The Lost Heir

By Bethany Maines

Some secrets won’t stay hidden.
Jackson Deveraux was orphaned, abandoned and imprisoned, but life is about to hand him a second chance and a new family. Eleanor Deveraux lost her children in a plane crash and she’s in danger of losing her grandchildren to the Deveraux Legacy of drugs, abuse and secrets, but life is about to hand her Jackson. When Eleanor discovers an illegitimate grandson in prison for armed-robbery she grits her teeth and does her duty—she gets him out. But being out of prison doesn’t instantly make Jackson part of the family. And as Jackson and his cousins struggle to find common ground, Eleanor steers Jackson away from befriending her other grandchildren. She only needs Jackson to keep them out of trouble—not be their friend. But Jackson and Dominique, the youngest Deveraux cousin, have other plans and, as his first Christmas as Deveraux arrives, Jackson sets himself on the path to fixing the Deveraux clan and getting the family he’s always wanted.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bethany Maines
• Release date: Dec 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005925291

Bethany Maines

Bethany Maines the award-winning author of romantic action-adventure and fantasy novels that focus on women who know when to apply lipstick and when to apply a foot to someone’s hind-end. She is both an indie and traditionally published novelist with many short story credits. When she's not traveling to exotic lands, or kicking some serious butt with her black belt in karate, she can be found chasing her daughter or glued to the computer working on her next novel.

Book preview

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Evan – Age 26

Sunday Dinner

Aiden and Dominique were staring at Eleanor in shock. Meanwhile, Evan Deveraux was just trying to confirm that his chair wasn’t sliding out from under him. Maybe it was the walls that were moving? He put a hand down to the edge of the brocade covered dining chair underneath him. It seemed stable. So, the walls were just moving. That was fine. He could cope with that. Mostly.

He probably shouldn’t have taken that third whatever. He’d expected to come down before Sunday dinner at the Deveraux family manor, but it hadn’t quite worked out. However, it wasn’t exactly his first time dining with the family while high. He just had to keep his mouth shut until he could leave. No one was going to talk to him anyway, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Except that everyone seemed upset about something.

Grandma, said Aiden slowly. His cousin Aiden was twenty-three, blond, and usually the comic relief. Currently, he was not looking amused.

I’m not sure... Aiden glanced at Evan, as if expecting Evan to say something. Does he want money? I don’t understand.

Evan reviewed the conversation and tried to figure out what Aiden was freaking out about. Their grandmother, Eleanor Deveraux had been giving a very serious announcement, but then stuff had started moving and Evan had lost track of events. But Eleanor seriously announced lots of stuff. Usually, Evan nodded along like he knew what was going on and then read about it later in her newsletter.

He doesn’t know we exist, said Eleanor.

Who didn’t know they existed? Everyone knew about the Deveraux family. It was annoying. They had their name on at least two hospital wings and an entire floor at some museum somewhere. Everyone knew that the Deveraux family had made their money running rum during prohibition and were still coasting on that bank roll. It wasn’t true. Everyone in the family had jobs and besides, if Grandpa Henry were to be believed, it hadn’t been rum—they had imported marijuana and exported Kentucky Bourbon. But facts didn’t matter when it came to what everyone knew and everyone knew that the Deveraux were wealthy, lazy socialites. Who could there possibly be that didn’t know about them?

Where is he? asked Dominique, her voice sounded soft and troubled. Evan squinted at her. That wasn’t good. Dominique usually didn’t let anyone know if she was bothered by something. Although, honestly why would she be bothered about anything? She was the picture perfect one of the Deveraux grandchildren—twenty-one, even blonder than her brother, and pretty. Evan was fairly sure her problems consisted of finding the right pedicurist and making sure they cut the crust off her avocado toast. Eleanor never made her do anything. She was a brat. Dominique had everything easy.

He’s in prison. In Chicago, said Eleanor, segmenting her carrots into small portions as though performing surgery. She speared each bite carefully and chewed delicately. Eating, like everything else Senator Eleanor Deveraux did, was neat and precise.

Oh, good, said Aiden, with searing sarcasm that startled Evan. Aiden was sweet and easy going. Sarcasm made him sound… like a Deveraux. That’s what we need in this house, continued Aiden. A felon. Besides, if he’s in prison, isn’t the point sort of moot?

He is your cousin, said Eleanor and the walls stopped moving, along with Evan’s heart. His name is Jackson Zane and you are going to get him out of prison.

Evan looked at Aiden and then at Dominique, trying to make sure he’d heard their grandmother correctly.

Uh, said Aiden. That’s not... I don’t... I just got out of law school. I haven’t even gotten my bar exam results back yet for here. I’d have to pass the bar in Illinois.

Evan knew he was still mostly high, but he could tell by the flat look in their grandmother’s eyes that the decision had been made. Which meant that Aiden should probably start studying up on Illinois State law. Dominique was frowning and he realized that her eyes had been resting on him for an extended period of time. How much had she noticed? She was never as unaware as she pretended to be. Fuck.

