Treasures aka See How She Dies

2

“Happy birthday, darling,” Katherine Danvers whispered into her husband’s ear as they danced across the polished floor of the ballroom. From the alcove near the corner, a small dance band played “As Time Goes By” and the melody whispered through the crowd. “Surprised?” she asked, nuzzling him, her satin heels moving in perfect time to the music.

“Nothing you do surprises me.” He chuckled low in his throat. Of course he’d known that she’d reserved the ballroom of his hotel under the fictitious name of some sorority. He hadn’t spent sixty years learning to be the shrewdest businessman in Portland without picking up a few tricks along the way. He gave his wife a playful squeeze and felt her breasts, beneath her black silk dress, press closer to him. A few years before, he would have become aroused just by the scent of her perfume and the knowledge that beneath the gown she wore absolutely nothing-just the dress and a pair of stiletto heels.

She pouted prettily as the pianist played a solo. Her black hair gleamed under the muted lights from chandeliers suspended from the cove-shaped ceiling, and her eyes, a deep blue, glanced coyly at him through the sweep of thick, dark lashes.

There had been a time when he would have given away his fortune just for one night in her bed. She was sensual and smart and knew exactly how to please a man. He’d never asked her how she knew so much about the pleasures of love when he’d met her. He’d just been grateful that she’d taken him as her lover, bringing back the lust that he’d thought he’d lost somewhere near middle age.

A kitten who liked to be cuddled, Kat metamorphosed into a wildcat in bed and for a few years her raw sexual energy had been enough to satisfy him. He’d married her and remained faithful and managed to bed her every other day in the early years. But his desire had been short-lived, as it always was, and now he couldn’t remember when he’d last made love to her. A hot fire crept up the back of his neck at the thought of his impotence. Even now, when her thighs were pressed intimately to his and her tongue touched a sensitive spot near the back of his ear, he felt nothing, no hint of wildfire in his blood, no welcome stiffness between his legs. Even a little harsh foreplay didn’t bring him to an erection anymore. It was a miracle that they’d managed to conceive a child.

Suddenly angry, he swirled her roughly away from him, then jerked her back into his arms. She laughed, that throaty little laugh that bordered on nasty. He liked her laugh. He liked everything about her. He only wished that he could throw her on the dance floor and take her the way she wanted to be taken-like an animal, with four hundred horrified eyes watching as he proved that he was still a man and could satisfy his wife.

She’d tried all her tricks. Flimsy negligees. Peekaboo bras that outlined her nipples and long black garters that flicked at her shapely thighs. She’d coaxed him with her tongue and dirty words, slapped playfully at his butt and balls, but nothing she did aroused him anymore, and the thought that he couldn’t manage an erection, might never have sex for the rest of his life, cut a hole in him that burned like dry ice and scared the living hell out of him.

The song ended and he pressed forward, bending her spine in a low dip, so that she had to cling to him, her eyes staring up into his, her black hair sweeping the floor that had been littered with pink rose petals. Her breasts, heaving with exertion, threatened to spill out of the deep cleavage of her dress.

In full view of the audience, he pressed a kiss to that glorious hollow between her breasts, as if he were so randy he couldn’t stand it, then yanked her to her feet. Laughter and applause erupted around them.

“You old dog, you!” one man shouted, and Kat blushed as if she were an innocent virgin.

“Take her upstairs. What’re you waiting for?” another middle-aged boy yelled. “Isn’t it about time you two had a son?”

“Later.” Witt winked at the crowd, content that they didn’t know his secret and secure that Kat would never breath a word of his shame. A son. If this crowd of friends, relatives, and business acquaintances only knew.

There would be no more children. He’d sired three sons and a headstrong daughter from his first marriage to Eunice. With Katherine there would only be London, his four-year-old daughter and favorite child. He made no apologies for caring more about his little girl than he did all of his other children put together. The other kids-some of them adults now-had caused him so much heartache, and their mother…Christ, what had he ever seen in Eunice Prescott-a skinny woman with a sharp tongue who’d thought sex with him had been her duty-nothing more than a chore? He’d decided she was frigid, until…Hell, he didn’t want to think about Eunice cheating on him behind his back-laughing at him.

Angered at the turn of his thoughts, Witt escorted his wife to the center of the room where, beneath the glimmering lights of the chandelier, an ice sculpture in the shape of a running horse was beginning to melt. Nearby a tiered fountain of champagne gurgled and splashed.

The band started playing “In the Mood,” and a few brave couples strayed onto the dance floor. Witt snagged a glass from a silver tray and drained the champagne in one long swallow.

“Daddy!” He glanced up and found London, her black curls dancing around her face, her chubby arms outstretched. Dressed in a navy-blue dress with white lace collar and cuffs, she ran up to him and threw herself into his waiting arms.

He hugged her tightly, the velvet of her dress crushed against him, her legs, encased in white tights, clamped around his waist. “How do you like the party, princess?”

Her crystal-blue eyes were round and wide, her cheeks flushed with the excitement of the festivities. “It’s loud.”

He laughed. “That it is.”

“And there’s too much smoke!”

“Don’t tell your mother. She planned this as a special surprise and we wouldn’t want her to feel bad,” Witt said, grinning as he winked at his daughter.

She winked back, then snuggled her pert little nose into his neck and he got a whiff of baby shampoo. She tugged at his bow tie and he laughed again. Nothing could make him as happy as this dynamic whirl of precociousness.

“Hey, that’s my job,” Kat said as she smiled and gently nudged London’s fingers from Witt’s neck. Kissing her daughter’s crown, she said, “Leave Daddy’s tie alone.”

“How about a dance?” Witt asked his young daughter, and those little lines between Kat’s eyebrows, the ones that suggested silently that she disapproved, appeared. Witt didn’t care. He drained another glass of champagne and twirled a laughing London onto the dance floor. The child, his princess, squealed in delight.

“Sickening, isn’t it?” Trisha observed from her position near the band. She leaned against the glossy top of the concert grand and petulantly sipped from a fluted glass. She was allowed, having just turned twenty-one.

Zachary lifted a shoulder. He was used to his old man’s theatrics and he really didn’t care what Witt did anymore. He and his father had never gotten along, and things had only become worse when Witt had divorced his first wife and eventually married a woman only seven years older than his oldest son, Jason, Zachary’s brother. Truth be known, Zach didn’t really want to be here, had only come because he was forced. He couldn’t wait to escape the smoky, loud ballroom filled with boring old people-suck-ups, every last one of them.

“Dad can’t keep his hands off Kat,” Trisha said, her voice slurring a little. “It’s obscene.” She took another swallow. “The lecherous old fart.”

“Careful, Trisha,” Jason said as he joined his brother and sister. “Dad probably had this place bugged.”

