Welcome back to Dependable, Missouri, one last time. I hope you had the chance to pick up and enjoy the first three books in my The Lost Millionaires series: The Bad Boy, The Cowboy and The Marine. In The Rich Boy, Alexander McCoy finally has his story told. And did he ever need it!

We saw him struggling to deal with his new identity in the first three books, but now he has to do so with a cagey reporter dogging his heels. A woman he’d dated seven years ago. Not only does he have to keep the truth of his parentage a secret from her, but also avoid any rekindling of his feelings for her.

Madeline Monroe is a woman with something to prove. But can she earn the career move from entertainment news to hard news at the cost of the man she’s never been able to forget? Or will she sacrifice all to show Alex his true destiny?

I hope you enjoy this last installment in The Lost Millionaires series. I was itching to write it from the start, and was so glad to finally have the chance.

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CHAPTER 1

I, Marcus Malcom McCoy, being of sound mind, yadda yadda yadda, do hereby acknowledge as my biological progeny the first born to Helen Metzger, Ann Branigan, Bonnie Larson and Nadine Anders et al, who have been paid a million dollars each for their silence. Upon my death and subsequent reading of this addendum to my last will and testament, they shall inherit equal portions of my estate and, excepting Helen’s child, Alexander who already has the privilege, immediately take their rightful places in the family and family business, whatever it may be at that time.

Marcus M. McCoy

Tuning out the chatter from the party in full swing on the other side of the study’s locked doors, Alexander McCoy slumped back in the big desk chair. Staring at the scrawled signature at the bottom of the hand-written page, he tugged loose his black tuxedo’s traditional bow tie. If only he could tune out the burn of betrayal as easily.

For what seemed to be the hundredth time he had to admit to himself that he was definitely looking at the signature of the man he’d spent his life believing to be his brother. The brother he’d initially admired, then set out to be as different from as possible. And only Marcus would have had the nerve to belittle legalities by actually writing yadda, yadda, yadda, especially on something as important as an addendum to his last will and testament.

Even if Alex could harbor any doubts, he would have a hard time dismissing the word of David Weidman. The McCoys’ longtime family lawyer had witnessed Marcus write the addendum--though David claimed not to have read the document before sealing it into the heavy cream envelope that bore his signature and noting the existence of the unorthodox addendum in the actual will.

The will had been read nearly a month ago, four days after Marcus had been killed on June 8, while fly-fishing in Alaska, by a grizzly bear that hadn’t appreciated the competition. Before the reading, Alex had grieved for the relationship he’d hoped to one day develop with his much older brother. Now...

Of all the ways Alex’s jet-setting, “client-relations” guru brother--father--could have met an untimely end, this suddenly seemed the most apropos. Maybe it was the price Marcus had had to pay for being so cavalier with the truth. A truth that had changed everything.

Alexander’s whole life had been a lie.

The well-respected McCoy family, one of the richest in the nation, had a dirty little secret. And Alex’s actual parentage was the worst part of it.

The truth beat in his head in cadence with the music coming from the small parlor off the foyer of his family’s mansion. His brother was his father, and the man he’d believed to be his father was his grandfather.

My God.

Alex swiped a hand over his eyes. He’d tried his damnedest to push the reality from his mind these past weeks, focusing on the challenge of keeping the revelations in Marcus’s will from blowing up into a monster PR disaster. But for whatever reason, tonight he’d snapped. While hundreds of people, including his three new half brothers, celebrated his grandfather’s seventy-fifth birthday in true Joseph McCoy style, all Alex could do was stare at the document that had turned his life upside down.

Try as he may, he could not deny that the shattering words had been penned by Marcus’s own hand. The same hand that had so often waved off a younger brother’s pleas for a scrap of attention. A younger brother who in reality was a son.

With nearly a twenty-year difference in their ages, it had made sense at the time that Marcus wouldn’t have much interest in Alex. Knowing what he did now, he damn near doubled over from the ache in his chest.

And Helen! She’d doted on him more like a mother than the family’s longtime housekeeper. Because she was his mother.

