“Oh, hell.” He hung up, not agreeing and not disagreeing. Grabbing his bag, he mentally kicked himself all the way to the parking garage. Adria Nash was trouble. Big-time trouble. Trouble he didn’t need or want.

“Shit!” He threw his single piece of luggage into the back of the Jeep and drove away from the hotel, heading east, through the drizzle and across the murky Willamette River and along the grid of streets on the east side. Traffic was light and he pushed the speed limit, suddenly anxious to find her. He was as bad as the rest of the family. He’d never heard of the Riverview Inn, but found it easily, a low-rent cinder block building painted stark white. The flickering lighted sign advertised free cable television. All the units were connected in a “U” shape. The panoramic view from the windows of the units was a pockmarked asphalt lot and an all-night bar across the street. Riverview stretched the imagination. No river. No view. But cheap daily rates.

Zach studied the cars in the lot and spied a battered Chevy Nova with Montana plates parked in front of unit eight. “So you are here,” he said, backing the Jeep into an unmarked spot near a solitary oak tree. He turned off the ignition and stared at the bank of rooms facing each other.

The manager’s unit was dark and he hoped no one peeked out the window and wondered what he was doing. He slid lower in the seat, glanced at his watch and frowned. It was nearly four in the morning and traffic still whizzed by, throwing up rainwater and creating a low, constant hum. He wondered if Adria was an early riser and told himself he’d soon find out.


Jason ran a nervous hand around the back of his neck. He had to think. He was the brains of the family, the only person who knew how to run his father’s vast holdings. Trisha dabbled with her art and decorating, Nelson practiced some archaic form of law as a public defender, Zach had earned his trade as a builder and now owned a construction firm in Bend while he managed the ranch in central Oregon, but Jason was the one who held the whole fraying fabric of the family business together.

He stripped off his tuxedo, threw it over the back of a chair for the maid to deal with in the morning, and frowned when he looked at his bed. Ever since Adria Nash had crashed the grand opening of the hotel, Jason’s plans for the night had been thrown into a tailspin. Right now, if things had progressed as he’d hoped, he would be in bed with Kim, rolling in the sheets, arms and legs entwined, mouths pressed to body parts, groans and moans of pleasure filling the room. Instead he was standing here half dressed, wishing he had another drink and worried that somehow a woman-a cunning and gorgeous woman he’d never seen before tonight-might find a way to steal the family’s fortune.

After Zach and Adria had left, he’d been forced to deal with his neurotic younger brother and sister, both of whom, in Jason’s opinion, needed to spend a few more hours a week on psychiatrists’ couches.

Zach was a pain, but at least he didn’t have any hangups, not like Trisha and Nelson. Trisha, though she’d been through a dozen lovers and one marriage, had never been happy and Jason suspected that she’d never really gotten over Mario Polidori. As for Nelson, different demons attacked that boy. Working for the public defender’s office was bad enough, but there was more about the youngest Danvers son to worry Jason. Nelson had a high set of moral standards, which he expounded for endless hours, and yet, there was a darker side to Nelson, a secretive side that only surfaced when he was angry or worried.

He poured himself another drink and kicked off his Jockey shorts, so that he was completely naked. From his bedroom he stood at the sliding glass door, backlit by the light from the hall, as he stared over the tops of trees and across the lights of the city. He was a man of action, a man who made quick decisions and lived with them, a person who got things done.

Without a qualm he reached for the phone and dialed a number he’d memorized and used years before. An answering machine clicked on and Jason sighed. His message was brief. “Yeah, it’s me. Danvers. It’s time to call in all my markers and you owe me one. A big one. I’ve got a job for you. I’ll call back tomorrow.”

His conscience twinged a bit, but he took a long swallow and felt the familiar warmth of Scotch as it burned down his throat, curled in his stomach, and warmed his bloodstream.

A few hours of rest and he’d be ready to face anything. And that included exposing Adria Nash as a fraud.


Adria’s head was pounding as she turned out the light. The room smelled musty and stale with the lingering odors of old cigarettes and years of filth. But the motel was cheap and anonymous. At least for now.