“Very funny,” Trisha said, tossing her long auburn hair over one shoulder. But she didn’t laugh. Her blue eyes were flat and bored and she continually scanned the crowd as if she were looking for something or someone.

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “You know half the people here would like to see the old man fall.”

“They’re his friends,” Trisha argued.

“And enemies.” Jason rested a hip against the piano as the band took a break. He watched his father, still holding London, playing the crowd, moving from one knot of bejeweled guests to the other, never once setting London on her feet.

“Who gives a shit?” Zachary asked.

“Always the rebel.” Jason smiled beneath his mustache, that know-it-all smile that bugged the hell out of Zach. Jason acted as if he knew everything. At twenty-three, Jason was already in law school and six years older than Zach, a point he never let his rebellious younger brother forget.

Zach tugged at the tight collar of his tuxedo shirt. He couldn’t stomach Jason any more than he could his sister, Trisha. They both cared too much about the old man and his bank accounts.

Leaving Jason and Trisha to worry and fret over Witt’s affection for London, Zach walked to the edge of the crowd.

He managed to grab a champagne glass from an unattended table, then sauntered over to the bank of tall, arched windows that overlooked the city and turned his back on the party. He felt a bit of satisfaction as he stared through the glass to the hot July night and swallowed champagne. Traffic flowed in a steady stream along the street. Taillights winked and blurred as cars and trucks labored through the city and over the yawning Willamette River, a sluggish black waterway that separated the west side of the city from the east. Steam rose from the city streets and the humidity level was high.

In the distance, beyond the expanse of city lights, a ridge of mountains, the Cascades, guarded the horizon. Thunderheads that had been gathering all day blocked out any view of the stars, and the quick, sizzling forks of lightning added unwanted tension to the brackish night. Zach finished his champagne and, hoping no one would notice, half buried his empty glass in the soil surrounding a potted tree.

He felt out of place, as he always had with his family. This black-tie affair thrown by Kat made him all the more aware that he was different from his brothers and sister. He didn’t even look like the rest of the Danvers clan, all of whom were fair-skinned, blue-eyed, and were favored with varying hues of blond to dark brown hair.

He resembled his half-sister, London, more than anyone else in the family. Which didn’t win him any points with Jason, Trisha, and Nelson, his younger brother, all of whom on one occasion or another professed to hate their half-sister.

With a snort, he considered London. He didn’t care much about the kid one way or the other. Sure, she bothered him. Any four-year-old was a pain in the ass, but she wasn’t as bad as the others made out. In fact, Zach found it amusing that she was already showing some of the traits Kat had perfected over the years. It wasn’t London’s fault the old man treated her like some kind of priceless jewel.

As if she’d read his mind, London pushed through the crowd and grabbed hold of his leg. He turned to tell her to get lost, but by that time she’d discovered his glass pushed deep into the potting soil.

“Leave that alone!” he whispered in a harsh voice. She glanced up sharply, a naughty twinkle in her eyes. God, if he could just step out on the balcony and grab a smoke-another vice of which his father and stepmother disapproved, though Kat was never without her gold cigarette case and Witt enjoyed his share of cigars smuggled in from Havana.

She dropped the glass back into the dirt. “Hide me from Mommy!” With a wicked little giggle, she ducked behind his legs.

“Hey, don’t get me involved in your stupid games.”

“Shh. She’s coming!” London hissed.

Great. Just what he needed.

“London?” Katherine’s husky voice drifted over the slow strains of a ballad.

Behind him, London tried to smother a giggle.

“London, where are you? Come on now…it’s time for bed. Oh, there you are!” Katherine sidestepped a group of men, her practiced smile well in place. Waving her fingers as she passed, she tracked down her wayward daughter with the precision of a bloodhound.

“No!” London cried as her mother approached.

“Come on, sweetheart, it’s nearly ten.”

“Don’t care!”

“You’d better do what she says,” Zachary offered, his gaze flicking slightly to his stepmother’s. He knew what the old man saw in his young wife. Katherine Danvers was probably the sexiest woman Zachary had ever met. At seventeen he understood about unbridled sexual desire. Hot and thundering, it could roar through a man’s body and turn his brain to mush.

“Come on.” Katherine leaned down to pick up her daughter. The silk stretched across her shapely rump and her breasts seemed to bulge a bit, as if they might fall out of her plunging neckline.

“I’ll get her into bed,” another woman, London’s nanny, Ginny Something-Or-Other, offered. She was a small, plain woman in sensible shoes and a drab olive-green suit. Next to Katherine she looked frumpy and old, a dowdy matron, though she was probably just over thirty, not much older than Kat.

“I don’t want to go to bed,” London insisted.

“She’s being a brat.” Katherine looked up and noticed one of the waiters motioning toward her. With a sigh, she turned back to her daughter. “Listen, honey, it’s almost time to bring out the birthday cake. You can stay up and watch Daddy blow out his candles, then you have to go upstairs.”

“Can I have some cake, too?”

The corners around Katherine’s mouth tightened, though she said, “Of course, darling. But then you go with Ginny upstairs. We’ve got a special room for you, right by Daddy and Mommy’s, and we’ll be up later to tuck you in.”

Mollified somewhat, London headed back to the party and Katherine straightened, smoothing her dress over her hips as Ginny followed her wayward charge.

Zach hoped that Katherine would hurry to the bandleader and order the musicians to strike up “Happy Birthday To You,” but she inched her chin up a fraction and eyed her stepson. Zach was three inches taller than Kat. Nonetheless, she had a way of making him feel small. “Stay away from the booze.” She plucked his empty champagne glass from the dirt and twirled the stem between her long, slim fingers. Even while reprimanding him, she was sexy as hell. As if she knew her power over him and any man who wasn’t blind, she puckered her lips sweetly, then waggled the glass under his nose. “We wouldn’t want anything to spoil this party for your daddy now, would we? If you were to get caught with one of these, there could be trouble.”

“I won’t get caught.”

“Don’t think you’re so smart, Zach. I saw you swilling champagne, and I don’t think I’m the only one who was looking in your direction. Anyone else could have seen you, including Jack Logan. You remember-he’s with the police department. I think you two have met before.”

Zach’s teeth clamped together. Hot embarrassment climbed up the back of his neck. “As I said, I won’t get caught.”

“You’d better not, because, if you land your cute little butt in jail or end up in the juvenile hall again, Witt won’t bail you out. So”-she smiled sweetly-“use your head.”