Alex shoved out of the chair, swallowing down bile. He paced to the wall of books on one side of the room, the heels of his gleaming black dress shoes sharp on the hardwood. He then crossed to the wall of windows on the opposite side, the heavy, burgundy velvet curtains still closed after being drawn this afternoon to protect the books and mahogany furnishings from the early-July sun.

Helen had tried to explain right after the reading of the will why she had agreed to Joseph and Elise’s plan. He’d been in no mood to hear any excuses. So she had wisely given him his space when it became clear he needed time to process what was happening to him. Now he wasn’t so sure he was capable of processing it, regardless of time.

At least Elise didn’t have to face the turmoil of being outed as his grandmother instead of being known as a woman who’d been blessed with the late gift of another child, as she’d always claimed. This was the only good thing to come out of her passing from cancer ten years earlier.

Alex couldn’t help wondering how much of her love had actually been guilt.

Finally, there was Joseph McCoy, the man who had built a billion-dollar retail empire off the motto Don’t Trust It If It’s Not From The Real McCoy. Joseph had beamed with pride when Alex had set out from an early age to give his “father” a son he could be proud of. A son who lived his life with the sort of integrity and drive that would take the family and corporation to even greater heights. A true teammate to Joseph.

So far Alex had succeeded.

Something Marcus had never managed to do.

Is that why Marcus had decided to reach from the grave and destroy Alex’s world? There had never been any sign of “sibling” rivalry from Marcus. Still, who could say what had been going on inside his head.

Alex moved to the fireplace and the painted portrait of Joseph, Elise and Marcus that hung above it, focusing on the ten-year-old boy with the same black hair and dark blue eyes that Alex possessed. Sure, Marcus had done the right thing in acknowledging his other children. But why claim his first child? Alex fisted his hands and slammed them down on the mantle. He was already a McCoy!

A knock on the door to the study jerked Alex from the downward spiral he seemed doomed to succumb to. He turned to stare at the oversize door. He had no intention of answering; he realized the last place he should be right now in such a dark mood was at a party.

Particularly one for Joseph.

The man Alex had thought was his father.

Alex couldn’t decide if he was angrier at Marcus for turning his world on end, or at Joseph for not telling him the truth of his paternity long ago.

He needed out of here. Out of this house.

Since there was no way he’d be able to get his car from the garage with all the catering trucks and limos and town cars clogging the circular drive, he’d have to settle for escaping to the stables.

He waited long enough for whoever had knocked to give up and go away, before unlocking the door. Then he slipped out of the study. It was like stepping into a noisy, glittering sauna saturated with the cloying scents of gardenias and roses from the huge floral arrangements covering tables that lined nearly every wall, scents that competed with perfumes and aftershaves.

The wide hall between the domed foyer and the rear of the house was oppressively packed with people wearing everything from formal wear to Sunday best because Joseph was known for inviting a wide range of guests. Barons of industry were elbow to elbow with mail clerks who had caught Joseph’s notice by going above and beyond the call of duty.

The crowd appeared to be making its way toward the expansive stone veranda that ran the length of the house out back, undoubtedly intent on staking out spots to watch the pre Fourth of July, McCoys-love-America fireworks.

“Alexander!” Peter Carver, McCoy Enterprise’s chief financial officer, hailed him as Peter approached.

Peter raised his punch glass. “Your dad really went all out this time.”

Smoke and mirrors. Alex forced a smile and murmured in agreement. He continued to inch his way through the hall. If he could make it to the door to the kitchen, he could break through and--

No. Helen would be there, coordinating the caterer’s efforts even though Joseph had specifically asked her to consider herself a guest for the night, not an employee. She wouldn’t listen--she never did--because everyone knew she’d stopped considering herself an employee a long time ago.

Now Alex understood why.

The healthy breakfast waiting for him every morning regardless of his schedule.

The special late-night tonics when the stresses of running a billion dollar corporation started to show.

He contracted his abs against the sick feeling in his stomach. He’d just as soon not bump into her tonight.

