Treasures aka See How She Dies

by Lisa Jackson

  The old eyes turned glassy for a second. “Okay, kiddo, that’s all I know. I hope it helps. I guess maybe I just loved you too much to tell you the truth. I’ll miss you, baby…” He forced a smile and the tape went blank.

  Nelson whistled low under his breath.

  Jason scowled into his empty glass.

  Trisha clapped her hands as if she were at a theater production. “Well, if that wasn’t an all-time low in the history of videotaping! Did you really think we’d believe that schmaltzy story?”

  “I don’t know,” Adria said huskily and her eyes shone a little brighter than they had before. “But it’s the truth.”

  Zach told himself that this was all part of an elaborate con, that the man in the video was probably an actor, or her father trying to run a scam on the wealthy Danvers family.

  “The truth. Sure it is,” Trisha said, unable or unwilling to hide her sarcasm.

  Jason pressed the “eject” button and pulled the video cartridge from the machine. “This is your ‘proof’?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “All of it?”

  Adria nodded and the quiet rage drawing Jason’s features into a knot of anxiety seemed to fade. “Well, Miss Nash, it’s not much is it?”

  “What it is, Jason, is a start,” she replied, standing and slipping into her shoes. “You don’t have to believe me. God knows I didn’t expect you to, but take this as a warning. I’m going to find out who I really am. If I’m not London Danvers, trust me, I’ll walk. But if I am,” she said, her small chin thrust in determination, “I’ll fight you and every lawyer you sic on me to prove it.” She grabbed her purse and slung her coat over her arm. “It’s late and I know you have a lot to discuss, so I’ll just call a cab and-”

  “I’ll drive you,” Zachary said, unwilling to let her leave just yet, though why, he couldn’t say. He was better off without her, but there was a part of him that was intrigued by her story. Who was she really?

  “Don’t bother.”

  “I want to.”

  “It’s not necessary.”

  “Sure it is.” He caught a speculative glance from Trisha and a harder-edged, more pointed glare from Jason. “Danvers hospitality,” he drawled.

  “Look, Zach, don’t do me any favors, okay?” She started out of the room and he caught her by the elbow.

  “I thought you said you needed a friend.” His fingers clamped over her arm and she felt his breath, warm and smelling faintly of Scotch, brushing the nape of her neck.

  She reminded herself that this was the man like her, the man who had no past if the family portraits could be believed. “Maybe I changed my mind,” she said, and her voice sounded ragged.

  “Wouldn’t be wise, lady. Looks like you need all the friends you can get.”

  Hesitating a heartbeat, she glanced over his shoulder to the rest of the Danvers family. Her family. Or was it? In a show of independence, she yanked back her arm and stepped away from him. “Thanks, anyway.”

  Obviously, Zach wasn’t about to let her make a fool of him. He followed her out of the den and through the kitchen where she reached for the phone and he deftly plucked the receiver out of her fingers. “I’d think you’d jump at the chance to be alone with me.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  His lips twisted into a self-deprecating grin. “No, I mean, to get more information on the family. That is what you want, isn’t it?”

  A little wrinkle of contention formed between her eyebrows. “Whose side are you on?”

  “No sides,” he said, opening the back door. The night seeped into the room. “I only look out for myself.” A solitary man. A man who needed no one. Or so he wanted her to believe.

  “Humble of you.”

  “I didn’t think you were looking for humility-just the truth.”

  “I am.”

  His expression was hard and unyielding. “Then you may as well know that I really don’t give a damn about the family or the money.”

  “But you do care about the ranch,” she said, slipping her coat over her shoulders.

  His eyes flashed in the darkness. “My weakness.”

  They stepped into the breezeway and the cold midnight wind whistling through the fir trees lining the drive. She was struck by the width of his shoulders, the angle of his jaw. Raw-boned and sexy. “Do you have many-weaknesses, that is?”