As she sauntered away, mingling with one group of guests after another, Zachary seethed. His blood boiled through his veins and he fantasized about wrapping his fingers around her neck and shaking some sense into her, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her ass and the way it shifted beneath the shimmering black silk of her dress. She moved slowly, as if each step were a deliberately sensual movement designed to make him squirm. The rose petals were crushed beneath her heels. Her smooth back, visible to the curve of her lower spine, was unblemished and supple, and he imagined it would arch perfectly beneath the right man.

He felt an erection beginning, and turned away from her image. Half the time he thought she put on a sexual show for him intentionally. Other times he told himself that it was his imagination, that he was finding sexual overtures in the most innocent of gestures.

To cool his blood he placed his head against the window. Steam fogged the inside of the glass. The room was so hot he felt that he was suffocating and his blood still pounded at his temples. At seventeen he was still a virgin, which wasn’t a big deal, unless he had to spend any time alone with Kat, something he tried to avoid.

Stuffing one hand into his pocket to hide the swell in his pants, he walked to the nearest tray of filled glasses, grabbed one and downed it quickly, all the while staring at his stepmother. She didn’t seem to see him. Buoyed by his newfound source of rebellion, he sauntered over to another unattended tray, snatched another glass, and downed the champagne in one gulp. A few drops drizzled along his chin but he didn’t care.

The room began to get warmer still and he loosened his tie. A flush stole up his face and he felt a little light-headed. He was definitely getting a buzz. Well, good. He didn’t want to be here anyway. Might as well enjoy himself.

Halfway through his next drink, he felt a smooth hand close over his arm. He jumped and champagne splashed down the front of his jacket and shirt. Kat’s long fingers dug into the muscles beneath his sleeve. Her eyes were dark with rage, her full lips clenched in fury. “You just don’t know when to give up, do you?”

He shook off her arm. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“No?” She arched an eyebrow in a sexy gesture that scared him spitless. “Mmm. We’ll see.”

He finished his drink to spite her, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, her face changed into a soft smile and her eyes caught the reflection of the chandelier, sparkling up at him. With an innocent grin, she linked her fingers through his. “Dance with me, Zach.”

Zach, despite the friendly cobwebs in his mind, smelled trouble. “I…I don’t dance.”

“Sure you do. It’s easy.”

“But I can’t-”

She leaned closer to him, put her lips against his ear. “People are staring. Come on.”

His throat was suddenly desert-dry. “Katherine, I really don’t want to-” But she was right. He felt the burning weight of the gazes of curious onlookers. He wanted to die. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jason staring at him, his expression unreadable. Trisha was downing champagne and God-only-knew what else. She smiled drunkenly at Zach’s discomfiture. Witt, his father, was still dancing with little London and too busy to notice that Zach was trapped.

“Really, Katherine. I don’t want to-”

“Oh, you want, Zach,” she said, leaning to him, pressing her hip against his groin. “I can tell. And I’ll let your father know if you don’t give me just one little dance.”

Guiltily, Zach glanced at Witt but the old man seemed oblivious to the fact that his son, the one who always gave him so much trouble, was being led to the dance floor like a lamb to slaughter. He couldn’t imagine dancing with Katherine, feeling her body pressed close to his. His blood was already roaring through his system. As they reached the dance floor, she turned, molding her torso to his, beginning to sway in rhythm to the music.

Her hips were pressed intimately to his and her breasts seemed crushed against his chest. “Now, isn’t this better?” she murmured in a husky drawl and he closed his eyes, fighting the lust that burned through his body, feeling his stiffening erection even as he tried to deny it.

“Let me go,” he begged.

“You don’t want to go.” She shifted slightly so that her lower abdomen was hugging his. God, she had to know that he was hard. “I can tell.”

“Don’t-”

Holy Christ, his right hand was on her bare back, feeling the silky texture of her skin, the sleek movement of her muscles. Was it his imagination or did she make some low sort of wanting sound deep in her throat?

“You lied,” she whispered, her breath ruffling the hair covering the tops of his ears.

He was dying inside. So hard he ached, he couldn’t think straight. A part of him warned him to back off, but the other part puffed up by male ego, champagne, and sexual desire, couldn’t stop fantasizing. He wondered what she would do if he rubbed up against her, let his hand slip beneath the black fabric of her dress. What would happen if he slowly let his mouth and tongue wander down the delicate column of her throat?

As if she understood his need, she lolled her head to one side, exposing more of her white skin, showing off just a little more of her gorgeous bosom.

“Mind if I cut in?” Witt’s voice seemed to reverberate through the ballroom and Zachary started, dropping his hands guiltily. He tried to put some distance between his body and Kat’s but she held him close.

Turning slumberous eyes toward her husband, her lips twisted into a wicked grin, she whispered, “Thought you’d never ask.”

Witt’s face was flushed. His eyes thinned on his rebellious son as Zachary took a step back and London, who was still clinging to her father, was plopped into Zach’s empty arms. “Stay away from the champagne,” Witt said. “It would be a hell of an embarrassment if Jack had to arrest you here. Now, give London a spin on the floor and ask one of the Kramer girls to dance-they’ve been watching you all night.”

Gulping, Zachary wished he could knock the old man’s lights out. When he glanced at Kat she was laughing, her eyes twinkling with naughty amusement. At his expense. His fingers clenched into fists and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was holding London, he might have made an already ugly situation worse. It was as if his father and stepmother had conspired together to make him look a fool.

His shoulders tensed and heat surged up the back of his neck to spread through his face. Though several girls in expensive dresses were trying to capture his attention, Zach didn’t even give them the time of day. He handed London to her nanny, and wished he could hit something…anything.

Ripping his tie from his neck, he wanted nothing more than to leave the goddamned hotel and cool off. Spoiling for a fight, he left the dance floor. How could he have been such a fool? How? Because of Kat. Damn the woman! His fists curled in angry impotence. He had to get out of here.

Jason, drink in hand, found Zach insolently leaning a shoulder against one of the pillars near the door as he plotted his escape. “Don’t let her get to you,” Jason advised.

“Who?”

“Kat.” Sipping his drink-bourbon straight up-Jason smiled.

“What do you mean?” Zach asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Jason snorted and cocked his head toward the dance floor. “I saw that little exhibition.”

Mortified, Zach gritted his teeth.

“Christ, she can be a bitch.” Jason raked an impatient hand through his thick, chestnut-colored hair. “I know what she’s up to, saw her coming on to you. She damned near laid down and spread her legs right in the middle of the dance floor.” He took a swallow of his drink and stared at Kat and Witt. “It’s some sort of game with her.”

A muscle worked in Zach’s jaw. He felt the angry tic and couldn’t control it.

“She did it on purpose, you know. Decided you needed putting in your place, which, I might add, she did.”

“I hate her.”

“Don’t we all?” Jason replied, his eyes following his stepmother as she danced. “But she might just be the most incredibly sexy woman on this planet. I wonder what she’s like in bed.”