What do you think, Evan? Dominique asked. He tried to remember the last time she’d spoken directly to him.

It doesn’t matter what Evan thinks, said Eleanor. This is what we’re doing. It’s been decided.

And I would like to hear what Evan thinks about that decision, snapped Dominique. Aiden and Eleanor blinked at Dominique’s tone, but Evan was still trying to figure out the content. Why the hell would she care what he thought?

Dominique turned back to Evan, her blonde hair swinging, and fixed him with a glare. Well?

His palms were sweating on his cutlery. He wanted to wipe his hands on his pants, but didn’t dare.

I think Aiden should get him out of jail, said Evan. If he’s ours then we should bring him home.

It will cost you money, said Aiden, impatiently. It will cost all of us money to re-divvy out the inheritance.

Why was Aiden talking about money? Was Evan supposed to care about money? There was lots of money. Everyone had plenty of money. It wasn’t like it was even their money to begin with, it had belonged to Randall, Owen, and Genevieve. Evan tried to remember the wills, the inheritance portions, and where everyone stood with their trusts. Randall, Owen, and Genevieve, along with Genevieve’s husband Jack Casella had died in a plane crash. The inheritance had been split according to the respective wills. Aiden and Dominique would get their parent’s money when they turned twenty-five. Evan had received his full inheritance from his father Owen the previous year. Randall’s estate, with no will or children, had been split evenly between the children’s trusts and Eleanor. Except apparently, Randall had left a child behind. Evan felt the niggling wave of guilt that always crested when he was coming down, but this particular piece of guilt wasn’t new.

If he’s Randall’s son then it wasn’t our money anyway, said Evan. Randall shouldn’t have left him in Chicago to begin with. Evan didn’t add that Randall had once promised him a brother and now, over a decade later, he still wanted one. Having not mentioned it before, he didn’t think he should start now.

Aiden pursed his lips as if considering Evan’s words, but Dominique nodded. Had she just agreed with him? What the hell was she doing? Was she trying to make him feel guilty by agreeing with him? It wasn’t going to work. He did not feel guilty.

I doubt Randall knew about him, said Eleanor, and her measured tone restored a sense of order to the universe. He didn’t like other people touching his things. It seems unlikely that he would have left a child for someone else to raise.

Aiden and Dominique both nodded at that. It was true. To the Deveraux family, children were indeed things—possessions to be displayed, flaunted, or destroyed at a whim. Randall’s son had probably been lucky to grow up without them.

Of course, said Evan, marveling at his own tongue and wondering why it wouldn’t shut the hell up, what none of you are considering is that he may not want us. He may prefer prison.

Dominique laughed as if it had been surprised out of her.

Stop being funny, Evan, said Eleanor. It doesn’t suit you.

He’s not being funny, said Dominique. He’s being honest. It just happens to be funny.

Was she defending him? What did she want? The air started to feel thin in the room. Evan sat still, fighting the claustrophobic anxiety clawing at his chest. Dominique hated him. She always had. She wanted Aiden and their Grandmother to herself and she always won. There was no way she would ever agree with him. She had to want something. But there was nothing he could do about it. He would have to wait. They were all looking at him now. He had to say something quickly.

Uncle Randall always liked my honesty, said Evan, biting off the words, and stabbing at his potato. It seemed appropriate.

Evan – Age 14

Randall

Gangly fourteen-year-old, Evan Deveraux snuck out of his room. The house was quiet, so he slipped down to the kitchen, made a sandwich and took it into the living room. He froze when he saw Uncle Randall sitting in the swivel chair by the fireplace, smoking one of Owen’s black and gold cigarettes. Randall never bought his own. Owen complained about it constantly, but always stocked extra. Although, one time, when he’d been in a fight with Randall, Owen had bought nothing but the Sobranie Cocktails that came in multi-hued pastel colors instead of the chic Sobranie Black Russians that he usually stocked. Randall had thrown them all in the fireplace and lit them with lighter fluid. They’d gone up in a fireball that had left a smoke stain on the outside of the fireplace. Owen had gotten the marble surround on the fireplace replaced, but never said a word about it.

He’s gone, said Randall, ashing his cigarette into the tray on the marble-topped side-table. If he was in a bad mood, Randall would let the ash flick onto the white carpet, knowing that it would drive Owen insane.

Randall had a condo in the same building as Owen and Evan, and a key. He came and went as he pleased, so having him turn up wasn’t particularly surprising. Or rather, it was always surprising. Randall didn’t ever support Evan in front of his father, but occasionally he would be nice when Owen was gone. When they had lived with Randall, Evan remembered that Randall had interfered more—distracted Owen, or derailed him onto a fresh thought. Evan had never known if it was intentional, but it had happened often enough that Evan could consider trusting him now.

Evan eyed Randall’s ash as it neatly piled into the crystal ashtray before he went over to the fish tank where Owen had dumped his backpack.

Owen liked the massive