by Lisa Jackson
“Christ!”
“This gal isn’t another one of your look-alike airheads. She’s got brains and it appears as if she wanted to know everything she could about you, the family, and how you go about making your money.”
Jason sagged against the wall and stared out at the night. He felt as if the floorboards were shifting beneath his feet.
“If you look through your list of stockholders, you might find that she owns some stock in Danvers International—not much, mind you, just a hundred shares, enough to get all the information you send to your investors.”
Jesus! Jason resisted the urge to clear his throat. “Anything else?” he asked, his jaw clenched so tight it began to throb.
“Oh, yeah. A lot. And nothing you’re going to want to hear. She’s got the right kind of blood. A negative. Not all that uncommon, but since Witt was O negative and Katherine was A positive, their daughter could very well have been A negative. I never found any records where London was typed, but A negative would certainly have been in the ballpark. It’s just too bad that old Witt or Katherine aren’t around so that we could do a DNA test. Kind of a break for her that she had to wait until both London’s natural parents were cremated, don’t you think?”
“Damned convenient for her.”
“So far, it looks like she’s got you by the short hairs,” Sweeny said, and Jason heard the note of satisfaction in the oily man’s speech.
Jason took in a deep, calming breath. “So tell me the good news,” he said, praying there was a chink in Adria’s story.
“She’s broke.”
“How broke?”
“Broke as in drowning in red ink. Even though she’s leased her farm, looks like she’ll have to sell it and she’s still got hospital bills hammered up her ass. A chunk of Danvers change would definitely keep the wolf from the door.”
That news was encouraging. In a legal fight, Ms. Nash would lose unless she came up with some egomaniac of a lawyer, some renegade who wanted a piece of the Danvers fortune himself and was willing to work on a contingency with no money up front. Jason had a lot of friends in town, attorneys who wouldn’t dare go up against the Danvers family in a court of law, but there were plenty who would—on a contingency basis, just for the challenge and fame of it all. “Okay, what else?”
“That’s it for now, but I plan to come up with something when I get to Memphis.”
“What’s there?”
“Hopefully, Bobby Slade.”
“Virginia’s husband?” Jason began to feel a little ray of hope. “You found him?”
“I think so, and a word of advice to you. You’d better get down on your knees and pray he’s got A negative blood running through his veins. Would help cast a big shadow over her story. Oh, and there’s one more thing you might like to know. Earlier tonight, our Ms. Nash was picked up at the Orion Hotel in a stretch limo.”
“By whom?”
Sweeny hesitated a beat and Jason had the sickening feeling that he was being strung along. “Well, that’s the kicker,” Oswald Sweeny finally drawled. “Seems as if your good friend Anthony Polidori took her out to dinner.”
“Listen,” Nelson said, tossing his jacket over the back of a chair. “I’m telling you she’s a wild card. There’s just no knowing what she’s going to do next. She’s said she’ll go to the press, do whatever it takes to get what she wants and I believe her. She wasn’t just jacking me around.”
Zach stood near the fireplace, resting his hip on the Italian marble, feeling uncomfortable in the formal living room—the room he’d never been allowed to walk through as a child. Decorated in white, with touches of black and gold, it was a cold room and he would’ve preferred to be anywhere else in the world, rather than cornered here at the old family home with his brothers and sister.
Now, his eyes narrowed on Nelson. The youngest Danvers brother was known to exaggerate and for that reason he’d probably make a good politician.
Nelson had been pacing the length of the living room, nervously eyeing Zach ever since his middle brother had shown up.
“What do you think we should do?” Zach asked, unable to read his younger brother. Zach had never understood him, not even when Nelson was just a kid.
“Shit, I don’t know what we should do! That’s why I’m here.”
“You’ll make a helluva mayor, Nelson,” Zach remarked before lifting his bottle of Coors to his lips.
“Governor,” Nelson clarified.
Trisha flicked a lighter to the end of her cigarette. “So what would you do, Zach?”