“I don’t want to know.” Zachary scowled and refused to look at the object of their discussion.

“Sure you do. Every man here would like a little piece of the Kat.” He flung a brotherly arm over Zach’s shoulders. “But she doesn’t play her games with them. No way. For some reason she’s picked you to toy with. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she might have her sights set on you.”

“Oh, Jesus! No way!” Zach said, though his heart skipped a beat.

“I’m not so sure. She sure hasn’t come on to me like she just did with you and I’ve seen her, when she thinks no one’s watching. The way she looks at you. Christ, it’s hot.”

“Stop it.”

“But you can’t mess with her. If Dad ever found out-”

“Cut it out, Jason,” Zach said, suddenly anxious. First Kat and now his brother. “I’m not going to mess with her.”

Jason lifted a shoulder. “Everyone’s always said you were different-I guess Kat just wants to find out if it’s true.”

“God, Jason, listen to what you’re saying! No, don’t! It’s sick.”

“You know what you need to do?”

Zach didn’t answer.

“Go out and get laid.” Leaning closer to Zach, he pointed a finger at a swarm of teenaged girls, their makeup and hairstyles right out of Seventeen magazine. Compared to Katherine they seemed young and gawky and…desperate. “But not with Kat. Like I said, the old man would tan your hide if he found out. But Alicia Kramer is so hot for you she can barely stand it. I’ll bet she’s creaming all over herself just looking at you.”

“Stop it!” Zach hissed, but Jason laughed, obviously pleased that he’d gotten such a violent reaction.

“I’m telling you, sliding into her would be like sticking it into hot pudding.”

“For Christ’s sake, cut it out!” Zach slid a glance in Alice’s direction and caught her hopeful gaze. She was a petite girl with big boobs and a bad complexion she disguised with thick makeup. Her teeth were straight, compliments of the braces she’d worn for two years. She wasn’t bad looking. She giggled and blushed when she caught Zach’s eye. But Zach wasn’t interested in the daughter of some big-shot banker. No way. Compared to Kat, Alicia seemed like a child.

“She’s so horny she can barely keep her dress on. Look, I can tell you from my own experience that the Kramer girls are definitely hot-blooded. My guess is Alicia will give you a ride you’ll remember for the rest of your life.”

“No thanks,” Zach replied.

“I’m telling you, little brother, it’s time. I can hook you up with-”

“Forget it, Jason.”

Jason grabbed his arm. “Really, Zach. I know how you feel, like a powder keg ready to explode, and believe me, you can only take it so long.” His voice lowered a little. “There’s a girl I know…well, a woman, really. She…well, she knows just what to do to make a man feel good. She’s expecting me tonight.”

“A hooker? Are you talking about a hooker?” Zach demanded, shocked, yet a little intrigued. Did Jason really know a prostitute? Holy shit!

Jason took his arm and steered him to a quiet corner of the room, far away from the guests and the linen-clad tables of food and drink. “Now, just listen. This girl, Sophia, she’s…well, believe me, you’ll like her. She’s a good person.”

Zach snorted. “Good people don’t sell their bodies.”

“She’s not a streetwalker. In fact, she does this because she likes it. She’s always ready.”

“Oh, God-”

“She’s pretty and clean and will only do what you want to do. You can fuck her brains out if you want to, or, if you’d rather just talk…she’ll listen. Really. It’s up to you.” Jason’s voice was filled with brotherly concern.

Zach knew he should walk away, but he couldn’t. An honest-to-goodness hooker. Waiting for Jason? A hooker who would just listen?

“I know you and I don’t always see eye-to-eye, but this time, for the love of Christ, listen to me. You need a woman. Bad. And it can’t be Kat.” Frowning slightly, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a room key, and pressed the cool metal into Zachary’s sweating palm. “Three blocks down. The Orion Hotel. Sophia. Don’t worry about money. It’s all been arranged.”

“I don’t want-”

“Do yourself a favor. Forget about Kat. Get laid.” With a friendly smile, Jason headed toward the bar, leaving Zach to clutch the damned hotel key in his clammy fingers. Swallowing hard, he opened his hand and stared down at the key to room 307, the key to his manhood, the key to his freedom from Kat.

Suddenly aware that any number of his father’s guests could have overheard his conversation with Jason, Zach jammed his hands deep into his pockets and wondered how many of the other people at the party had witnessed his humiliation on the dance floor. How many eyes other than his brother’s and his father’s had seen Kat’s lips brush against his ear, or watched as his sweaty fingers had itched to delve beneath the zipper of her dress to grasp one of those firm buttocks? Jesus, he had to quit thinking about her like this! The key felt heavy in his pocket.

The band broke into “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.” Though his mind was still on the mysterious Sophia, the hooker with a heart, Zach watched as a huge cake in the shape of a fir tree was wheeled into the room on an elaborate cart. Sixty candles arranged in a string, like holiday lights decorating a Christmas tree, had been placed upon the needles of green frosting. Tiny flames flickered and danced as Witt, with Katherine and London’s help, blew out every last spark.

Laughter and applause erupted and Witt, like a bridegroom, cut a fat piece of cake and fed the gooey concoction to his wife. Everyone cheered and Zach thought he might get sick as Katherine returned the favor, then smiling up at her husband, licked her fingers slowly.

By the time London was hustled upstairs to one of the suites reserved for the Danvers family, the old man was starting to look a little tipsy. He hazarded a hard glance Zach’s way, and even in the crowded room, Zach read the warning in his father’s eyes. His heart sank. From years of experience Zach knew that Witt had not forgotten that his young wife had been flirting with his son. Nothing escaped the old man, and sooner or later, there would be hell to pay. Zach already bore several scars on his backside from the slap of his father’s belt. By this time tomorrow, he’d probably wear a few more-at least psychological scars. Witt Danvers was nothing if not brutal. He wouldn’t spare Zach’s feelings and would let his rebellious son know that he was no good, didn’t live up to his expectations, would never amount to anything in life.

So who gave a shit what the old man thought?

The key pressed hard against his thigh.

Witt and Katherine began dancing again and his father’s attention was diverted from his second son to his wife. Zach seized the opportunity for escape. Without a glance over his shoulder, he wended his way past loud groups of guests, slipped through ballroom doors to the landing where he stopped to catch his breath and fight the dizziness in his brain from too much champagne.

What was he doing? He couldn’t just leave the party. The old man would come unhinged.

Good.

Maybe Witt Danvers might even worry a little.

Before he changed his mind, Zach steadied himself against the rail and hurried down the wide staircase.

“Hey, Zach. Where’re ya goin’?” Nelson, his younger brother, demanded. At fourteen, Nelson, now hanging halfway over the rail, his shaggy blond hair flopping over his eyes, idolized his hellion of an older brother.

