected her instincts. He should let her leave. Dear God, he had to let her leave. “I’m a good listener.”
“Yes, I know.” He was a wonderful listener. A sliver of guilt stabbed Eden. If only counsel were all that she longed for from David. “I didn’t know where else to turn. But I’ve changed my mind.”
She took a gulp of wine, then spun away from him, set her glass on the hearth and lifted one foot toward a wet shoe. “Coming here was not a good idea.”
“W
hy?” David swore under his breath. What had he been thinking? Doing? She’d arrived undeniably upset, and here he was plying her with alcohol and fighting his desire for her—which he was obviously doing a lousy job of hiding.
“Because what I want from you is too much to ask.” Eden’s shoe was too damp. Her bare foot stuck on the wet leather. She jerked her hand to her mouth, but not before a small cry slipped out and into the room like the helpless wail of a wounded animal.
“Oh, Eden.” David’s will shattered into a thousand pieces at the neediness in the small sob. He closed the gap between them, set his glass on the hearth, grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her around. “Good Lord, you’re soaked.”
“It’s raining,” she said lamely. Her wide blue eyes were awash with tears.
“You should get out of those clothes ... let me...” His voice choked with desire. “Let me throw them in the dryer.”
“No. I’ll be fine.” Her gaze stole to the dab of shaving cream still nestling his earlobe, and without thinking, she snagged a corner of the towel at his neck and blotted it away.
David groaned in sweet agony. He hadn’t been with a woman since... since he’d met Eden. Surely, after all these months of celibacy, he could find the strength to suppress the need that was tearing through his veins, burning his restraint as efficiently as the fire was burning the logs. He yanked the towel from around his neck, tossed it aside and struggled to keep his voice level. “Eden, I—”
“Oh, David.” The desire in his soft green eyes plucked at the unplayed strings of her heart and filled her soul with a mesmerizing melody, promising love and untold joys. “Is it so wrong of me to need you, David, as protector, confidant, friend? To want you as I want you now, in every way a woman wants a man?”