“Leave her alone. Let her play out her hand.”
Through a cloud of smoke, Trisha laughed. “Just because you don’t give a rat’s ass, doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t.”
“You’ve got a better idea?”
“Hire a hit man.” Trisha crossed her legs and settled back into the plump white pillows of the couch.
“Don’t even say it!” Nelson bit out.
“Christ, don’t you know when I’m joking?” Trisha rolled her eyes, but Zach noticed something darken her gaze, something she quickly disguised.
Nelson faced his sister. “No one knows when you’re joking, Trisha. Not even you.”
“Clever, Nelson. Clever.”
Nelson shoved both hands through his hair. “We’d all better be careful. She’s already received a couple of threatening letters and some damned package that she wouldn’t say too much about.”
“How nice,” Trisha purred but Zach felt every muscle in his body grow instantly taut.
“What do you mean?”
As Nelson related his conversation with Adria, Zach’s insides grew cold. Someone was threatening Adria? But who? Only the people in this room, his mother, and the Polidori family knew she was in town. No, that wasn’t right; there were all the people who worked for the family, servants who could have overheard phone calls, and then there was the private investigator and anyone else Jason had put on the payroll.
Trisha, her expression unreadable, crushed her cigarette in a crystal ashtray. “Have any of you thought about the fact that Adria could just be who she claims she is? Maybe she is London and if she is, we’re all up shit creek without our proverbial paddle.”
“London’s dead,” Jason said, cutting off further speculation.
“How do you know? How do any of us know?” Trisha asked.
“We all know it. She obviously died years ago, or maybe there’s a one-in-a-million chance that she’s living somewhere, oblivious to the fact that she’s a Danvers.”
“Or maybe she just found out who she is,” Zach drawled, narrowing his eyes on his family.
“It’s all just a pain in the ass,” Trisha said as she climbed off the couch. “You know, I hate it when this happens, when someone comes in with all that crap about being London—Witt Danvers’s little princess. That’s what he called her, you know.” She turned her shadowed eyes on Zach. “You remember, don’t you? She was all he cared about. The rest of us could have dropped off the face of the earth and he wouldn’t have blinked an eye. But because it was London—it was a really big deal!”
“She’s got to be dead,” Jason said.
Zach couldn’t help rising to the bait. “Maybe one of us killed her.”
“Jesus, Zach, listen to you. Don’t even think about it.” Nelson shoved the sleeves of his sweater to his elbows as he looked from one of his siblings to the other. “Look, arguing among ourselves isn’t doing any of us any good. What we’ve got to do is find a way to discredit her. She assured me that if we found out the truth and proved to her that she wasn’t London, she’d take a hike.”
“And you believe that?” Trisha asked with a low-throated chuckle. “Jesus, Nels, you really are a dumb shit, aren’t you? The more I think about it, the more I think you’re the perfect public servant.”
“Knock it off,” Jason ordered. “I’ve got Sweeny checking her story and he’s got a man following her. If she’s got an accomplice, we’ll hear of i
t.”
“Sweeny?” Zach said, disgusted. He’d suspected that Jason would have Adria followed, but Oswald Sweeny was lowlife trash who would sell his own mother if the price were right.
“He’ll get the job done.”
“He’s a fucking creep,” Trisha said.
For once Zach agreed with his sister, but he didn’t have time to argue with Jason’s choice of private investigators.
Zach turned his attention to his younger brother. Nelson seemed incredibly nervous—like he was on speed. “Are the notes legitimate threats?” he asked, forcing himself to think logically. On one level he wanted to tear his siblings limb from limb for all their disparaging remarks about Adria, and yet, he was a fool to think he could trust her one little bit.
Nelson eyed him curiously. “What’re you getting at?”
“Could she have written them herself?”
“What for?” Nelson asked.
Zach peeled the label off his beer. “Public sympathy.”
“You are perverted, aren’t you?” Trisha said.