“Not now,” Zach growled. He didn’t need the kid’s adoration any more than he needed Witt’s disapproval.

“But-”

“Just keep quiet, Nelson. Okay?” Refusing to acknowledge Nelson as the kid ran down the stairs, Zach strode through the front lobby where club chairs, brass lamps, and glossy dark tables were positioned around a massive fireplace. Past the main desk and a forest of potted palms, he walked quickly, trying not to think about the ramifications of his actions when Witt discovered him missing.

Outside, the night was humid. The smell of the river drifted on air so still it seemed to cling to Zach’s skin. He yanked off his jacket and began walking fast, heading north, trying to cool his blood and clear his head.

What he was contemplating was crazy, and yet, he’d consumed enough alcohol to feel bolder than usual. So what if the old man found out? What could he do? Kick Zach out of the Danvers family mansion, force him to live with his mother? That thought was a bitter pill to swallow.

Deep down, a part of him still cared for the woman who had borne him, but she didn’t deserve that love, not after she’d abandoned them all and left them in the lonely house on the hill with Witt. Zach didn’t know the full story, but the gist of it was that Witt had caught his wife in bed with his most hated rival, Anthony Polidori. She’d been carrying on with him for years and rather than expose herself, or her lover, to the media, she’d had no choice but to accept Witt’s terms for the divorce: he’d get the kids and most of the wealth, she’d receive a stipend and be spared the ugly scandal of testifying in divorce court that she was an adulteress. Her social position had been left unscathed; her children’s lives had not.

As much as Zach professed to despise the old man, he did have a grudging respect for Witt Danvers and the power he seemed to possess over the people of this city. As for his mother, Zach felt little but loathing for Eunice. She had shamed his father with an affair that had ripped out the old man’s soul. It had been Eunice who had wounded Witt Danvers’s pride so badly that eventually, though it was years later, Witt had fallen into the open arms of Katherine LaRouche. He’d met Katherine at the Empress Hotel in Victoria, British Columbia. They had married within the week. Witt had explained to his children that Katherine was from a wealthy Ontario family. Though she was thirty years younger than he, she would become his children’s new mother.

The family had been in shock, the Danverses’ lawyers nearly apoplectic, but the damage had already been done. Katherine LaRouche, whoever she was, had managed to become the bride of one of the wealthiest men in Portland. She’d seemed proper enough then, Zachary thought, remembering back, and the change in her attitude toward him had come subtly over the years. As he’d reached adolescence he’d felt her watching him more closely, caught her eyeing him whenever his shirt was off-either when he was swimming in the pool in his cutoff jeans or riding one of the horses bareback. As his muscles had developed, so had Katherine’s interest in her stepson.

He’d told himself that he was imagining things, that it was only his newfound awareness of his own masculinity that had changed his perception, but now he wasn’t so sure. And Jason had voiced the same suspicions.

Sighing through his nose, he shook his head to clear it. With one hand, he felt the key in his pocket and his stomach tightened into a hard ball of apprehension. What if he actually went into the Orion Hotel, took the elevator to the third floor, rapped hard on the door, and it was opened by a withered old woman without teeth? What if the damned door was opened by a man? A queer dressed up as a hooker? Oh, Jesus! What if this whole arrangement was a setup, the result of Jason’s twisted sense of humor?

He gritted his teeth and glanced behind him as he reached the Orion. No one seemed to have followed him and no one other than Jason would guess that he was here. Somehow he found strength in his anonymity as he lingered on the steps of the high-rise that jutted upward, washed by floodlights, white concrete slicing into a sky as black as obsidian.

Hesitating a fraction of a second, Zachary locked his jaw, squared his shoulders, threw open the hotel’s front door, and decided it was time he became a man.

3

The hotel corridor was empty, a long hallway of gold shag carpeting and metal doors painted to look like wood. The Orion had none of the charm of the Hotel Danvers, but Zach didn’t care. Swallowing back the urge to turn tail and run, Zachary let the stairwell door bang shut behind him and walked, heart knocking, toward room 307. To Sophia. His destiny.

Before he lost his already-faltering courage, he rapped sharply on the door and waited.

“It’s open,” a cool, feminine voice called through the metal.

Oh, Christ! Zach’s heart nearly stopped. He reached for the knob with clammy fingers and threw open the door.

The woman was lying with her back to him. Sprawled sensually across the bed, wearing only a black bra and a lacy black belt with long garters that dangled over a scanty pair of panties, she stretched. Zach could see the dimples above her smooth rump and long thighs and his mouth turned to sand. “You’re late,” she reprimanded gently.

Zach’s diaphragm slammed up against his lungs and he could barely breathe. Heat radiated from his groin.

Turning slowly, allowing him a glimpse of full breasts crushed into a bra several sizes too small, she smiled up at him with a come-hither look that evaporated when her gaze met his face.

“Who’re you?” she demanded. Her dark eyes shadowed with fear. “Get out!” She cast an anxious look around, as if searching for a weapon, or clothes to cover her body. “Get the fuck out!” She reached for a pink silk wrapper and started ramming her hands frantically down its sleeves.

“Jason sent me.”

She froze. “Like hell,” she muttered, her black eyes disbelieving. The robe still gaped enough so he had a view of the hollow between her breasts.

Zach’s throat closed in on itself and he prayed to God that his voice didn’t squeak. “He’s still at Dad’s party and-”

“Dad’s?”

“I’m his brother, Zachary.” He started to stick out his hand, knew it to be a mistake and wished he could just drop dead of a heart attack. She was a hooker, for God’s sake, a professional, and he was a bumbling, tongue-tied, green, virgin! She could probably smell it.

Suspicion lingered on her features. “You don’t look like him.”

The bane of Zach’s existence. “I know.” Still he didn’t move.

“Close the door.”

Zach kicked it closed but didn’t bother with the bolt.

Scooting closer to the headboard, trying to hold the robe closed over her skin, looking as if she might bolt for the door at any minute, she asked, “Why’d he send you?” She tossed a thick rope of coal-black hair off her face. “Jesus, you scared the living shit out of me.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Well, come in,” she ordered, obviously agitated.

Carefully, afraid she might jump up and run down the hall screaming rape, he walked across the orange carpet and eased himself onto the foot of the bed.

“Jason sent you?” she asked, reaching onto the nightstand for a crumpled pack of cigarettes propped against a half-finished drink. She shook out an unfiltered Pall Mall and her hands only trembled a little as she struck a match and lit up. “Why?”

“He, um, he had to stick around. Dad wanted him there.”

She arched a fine black brow as she drew on her cigarette again and finally lifted it from her lips. “But he didn’t want you?” she asked skeptically.