Peter worked his way to Alex’s side and leaned toward him. “Marcus would have been pleased.”

By the huge, gaudy birthday party with everybody who was anybody in attendance, yes. By the fact that Joseph was using his seventy-fifth birthday to publicly welcome three of Marcus’s previously secret illegitimate sons into the family, probably not.

Alex simply nodded in response.

Despite the risk of being jostled, Peter took a drink of his punch. Alex could tell Peter wasn’t sure what to say or do for him when it came to the subject of Marcus’s death.

Those within the upper ranks of the company were aware that Alex and Marcus hadn’t been particularly close as brothers, age difference aside. Alex enjoyed focusing on business; Marcus had focused on the business of enjoyment.

But because of their age difference, Alex couldn’t believe there wasn’t some speculation going on, now that the existence of Marcus’s other sons had quietly been made public.

To counter the speculation and hopefully put an end to it, Alex had been trying to act normal for the past month. Maybe he should have appeared to be grieving more.

He was grieving. For a lot of things.

When they reached the wall of French doors which had been thrown wide, Alex said to Peter, “The north end of the veranda is the best place to view the fireworks.” He pointed in the direction he meant.

Peter smiled. “Thanks.” Certainly he already knew as much. Peter had worked for them for years, hired by Sara Barnes’s father back when he was VP of operations before his deadly heart attack.

Alex waved lamely and headed in the opposite direction, sticking to the shadows near the house to avoid the crowd and notice. God, he really needed to be alone.

Because the one thing he was grieving most for was the death of his ability to trust.

***

Despite the fact that she was conducting an interview, Madeline Monroe thought she’d caught a glimpse of a midnight-black McCoy head above the crowd in the hall, emerging from the door she just happened to know led to the study.

Keeping her microphone steady in front of the mouth of Dependable’s mayor as he yammered on as though he’d actually had a hand in the prosperity of the town’s ten thousand or so inhabitants, Madeline faked a flip of her shoulder-length blond hair. She leaned slightly toward the carved balustrade of the staircase to confirm what she’d seen--a risky move, considering the mayor wasn’t tall and she’d had him stand on the stair above her so she didn’t tower over him in the strappy heels that matched her long red dress.

For professional purposes, which McCoy she might have seen didn’t matter--her producers wanted any of them on camera as much as possible. But the little burp her pulse gave forced her to admit that she hoped it was Alexander McCoy. She steadied herself on her spot a few steps up on one of the grand, sweeping staircases that framed the cavernous foyer of the mansion named The Big House. The McCoys seriously needed to get over themselves.

Just as she needed to get over Alex. They’d barely dated for cripes’ sake, and seven years ago at that. Pestering him daily for an interview since the news first broke of “The Lost Millionaires” had apparently reawakened whatever she might have felt for him earlier.

Which was stupid, because she didn’t intend to be some rich guy’s eye candy any more now than she had then.

Dan, her cameraman, made a noise from behind his camera and jerked her attention back to the mayor. Not that her producers would choose to include any of this interview with His Honor in her segment. They wouldn’t think the viewers of Entertainment This Evening cared about the civic leaders of a quaint northwest Missouri town. All the viewers cared about was the town’s most famous and powerful residents, the billionaire McCoys.

Especially now that their previously spotless reputation as bastions of morality sported three very big stains. Illegitimate heirs to millions popping out of the mahogany were journalistic platinum to shows such as ETE. And if she could dig beyond the official family press release and find some real dirt, she might finally be taken seriously by the hard news shows she’d been trying to break into for years.

The journalistic sixth-sense she was beginning to trust screamed that a fourth stain on their spotless reputation lurked beneath the surface here at The Big House.

A cryptic phone call before dawn to her voice mail yesterday from the first illegitimate heir to be brought into the fold, Cooper Anders, had raised the hairs on her arm. When she’d actually met with him, though, he’d claimed only to want to inform her of yet another good deed his new grandfather had done. But his call had got her thinking.

And doing some math.

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