“Wait a minute. Why not?” Jason asked, warming to the subject. “She’s clever enough to have written the threats herself. Shit, yes, that’s probably just what she did.” There was genuine admiration in his eyes.
“Or else she might be in serious danger,” Zach said aloud and that thought chilled him to the bone. “Why don’t you tell me where she is?”
“She’s got a room at the Orion,” Nelson supplied. “Don’t know the room number.”
The Orion. He hadn’t been in that hotel since the night of the kidnapping, had never been able to drive past its cold concrete exterior without feeling a time warp that dragged him back to the horrid night when he’d been beaten, left for dead, and ended up a suspect in his kid sister’s abduction. “Who knows she’s there?”
Nelson bit his lower lip. “Probably half the people in Portland by now. Hell, Zach, didn’t you hear me? She’s talking about going to the police and the press! Do you know what will happen? It’ll be a circus—”
“Why do you care?” Trisha asked Zach as she reached for another cigarette. “As I said, you’ve never given a good goddamn about the family.”
“Still don’t.”
“But you’ve got a bug up your butt, don’t you?” She flicked her lighter to the end of her filter tip. “You know, Zach, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were interested in Adria. Romantically speaking.”
He didn’t bother answering.
“Just like Kat. Couldn’t keep your hands off her, even though you knew it was suicide.” Trisha studied the glowing tip of her cigarette as if it held all the answers to the universe. “I’d hate to think this copy-Kat’s got her claws into you already.”
Zach forced a cold smile. “Hell, Trisha, and here I thought you were the only one with claws.”
She glowered at him through smoke.
Jason said, “I still think the best idea would be to hide her away somewhere like the ranch.”
“Forget it.” Zach told himself he wasn’t interested.
“Could give you a chance to be alone with her,” Trisha taunted. “At the ranch. Just like Kat.”
Zach’s fingers tightened around his Coors and Jason, his mouth set and grim, held up a hand. “Time for a truce, you two. Get ahold of yourself Zach. You know who the enemy is here.”
Yeah, Zach knew. But he didn’t like it. Jason was still suggesting that he convince Adria to leave Portland and go to the ranch with him.
The trouble was, Zach was beginning to agree.
17
From the outside, the Orion Hotel looked the same as it had years ago when Zach, determined to lose his virginity, had crossed the threshold. Inside, things had changed. The main lobby had been remodeled. Glass tables and floral couches were positioned away from the desk and spiky-leaved palms seemed to grow out of the terra-cotta floor.
Ignoring a sense of déjà vu that made his skin crawl, Zach walked straight to the desk where two clerks—a man and a woman in their early twenties—were manning the night shift. “Would you ring Ms. Nash’s room?” Zach asked. “Tell her she has a guest in the lobby.” The two exchanged glances and the woman checked her watch.
“Is she expecting you?”
“No.”
“It’s late—”
“She won’t mind.”
Polished fingernails flew over the keyboard of her computer. “Let me see if she’s asked not to be disturbed…” She studied the monitor, gave a little shrug, and lifted the phone receiver to her ear. “What’s your name?”
“Zachary Danvers.”
“She knows you?”
“Yeah.”
“It’ll be just a minute.”
“I’ll wait in the bar.”
As the telephone jangled for the third time, Adria reached blindly for it and glanced at the clock. Twelve-thirty. She’d been asleep for less than an hour, but the clouds of slumber had been heavy and hard to part. Fumbling for the receiver with one hand, she pushed her bangs out of her eyes with the other. “Hello?”
“Ms. Nash, this is Laurie at the front desk. I’m sorry to disturb you, but you have a visitor. Mr. Danvers is here to see you.”
“Who?”
“Zachary Danvers.”
“Zach?” The fog cleared from her mind as the apologetic clerk conveyed Zach’s message. Her heart skipped a tiny little beat before she realized that he’d been called in by the troops. It was time to circle the Danvers family wagons as Adria had threatened to go to the press. She wondered how he’d try to convince her to take a hike.