  “Not anymore.” He opened the door to his Jeep. “I gave up on my family when I was seventeen, I quit trusting women when I was twenty-eight, and I’d give up drinking, too, but I think a man should have at least one vice.”

  “At least.”

  “At least I’m not a pathological liar.” He slid behind the steering wheel and his features seemed more rugged and dangerous in the encroaching darkness.

  “So why would you want anything to do with me?”

  He switched on the ignition and flipped on the headlights.

  “Let’s get one thing straight, okay? I don’t want anything from you.” Pumping the accelerator, he jammed the Jeep into reverse. “But I have a feeling you’re going to shake things up a little, Miss Nash.”

  “That doesn’t worry you?”

  “Nope.” He cranked on the wheel and the Jeep turned easily on the slick asphalt. His eyes were dark as obsidian. “Because I still believe you’re a fake. A good one, maybe, but still just a cheap fake.”

  7

  What the hell was he going to do with her? He drove through the gates and shot a quick glance in her direction. She was huddled against the door, staring through the windshield, and her profile was so like Kat’s it caused his gut to clench into a painful fist. If she wasn’t London Danvers, she was one helluva look-alike, a dead ringer for London’s mother. The curve of her jaw, the thick black hair, even the way she slid a glance through the fringe of curling lashes, half seductive, half innocent. So much like Kat.

  He clutched the wheel in a viselike grip, his knuckles showing white. He didn’t need to be reminded of his self-destructive, sexy stepmother. It had taken years to purge Kat from his system. Then, just when he’d convinced himself he was over her, she’d taken an overdose of pills and all the demons of his guilt had awakened and screamed through his mind.

  Now, this woman, this mirror-image of Kat, had appeared like a ghost and had come back to haunt him. He should run like hell. But he couldn’t and there was a magnetism about Adria that pulled at him and seeped under his skin, burning like dry ice promising heat but searing with a frigid intensity that scarred deep. Just like Kat.

  “Tell me about my mother,” she said, as if reading his thoughts.

  “If she was your mother.” Zach flipped on the wipers.

  Adria ignored the jab. “What was she like?”

  Squinting into the darkness, Zach asked, “What do you want to know about her?”

  “Why she committed suicide.”

  A tic developed under his eye. “No one knows if she tried to kill herself or she just took a few too many pills and fell.”

  “What do you think about it?”

  “I don’t. Won’t do any good. Won’t bring her back.” His jaw was hard as granite.

  “Would you want that? Her alive?”

  He flicked her a disdainful glance. “Let’s get something straight, okay? I didn’t like Kat. In my book, she was a manipulative bitch.” He slowed for a corner and added, “But I didn’t wish her dead.”

  She’d obviously hit a nerve, but she didn’t believe he was being completely honest with her. Too much tension coiled in his muscles, too much anger grooved in the lines of his face. There was more he wasn’t telling her. “What about the rest of your family-how did they feel?”

  He snorted. “You’ll have to ask them.” The Jeep reached the bottom of the hill and Zach merged into the traffic heading east. “Where are you staying?”

  She was ready with her lie. “The Benson.”

  He lifted an interested brow and Adria knew why. The Benson, like the Hotel Danvers,
was one of Portland’s oldest and most prestigious hotels. Its lobby was reminiscent of an English club with warm wood walls, a huge fireplace, and sweeping stairs to an upper floor. Visiting dignitaries, ambassadors, Hollywood stars, and politicians stayed at the Benson as well as the Hotel Danvers. The price of a room wasn’t cheap.

  Yet, she needed some privacy, a little space away from the watchful eyes of the Danvers family, so she lied. What did it matter if she was really spending her time in a fleabag on Eighty-second? None of the Danvers clan needed to know anything more about her. At least, not yet. Until she was ready. She wasn’t going to fabricate her life. She would tell them all the truth when she deemed it necessary, but right now she was tired, the fight was out of her, and she wasn’t ready for round two of the battle.