“Jason’s the oldest,” Zach said, as if it explained everything, which it did. Jason had been groomed from the day he was born to be heir to the Danvers fortune. Nothing had changed just because Witt had sired a second son.

The hooker smiled. “So he’s the favorite.”

“London’s the old man’s favorite.”

“Ahh. Jason’s talked about her. The little kid. What is she, about three?’

“Almost five.” Zach didn’t see that London’s age mattered at all, especially considering the situation. He was in a hotel room with a prostitute and they were discussing his baby sister! Well, hadn’t Jason said she liked to talk? Somehow he’d expected the conversation to be a little more sensual.

Sophia set her cigarette in the ashtray on the bedstand, then picked up her drink. Swirling the melting ice cubes with one long finger, she stared at Zach, letting her eyes rove up his half-buttoned shirt to his windblown hair.

“Jason wants you to take his place?”

“That seemed to be the plan.”

She took a swallow from her glass and the tip of her tongue rimmed her wet lips. “Are you a virgin, Zachary?”

The question hit him like a slap in the face. “Of course not.”

“Mmm. Then you’ve had…a lot of women?” She sipped her drink, trying to smother a smile.

“My share,” he said, realizing that they both knew he was lying. Hell, what did you say to a prostitute when she asked you things like that?

“You ever had a blow job?”

His head snapped up. Was she for real, or was she teasing him? He stared straight into her dark eyes and wondered if she was laughing at him. His gut tightened as she set the glass on the night table, allowing the robe to gape open and reveal her breasts. He couldn’t help but stare.

He was already beginning to get hard, but he didn’t try to hide his erection. The robe fell off one of her shoulders and her skin looked soft and smooth, moving easily beneath the silky ebony strap of her bra.

“So what’re we going to do about this?” she asked, as she settled back on the bed, the pink wrapper no longer clutched in her fingers, her navel and the top of lacy black underpants visible. When he didn’t reply, she inched closer to him, first with her toe, then with the rest of her, sliding slowly down the bed, rumpling the coverlet with her rounded buttocks. Her eyes were hot, dark mirrors seeming to reflect the torment of his soul. She seemed to stare past all the lies he’d told her as she pulled herself up to her knees and moved her head close to his. She smelled of perfume and smoke and bourbon.

“So you won’t tell me, eh? Well, just let me know when I do something you don’t like, okay?”

She pressed her hot, wet tongue against the shell of his ear and he groaned. The swelling between his legs began to ache and as her tongue dipped into his ear, he wondered if he might embarrass them both by coming in his pants. “Come on, baby, what’re you waiting for?” she whispered in a whiskey-smooth voice.

The invitation was impossible to resist.

He grabbed her and pressed his lips hard to her mouth, smearing lipstick in his anxiety, tossing her back on the bed so he could feel her under him.

“That’s my boy,” she growled as he shoved the robe off her and stared at her beautiful breasts. Round, dark nipples pointed upward through the sheer lace, inviting his hands and mouth and Zachary, finding her so willing, couldn’t stop himself.

His thumb grazed a nipple and she arched, her butt coming off the bed, her naked abdomen slapping against the inseams of his pants. Her fingers found the buttons of his shirt and the wall of skin beneath. She lifted herself up and playfully nipped at his few chest hairs, causing him to lose himself in the wonder of her touch. Already dizzy from the champagne, Zachary felt the room spin as she touched him, her magic fingers caressing his bare skin, her tongue slick and hot as she slid down farther.

He groaned as she breathed across his groin and he closed his eyes in ecstasy. But as eagerly as she’d started, she stopped just as suddenly, jerking up her head.

Zach sensed trouble. He opened his eyes and found her staring at the door. He reached for his fly.

Bam! The door burst open. The knob banged against the wall. Sophia screamed, bucked beneath him, and tried to writhe off the bed. “No!” she squealed, trying to push him away.

Zach, still foggy, glanced toward the door. For a second he couldn’t move, but Sophia, scrambling, managed to slide away from him.

Two men, one tall and dark, the other shorter, were silhouetted in the doorway, two dark, menacing figures.

“Get out of here,” Zach commanded.

They didn’t move.

“I said-”

“Shut up!” the big one cut in, stepping inside.

The short one slid a glance at Sophia, then kicked the door shut.

Zachary rolled off the bed and onto the balls of his feet. The smell of a fight hung heavy in the air; he stood between the men and the bed, torn between some silly chivalrous desire to protect the woman and the urge to run like hell out of the room. He stood his ground, staring down the men. “Call security,” he ordered Sophia.

“Danvers?” The shorter one demanded.

“Yeah?” Zachary’s guts shredded. These thugs knew his name? How? The hooker! This had to be some kind of setup.

He jumped toward the bedside table and phone. But he wasn’t fast enough. The tall man kicked the phone out of Zach’s hands.

“What the hell-”

Zach spun. Too late! The tall intruder grabbed Zachary’s arm and wrenched it painfully behind his back. Zach twisted and writhed. Pain screamed up his arm.

“Cool it, you dumb fuck!”

Zach kicked, the heel of his boot connecting with the man’s shin.

Wind whistled between the attacker’s teeth. “You son of a bitch! You lousy little bastard!” The man yanked harder on Zach’s arm.

Agony ripped through his shoulder. Zach heard a sickening rip and his muscles turned to fire.

“Help me out, Rudy!” the tall man ordered.

From the corner of his eye, Zach noticed Sophia scoot backward on the bed. Her face was white with fear as she tried to grab the receiver that dangled from the phone.

“No way, sister,” the shorter man-the one called Rudy said, as he yanked the cord from the wall.

“Please-” she cried.

“Shut up!” the thug snarled.

Zach kicked his attacker again. “Let go of me!”

“No way, Danvers. You fucked up one time too many.” Again he wrenched Zach’s arm.

Agony jarred through his body. Zach screamed.

“You tryin’ to kill him, Joey?” Rudy barked.

“Maybe.” Joey twisted Zach around and slammed his face with his meaty fist. Bones shattered. Pain exploded behind Zach’s eyes. Blood spurted from his nose as his knees buckled.

Rudy stared at Zach’s pulpy face for a minute, then glanced at his partner. “Oh, shit! Hey, man, I don’t think this is the right guy. This one, he don’t look like-”

“You’re making a mistake!” Sophia cried, clutching the blankets around her, her lips trembling.

“I don’t think so.” The big one wasn’t convinced. “Let’s get this over with, Rudy! Quit screwing around!”

Panicked, Zachary struggled, throwing himself toward the door. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rudy reach into his pocket. A flash of silver glinted in the lamplight. Zach’s guts twisted with a new numbing fear. He heard a resounding click and he nearly wet his pants. A switchblade!