She threw on a pair of jeans and a bulky sweater. Unable to control the wild black curls, she clipped a barrette over her hair at the base of her neck and grabbed her purse.
“Ready for round three,” she told herself as she thought of Polidori and Nelson Danvers and the damned dead rat wearing her locket! Suddenly she’d become popular. Too popular. And too many people knew where she lived. It was time to move to cheaper, more private quarters.
She saw Zach the minute she entered the bar. Despite the soft lights and the dark interior, she noticed him at a table in the corner.
His jean-clad legs were stretched out in front of him and he rested on the small of his back. His blue work shirt was pushed high on his forearms and he was watching the door with hawklike eyes that followed her as she made her way to the table.
She’d forgotten how formidable he was: the cruel set of his mouth, the thick black brows, his face—all sharp angles and planes—and eyes that seemed to see through any facade.
Nursing a beer, he didn’t say a word as she approached, didn’t offer the hint of a smile or indicate in any way that he was glad to see her. In fact, he almost scowled as if irritated by the sight of her.
“Do you know what time it is?” she asked, dropping her purse onto the table.
He shrugged. “After midnight.”
“If you’re here to offer me a bribe, forget it.”
“Sit down, Adria,” he suggested. “I heard you’ve been getting some nasty mail.”
“Bad news travels fast.” She settled into a chair.
The waiter came and she started to decline, then decided she could use a drink. Zach’s presence always unnerved her. It was his attitude, she supposed. All male ego and raw sexuality, as if he knew he was attractive to females, the kind of cynical man most women considered a challenge and itched to tame, the kind of man she should stay away from—a lonesome cowboy who was up to no good. “I’ll have a glass of chardonnay, please.”
“Tell me about the letters.”
“Not exactly love notes,” she said and pulled a plastic bag from her purse. She slid it across the table and he read the short messages through the plastic.
“Someone means business.” His mouth was grim, his eyebrows pulled together.
“Someone named Danvers, unless I miss my guess.”
“Nelson said you got a package, too.”
“That I did.�
�� Her wine came and she took a long sip.
“From the same guy?”
“I imagine.”
“What was it?”
Oh, Lord. “A personal gift,” she said, watching his reaction. “A dead rat with—”
“What! Someone sent you a dead rat?” His face drained of color.
“—with a necklace around its throat and body, the very locket and chain that was stolen from my room when I was staying at the Hotel Danvers and this note.” She pointed to one of the plastic encased letters.
“Jesus Christ, Adria, are you kidding?”
“About this? Nope.” She shook her head.
“And you didn’t call the police?”
“Not yet.”
“Where is the damned thing?”
“On ice.”
“What?”
“In the mini fridge in my room.” He looked as if he didn’t believer her. “You want to see it?”
“Damned straight.” His countenance had changed from shock to anger and he slapped some bills onto the table and followed her out of the bar, past the front desk and to the elevators.
“This is friggin’ nuts,” he growled as she unlocked the door to her room, stepped inside, and walked to the minibar.
“You’re telling me.” She opened the refrigerator door and Zach, bending on one knee, looked inside. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered. “Son of a goddamned bitch.” He didn’t touch the bag, but said, “You have to tell the police about this, Adria.” He motioned toward the package. “This isn’t just a simple threat scratched on a note and slipped under the door.”
“I was just waiting.”
“For what? The sicko to come after you? No. There’ll be no waiting.” He crossed to the bed and swept the phone from its cradle. “Either you call or I will. But this has gone far enough!”
“Just hold on a sec. I said I’d call the police and I will, but…but let’s go back downstairs and finish our drinks. Think about this calmly.” She suddenly needed to get out of the room.
“There’s nothing to be calm about. This is serious, Adria.” Using a handkerchief, he pulled the plastic bag with its grisly contents from the refrigerator. “Is this what it came in?” he asked, motioning to the torn manila envelope on the desk.