She fell back on the bed and closed her eyes. Images of Zachary went through her mind. She couldn’t be distracted by him. She had to stay focused. She’d spent too much time on her mission. In the past few years she’d written letters, met with lawyers, people from government agencies, and kept a diary, trying vainly to find Virginia Watson. Only now, after her father’s death, did she have an inkling as to who she was.

And she was going to go through hell and back trying to find out if, as her father insisted, she was really London Danvers.


Zach glanced at his watch. Not long until daylight. Staring through the windshield to the motel where Adria Nash was sleeping, he wondered if she might just be his long-lost half-sister.

Impossible.

Crazy.

But she looked so damned much like Kat.

His gut tightened when he considered his hot-blooded stepmother and all the pain she’d brought his family. He didn’t want to think about her and what had happened after London’s abduction, didn’t want to consider his part in tarnishing the Danvers name. He slid lower on his back as rain began to drizzle down the windshield in earnest.

He remember standing, bleeding in the rain, the night London had been abducted. He’d run into the policemen who had pointed their weapons at him and demanded answers…

PART FOUR

1974

8

“I asked you a question, Danvers,” Steve, the taller cop barked. “What happened to the girl?”

“What girl?”

“Your sister.”

Trisha? London? “What about my sister?” he asked. “Where’s Jason?”

The stocky one took hold of his arm and Zach nearly fell into the street. “Jesus, get your hands off me!” He sucked in his breath through loose teeth.

“Look at this, Bill.” The officer opened the front of Zach’s jacket, shoving aside the expensive lapel with his riot stick, showing off the sticky purple stains of blood. “You okay, kid?”

“Let’s get him up to his old man. There was a paramedic in the hotel-with the mother. And the old man’s called his personal physician. Come on, son, through the back door. We don’t want the press to get a picture of you looking like this, do we?”

“What happened to Trisha?” Zach asked, dazed. The two thugs, Joey and Rudy, they’d found his sister. She’d been drunk and…Oh, God. Rage burned through his blood.

“Maybe you can tell us,” Bill said as he hauled Zach in the direction of the service entrance. “My guess is you’ve got one helluva story.”


“I don’t give a good goddamn what time it is,” Witt yelled, his patience worn thin. London was missing. His precious little girl-gone without a trace! His heart had nearly stopped at the news and he’d been foggy, but after six cups of coffee he was clearheaded and he knew who the bastard was behind the kidnapping. “I want you to send a car over to Polidori’s house. You wake up that goddamned son of a bitch and find out what he knows about this!” Witt yelled at Logan.

“Back off, Witt. We’ll question Mr. Polidori, after the search of the hotel is complete.”

“You bet your ass you will,” Witt said, reaching for the humidor of cigars he kept on the desk of his office on the main floor of the hotel. Katherine was sleeping, thanks to Dr. McHenry and several sleeping pills. Witt lit up and stalked around his massive desk. “You’ve checked all the rooms?”

“Twice,” Logan snapped. He had no patience for Witt’s inference that he and his men weren’t capable of doing their jobs.

“And the service elevator-”

“And the boiler room, the linen closets, the conference rooms, the rest rooms, even the air shafts, elevator shafts, maintenance rooms, and freezers. We also checked out the parking lot, restaurant, bellboy’s closet, wine cellar, and every nook and cranny this old hotel has. It’s been renovated half a dozen times and my men have gone over every set of blueprints hoping to find some secret room that everyone here’s forgotten about. Take my word for it, Witt, she’s not on the premises.”

“Then what’re you waiting for?”

“I still haven’t heard from the men outside. We’re covering a ten-square-block area, talking to people on the street, checking other buildings nearby, and literally beating the bushes. We’ve got people at the airport, the train station, and the bus station.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Witt growled impatiently. “Polidori’s-” He glanced up and saw two officers and Zach, bloodied and beaten, stumble into the office. Witt’s guts twisted. The boy’s face was the color of chalk and a nasty cut had ripped his skin open near his ear. He was still bleeding and his nose was a pulpy mass. On his feet in an instant, Witt rounded the desk. “Get the doctor,” he ordered a policeman, then faced his son. “What happened?”

Zach glanced suspiciously to the police. He ran his tongue over dry, swollen lips. “What’s going on?” he asked, squinting against the light. “Did something happen to Trisha?”