“Okay. Cut him,” Joey said, his foul breath warm against Zach’s head.

“No!” Zach fought even harder, hurling his weight sideways, throwing his attacker off balance.

“I said, cut him!” Joey yelled.

Rudy’s switchblade sliced through the air.

Sophia screamed.

Zach flinched as he felt his scalp slitting open above his ear. White-hot, the pain nearly blinded him. “Stop!” Blood poured from the wound, over his eyes and face.

“This isn’t the right guy,” Rudy said, wiping the blood from his weapon on his pants. “I’ve seen Danvers-”

“Don’t matter! ’Sides, he’s claimin’ to be him.”

“Shit!”

Blindly, Zach kicked.

“Who cares who the fuck he is,” Rudy finally agreed. The knife plunged into Zach’s shoulder. Pain shrieked through his arm. He retched. His body sagged heavily. They’re going to kill me. I’m gonna die just like a lamb being slaughtered. Zach tried to fight, but he could barely move.

“He said he’s Jason Danvers, now let’s just get it over with,” Joey said.

Jason? They thought he was Jason? “Zachary.” Zach spat words and blood from behind loose teeth. He tried to break free and his knees buckled. “I’m…I’m…Zachary Danvers.”

“He’s telling you the truth!” Tears rolled down Sophia’s white face. “He’s not Jason! For the love of God, just leave him alone!’

“Not Jason?” Rudy repeated. “I knew it!”

“Shit!” Joey let go of Zach and jerked the knife out of his shoulder. The wound burned like acid. Zach dropped to the floor, banged his head and couldn’t move out of the sticky blood pooling beneath him.

“I told you he was the wrong guy. Shit, man, why don’t you ever listen?” Rudy hissed. He pointed at the bed where Sophia was still huddled in fear. “You-get some clothes on and get out of here.”

“But the boy-” Sophia whispered.

“He’ll live,” Rudy snarled, casting a dark look toward Zach before eyeing the hooker again. “Unless you want to explain what you’re doing up here with the half-dead son of Witt Danvers, you’ll move your sweet little ass out of here.”

Don’t leave, Zach tried to say, but the words wouldn’t form over his thick tongue. He watched three sets of feet, her small, bare ones, the others in black work boots-moving in slow motion away from him. Footsteps scuffled on the shag carpet. Blood seeped from his body to the floor. He tried to lift his head.

“Bastard!” He saw the shoe, felt a hard kick in the groin and curled into a ball. Bile sprayed up the back of his throat. “Stay put, Danvers! You’ll live longer.”

A tide of black swirled around his eyes, though he willed himself to stay conscious. He saw the door to room 307 open, then close, and he gave in to the warm, dark void that swallowed him.

Katherine’s feet ached, her head throbbed, and her eyes burned from cigarette smoke. The celebration had been a success and Witt, if he hadn’t been surprised, had put on a good show of acting astounded at his wife’s carefully planned party.

Seated on one of the chairs near the empty stage, she ignored the litter on the floor and took off one of her spiked heels to rub the bottom of her foot.

Soon dawn would be streaking the eastern sky, and still a few guests lingered, talking, laughing, refusing to call it a night.

“Come on upstairs,” Kat suggested to her husband as she slipped her toes into her shoe again. “London will be up before we know it.” She stood and stretched, aware that after hours on her feet, her hair tangled, her makeup all but gone, she was still beautiful and sexy. She caught more than one male gaze lingering on the swell of her bosom.

Witt, having consumed champagne for hours, yawned and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He was heavy, this big bear of a man, and she staggered under the combination of his sagging weight and too many glasses of champagne.

Hours before, while she was getting ready for the party, she’d dressed with care and planned to seduce her husband, no matter how much work it was, but now she was tired, her feet ached, her head pounded, and she wasn’t interested in anything but falling into the huge bed in their suite and sleeping for at least a million hours.

She helped Witt into the elevator. For a few hours the guests, dressed in their finest clothes and jewelry, had forgotten about anything other than celebrating Witt Danvers’s sixty years.

With a groan, the elevator car moved upward, only to shudder to a stop on the seventh floor. “Come on, birthday boy,” she said, still supporting him as they reached their suite with its panoramic view of the river. She didn’t much care about the view as she unlocked the door, snapped on the lights, and helped him to the king-size bed that had already been turned down by the maid. Witt fell across the silk sheets like a heavy sack of potatoes.

“Come here,” he said thickly, reaching for his wife as she pulled the draperies shut.

Katherine giggled. “Want me?”

“Always,” he assured her. “I love you, Katherine. Thanks.”

Tears stung the back of her eyes as the drapes snapped shut. She did care about him. “I love you, too, honey.”

“I wish I could…I mean…”

“Shh. It doesn’t matter,” she said, and meant it at that moment. Sex was important, but it wasn’t as valuable as love. Kat could find sex anywhere, but she’d learned long ago how stingy people were with love. Leaning over, she rumpled his hair playfully and placed a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll be back in a minute. I just want to check on London.”

“Me, too,” he said, his foggy eyes clearing a bit as he thought of his little girl.

Kat sighed. As much as she adored London, a tiny part of her was jealous of the attention Witt lavished upon his youngest daughter-their only child. As Witt pushed himself upright in the bed, Kat cracked open the connecting door, allowing a thin shaft of light from their suite to pierce into the room occupied by London and her nanny.

At first she thought her tired eyes were playing tricks on her, that she’d drunk too much champagne and her cloudy mind wasn’t focusing, but as she stepped into the smaller room, her heart began to hammer, thunder in her ears. She fumbled for the switch. Suddenly the room was flooded with light.

Both beds were empty; neither had been mussed. The sheets were turned down and two mints sat untouched on the pillows.

Katherine’s throat constricted in a mind-numbing fear. “London?” she said weakly.

Sagging against the door frame, Kat glanced at the closet standing open, and noticed that there was nothing inside-no clothes, no bags, no shoes, as there had been earlier. There wasn’t a trace of London or Ginny.

Dear God, please let this be a horrible mistake. She stepped into the room and felt a chill as cold as November. Don’t panic! London was here. She had to be. But something was wrong and a black fear started crawling up her spine, clutching at her heart.

“Witt?” she called, surprised at the calm in her voice. After all, this was probably just a mistake. The nanny moved London to another room-to make sure that Witt and Katherine had the privacy they needed. “Witt!”

“Whaaaa?” Witt weaved to the doorway and propped a shoulder against the frame. “What’s going on?” he asked thickly and Kat knew a moment of absolute desolation-as if her soul had been stripped from her.