  “Where do you live-when you’re not staying at the Benson?”

  Fair enough question. A smile touched her lips. His cynical humor touched her. “Montana-I already told you-I grew up in a small town near the Bitterroots called Belamy.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Not many people have.”

  “Lived there all your life?”

  She eyed him carefully. “For as long as I can remember.”

  “With your folks?”

  “Yes.” His questions put her on edge. He was looking for lies. She stuck close to the truth. Though she’d never been really close to her mother, Victor had been kind and loving to her and she was beginning to suspect that he was a far more patient parent than Witt Danvers had ever thought of being.

  “Did your mother think you were London as well?”

  Adria shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Accelerating through a yellow light, he asked, “Don’t you remember the first time you met your folks? If you were London, you would have been around five. As you pointed out, even five-year-olds have memories.”

  She watched as the skyscrapers fingered upward into the night-black sky. “I don’t have memories, not real ones. Just images.”

  “Images? Of what?”

  He nosed the Jeep into a side street, near the Benson. “Of the party. It was loud and exciting and…”

  “You read about it.”

  “I remember Witt. With his silvery hair, he reminded me of a polar bear…so huge…”

  “Again the newspapers.” He pulled into the lane reserved for guests of the Benson and she turned her startling blue eyes at him. “You’re right, of course,” she said, reaching for the door handle, “but there’s something that doesn’t quite fit. In all the faded images that I have stored in my mind, there’s one that’s so clear, it’s frightening.”

  “What’s that?” he scoffed, though he felt as if a vise had clamped over his chest and his heart began to thud.

  She stared at him. “I remember you, Zach.”

  “I doubt it.” The clamp twisted tighter.

  “As clearly as if it were yesterday, I remember a sullen, dark-haired boy whom I adored.” She pushed open the door and stepped onto the curb. Zach reached for her, but she was gone. Like a faint puff of white smoke, she disappeared into the hotel.

  He considered chasing her down-calling after her and making her explain herself. What did she remember about him? But he didn’t move. The last throwaway line was obviously planned, a comment intended to get under his skin.

  A horn blasted behind him and he stepped on the gas, but he didn’t leave her words behind; they hung on the air and followed him all the way back to the Hotel Danvers where, to avoid any guests still lingering in the bar after the party had wound down, he took the service elevator to the seventh floor and walked into his room. The red message light on his phone was flashing. He wasn’t surprised to learn Jason had called.

  “Great.” Zachary looked at his bags. They were packed and ready to go but he knew with sudden clarity that he wasn’t going anywhere. At least, not tonight. Kicking off his shoes, he sat on the edge of the bed and dialed. Jason picked it up on the second ring.

  “About time. Where were you?”

  “I dropped her off at the Benson.”

  “That’s where she’s staying?” Jason sounded suspicious.

  “A nice touch, don’t you think? Claims she’s the long-lost Danvers heir and stays at the competition.”

  Jason’s voice was muffled but Zach heard him ordering Nelson to call the Benson on the other line, talk to Bob Everhart, who had once worked for Witt, and find out Adria’s room number. His voice was stronger when he turned back to Zach. “You should have hung around after you dropped her off at the hotel.”

  “Why?’

  “Why? To follow her, of course.”

  “Of course,” Zach mouthed. “Why didn’t I think of it?”

  “She represents a threat, Zach.”

  “I don’t think so.” Flopping back on the bed, he wondered why he was even bothering with the conversation. “Look, it’s late, I’m taking off-”

  “Now? You’re leaving now?”

  “Soon.”

  “When we’re in the middle of a fucking family crisis?”

  “I don’t give a shit.”

  “Sure you do,” Jason said, and Zach stared up at the ceiling.

  He was lying a little. He did care. About the ranch. And he was curious about Adria. Just what was her game?

