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 it.”

“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?”