Hidden Hearts. Susan Kearney

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      Prologue

      Alexandra Golden ignored the niggling worry that had shadowed her for the last two days. Ever since she’d received a package related to her mysterious past, she’d been fighting not to let it ruin her enjoyment of her latest accomplishment—a triumph she’d worked so hard to achieve.

      With deep satisfaction and pride, Alexandra leaned over the finished blueprints of her architectural firm’s first skyscraper. The two-hundred-story bank building overlooking the St. John’s River in downtown Jacksonville, Florida, would boast majestic views of several bridges, the thriving waterfront and a good part of the bustling city. Best of all, it would be the first new construction project this decade to be added to Jacksonville’s elegant skyline by a female architect.

      As Alexandra smoothed her palm over the graceful lines of the beautiful bank building she would create out of soaring steel, solid concrete and cool-blue glass, she didn’t regret one moment of the hard work she’d done to arrive at this moment. Just mastering the math required to become an architect had almost done her in, but she’d studied harder than many of her colleagues. Then she’d taken risks to establish her own firm, and she had even spread her finances to the limit to go after the Benson Bank project.

      Early in her career, she’d made a friend. Charlotte Benson, heir to the Benson financial empire, had supported Alexandra’s firm from the beginning. Charlotte had convinced her mostly male board of directors that a woman architect would help usher in the future, a future where women dropped off their children in day-care centers in the buildings where they worked. A future where women who opened their own businesses and sought financing from a bank would feel welcome. A future where widows could come in for investment counseling and trust their stock portfolios to the competent hands of Benson Securities’s brokers.

      So, with success at her fingertips, why couldn’t Alexandra shake the feeling that something was wrong? She’d always been an optimistic person. She’d had her parents’ full support ever since they’d adopted her, taking her from the foster home to live with them when she was three years old and too young to remember her past. She’d grown up loved and spoiled and encouraged to make her dreams happen. She had no bad memories of her former life and no recollections of a brother named Jake Cochran or the sister he’d claimed in his recent letter was just a baby when they’d all been separated.

      At least Jake had had the good sense not to just show up on her doorstep. The arrival of his letter two days ago would let her prepare gradually for a meeting with him. And she did want to see what he was like; she wondered if he shared her dark hair, olive complexion and amber-colored eyes.

      Jake’s message to her had been brief, but warm in tone and friendly. So she had no reason to feel threatened because the brother she couldn’t remember had sent her a note and a strange assortment of papers in the mail. He’d revealed nothing personal and had sent no photographs of himself. Instead he’d sent old black-and-white pictures from their parents’ era and a copy of her mother’s diary, along with birth certificates in a ten-by-fourteen-inch envelope. Alexandra had set the materials aside until she had time to go through them more carefully.

      No reason to worry. So why was she tapping her short-clipped nails on the blueprints? Why couldn’t she keep her mind on the present? Why did she keep glancing at the envelope she’d left on the dining-room table as if it contained a bomb?

      The items inside looked harmless enough. Although she’d never had the time or inclination to brood over her past, she looked forward to meeting her siblings. But even if she’d remembered them, she didn’t know if she would have tried to find them. Unlike many adoptees who yearned to seek out their genealogical roots, Alexandra had focused on her career and the parents who adored her.

      She’d turned a page of the blueprints to look over the specs for the site layout and underground utilities when a knock on her front door interrupted her. Leaving the blueprints, she exited her home office and walked through the living room to her foyer.

      As a single woman who lived alone, she habitually locked the dead bolt and chained the door after she arrived home. She’d never had trouble at the apartment complex, but she’d received a lot of publicity on the Benson project recently. Her picture had been in the paper and she’d been interviewed on local television news. While the free promotion could prove a boon to her firm and make it easier to win more projects, she remained careful of strangers.

      “Who is it?”

      “Package service, ma’am.”

      Alexandra’s packages were usually delivered to her office. But the one from her brother had come to her home. Perhaps he’d sent another?

      Alexandra peered through the peephole. The short, middle-aged, clean-cut man with a wide chest wore an ill-fitting uniform and held a clipboard awkwardly in his meaty hands. But he held no package. Maybe he’d set it on the floor.

      Alexandra opened her door but didn’t unfasten the chain. “I wasn’t expecting anything.”

      “I’m afraid there’s been a mixup, ma’am.”

      Alexandra frowned. “What kind of mixup?”

      “The package we delivered a few days ago isn’t yours. If you could return it to me, we can deliver it to its rightful owner.”

      “Just a minute please.”

      Alexandra needed to think. She knew the package had her correct address and that if there had been a mix-up, the company would have called. But she’d received no phone call.

      Something was wrong.

      Her first thought was to phone the delivery company to check on what she felt was a bogus story.

      “Ma’am, if you could open the door and give me the package, I can show you the wrong address on the label.”

      She knew the address was hers since she’d carefully checked it when it arrived. Her second thought was to get the hell out of her apartment.

      “I’ll be back in a second,” Alexandra called over her shoulder, knowing the chain might not hold for long against a determined pounding, afraid that if she tried to shut the door and throw the dead bolt, he’d jam a foot in the doorway to prevent her from succeeding.

      Heart racing, she sprinted through her living room, scooped up the envelope her brother had sent, ducked into her office and grabbed the blueprints and her purse.

      The sound of the front door slamming open and the chain breaking the wood warned her that she hadn’t a nanosecond to spare.

      The man had just broken into her house!

      Sweat slicking down her spine, Alexandra slid across her kitchen floor to her back door. As she juggled her belongings, she fumbled to turn the dead bolt.

      The lock clicked open just as the deliveryman skidded into her kitchen. “Hold it right there, lady. I won’t hurt you. I just need the package.”

      She didn’t believe him. And she didn’t stop running.

      Yanking open the door, she rushed outside onto her second-story terrace.