  Jason wasn’t giving up. “You think your ranch is protected, right? Because it was a specific bequest? Well, things change if this woman proves she’s London. A lot of the extra acres were bought after the will was originally signed and all those wouldn’t be considered part of the ranch, per see. And if everyone else has to cough up to make sure she gets her fifty percent, you will, too.”

  Zach frowned into the receiver. “You’ve been busy.”

  “Now, listen. Adria seems to trust you. She came to you first. Get close to her. Find out what makes her tick-What?” His voice faded as he turned his head and the words were muffled, but Zach heard them all. “I knew it! Okay, so start calling cab companies…I don’t know. Just do it. The police do it all the time-right, call Logan-he’s still on our payroll and he has connections even though he’s retired. Oh, for Christ’s sake, don’t give me that conflict-of-interest crap.” There was further argument and Zach was about to hang up, but Jason turned back to the receiver. “Big fucking surprise. No Adria Nash or London Danvers, or London Nash or Adria Danvers at the Benson. She probably just ducked into the ladies’ room and, satisfied that you were gone, took a cab to God-only-knows-where.”

  “She’ll show up. Her kind always does.”

  “You’re forgetting something, Zach. She’s different. She’s not here claiming she’s London, screaming that she’s our darling long-lost sister; no, she’s got a different story and one the press would love. ‘Is she or isn’t she?’ And she looks so much like Kat, there’s bound to be speculation. We’ve got to keep her mouth closed.”

  “How?”

  “First, you’ve got to follow her-”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “I’m not.”

  Zach’s jaw was so tight it ached. He didn’t like being manipulated, and for as long as he could remember, someone in his family-Witt, or Kat, or Jason-was trying to pull his strings.

  “My guess is that she’s working with an accomplice.”

  “Come on-”

  “Why not? We’re talking a lot of money here. A lot. People would do just about anything to get their hands on it-even impersonate a dead girl. Think about it, Zach-our biggest worry has been that someone would show up now, after Witt and Kat are both dead, claiming to be an heir, and there’s no way to take DNA tests or anything of the sort.”

  “I’m not worried about it.”

  “You should be-whether you like it or not, you’re a member of this family and…hang on a minute.” His voice was muffled for a second, then clear again. “Look, Logan’s checking with the cab companies. I’ll call you when we hear something.”

  “Don’t bother.” Zach slammed the ph
one back in its cradle. He was tired of Portland, tired of his family, tired of all the mess. He stripped out of his tuxedo-a rental-stuffed it back in its bag, and left it hanging in the closet. By the time he’d changed into jeans and a sweater, the phone was ringing insistently. He wanted to ignore it, but snapped up the receiver again. He didn’t have to guess who was calling.

  “She’s at the Riverview Inn on Eighty-second, somewhere near Flavel,” Jason said, pleased with himself. “Seems our little gold digger isn’t so well off, is she?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it does. She can’t afford the best lawyers if she can’t even pay for a decent room. Why don’t you go out there, Zach, check out what the situation is? If she’s working alone, take her to the ranch with you.”

  “No way.”

  “She’d be safe there. Isolated.”

  “The lady won’t want to come.”

  “Convince her.”

  “How? Tell her that maybe she’ll get a piece of the estate? Forget it.”

  “Come on, Zach. Do it. Who knows? She might even be London.”

  “Not in a million years,” he said and ignored the funny feeling in his stomach when he remembered her clear blue eyes and her low, seductive voice. I remember you, Zach. As clearly as if it were yesterday, I remember a sullen, dark-haired boy whom I adored. His palms began to sweat around the receiver.

  “I hope you’re right, but I sure would like to find out.”

  “Drive over there yourself.”

  “As I said, she trusts you.”

  “She doesn’t even know me.” He tapped a foot in frustration and thought of Adria. She was beautiful and seductive and he was attracted to her. That fascination, in and of itself, was dangerous. He didn’t want or need a woman in his life, especially one who had her eye on the family fortune. He’d already learned that lesson.