“Call security! There’s something wrong here-London and Ginny are gone. Probably in another room, but call the security guards and the manager just in case.” Her mind, always so cool and dependable, was running away with her to horrible nightmares concerning her child, but she tried her best to stay calm and reasonable. There was just a mixup. That was all. No reason to become hysterical, not yet. Then why were her knees knocking? Oh, God, please don’t let anything happen to my baby!

Witt strode into the room, knocked over the lamp and swore. Suddenly comprehending that his daughter was truly missing, he began tearing the dresser and bed apart, as if he could find his precious child or some evidence of her in the room.

“Leave it alone! For the police!” Kat threw herself at him. “Just call the damned security!”

“She’s not gone,” Witt said, suddenly stone-cold sober. “She can’t be. She’s in this hotel. In the wrong room.” He opened the door and bellowed into the hallway, “Jason! Zach! For Christ’s sake get in here!” Turning to Katherine, he said, “Well find her. And that damned nanny. And when I do, I swear I’ll strangle Ginny Slade for this little prank!”

Witt’s words were bold, but his face grew ashen and Katherine knew the cold, jabbing fear that she might never see her daughter alive again. Guilt and fear took hold of her. She loved London, she did. With all her heart. All the times she’d been jealous of her little girl because of the attention she received from her father flitted through her mind and she wondered, vaguely, if she were being punished. She didn’t believe in God, but…Oh, please, please, let her be safe! She ran back to her room and with shaking fingers dialed the main desk. Before the clerk could answer, she said, “This is Katherine Danvers. Send up security. Room 714. And call the police. London’s missing!”

4

Witt loosened the top two buttons of his collar and stared out the window to the city he’d loved, the town he’d trusted. The streetlights, skyscrapers, and traffic looked the same as they had on any predawn Sunday morning, but now the town seemed sinister and menacing. Portland, his home, had turned on him.

He saw his reflection in the plate glass, ghostly and faint over the eastern skyline. His face was ravaged and drawn, his eyes haunted, his shoulders slumped. He looked ninety rather than sixty.

Whoever had taken his baby would pay, but a dark fear tore at his mind. What if they were never found?

He wouldn’t think such gloomy thoughts. Of course she’d be found. Of course she’d be fine. She was London Danvers, for Christ’s sake. That part bothered him as much as the loss-that someone would dare defy him, someone who knew how to wound him until he was bled dry.

He reached for his wife’s pack of Virginia Slims and lit up, hoping that sucking in smoke and inhaling nicotine would help. It didn’t.

Turning back to the suite, he saw the faces of his family, tired and drawn, with dark circles and eyes dark with fear. Everyone was accounted for except London. And Zach.

A loud knock jarred through Witt’s head. “Police, Danvers! What the hell’s going on?”

Jason opened the door and admitted Jack Logan, who only a few hours before had been downstairs at the party. Jack, an honest cop before he’d met Witt, was now firmly trapped in Witt’s gold-lined pockets. Four officers were with Detective Sergeant Logan.

“We got a call that London was kidnapped,” Jack said, eyeing the group, taking a mental tally and coming up not one, but two Danverses short.

“Looks that way.” He stubbed out the damned cigarette in a cut-glass tray, then showed the police London’s room.

“Jesus, Mary, Joseph,” Logan muttered under his breath. The room was photographed, dusted, and gone over with the proverbial fine-tooth comb; then Logan returned to Witt’s suite, where he, along with another officer, Sergeant Trent, began his interrogations.

Questions were fired at each of the family members, sometimes together, sometimes individually. Logan trusted no one.

While the officers were still scribbling on their pads, Logan demanded a list of the people who had attended the party. He wanted names and phone numbers of the guests, the staff, as well as the band members, florists, and wait staff. Who were the delivery men? With what agency did Katherine book the entertainment? What about the baker and the ice sculptor? Were there any reporters or photographers present?

Who was Ginny Slade? Where did she come from? Did she have any family? What were her references?

What was her relationship with Zach?

“She has none!” Katherine said emphatically, her cool confidence shattered. Eyes rimmed with streaking mascara, she glared at the detective sergeant. “Zach isn’t involved in-”

“He’s missing, isn’t he?” Logan countered, his lips thinning thoughtfully. “You call that a coincidence?”

“For Christ’s sake, he’s only seventeen. How could he be behind something like this? He was probably kidnapped as well,” Witt interjected, and Logan sent him a harsh look that silently called him a fool.

“That boy’s been in and out of trouble since he was twelve, Witt. Face it. I’ve had to cover his ass more times than I can count.”

“Nothing like this,” Witt said quietly, though deep inside he felt a gut-wrenching fear that Logan was right. Zach had a chip on his shoulder the size of Nevada and he’d never gotten along with anyone in the family-even London, though the precocious child had hung on his every word. “You know who you’ve got to arrest, Logan. Polidori is behind this one.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Like hell!” Witt growled, suddenly snapping. The tension in the room was getting to him and he felt as if his nerves were strung as tight as winch cables.

Logan, still staring at Witt as if he were a buffoon, ran a gnarled hand through his snow-white hair. Logan’s face was lined and ruddy, weather-beaten by the winds that had blown incessantly down the Columbia River Gorge while he pounded a beat on the east side for ten years. Tiny lines webbed beneath the skin of his nose, adding a reddish tone created by a lifelong love affair with Irish whiskey. A no-nonsense man, Logan seldom threw any punches. It had taken years for Witt to get the goods on the man, make him bend the rules a bit, and take a simple bribe. Logan had fought him, but when push came to shove and Logan had needed help with his drug-dependent daughter, Risa, Witt had gotten the girl quietly into a private clinic and made sure that the story hadn’t found its way to the news stations or been printed in any of the local papers.

Logan had been a trusted friend and ally ever since. But he still spoke his mind. “If you ask me, Zach knows what happened to your little girl, Witt.” The detective glanced at Kat, who had turned a paler shade of white and looked as if she might faint. “Any reason why he’d want to harm her-?”

Katherine let out a whimper. “He’s just a boy…”

“-or at least scare the bejesus out of the both of you?”

“No!” An uneasy feeling tightened in Witt’s guts. He and Zach had never gotten along. They’d been oil and water for years, and the fact that Zach didn’t seem to have one Danvers characteristic made Witt suspicious of the boy. There had always been rumors…ugly rumors suggesting that Zach wasn’t his son. Then there was the problem with Kat…Witt had seen her dancing with her stepson, leading him on, whispering in his ear only to shut him down. Maybe out of vengeance…Hell, no! Zach was the only one of his older children who seemed to like London. And he was seventeen, for crying out loud. Seventeen!

“It’s been known to happen,” Logan was insisting. “One kid gets jealous of another-”

“No way. Zach’s probably up to his butt in trouble, but he didn’t take London.”

“Think about it,” Logan suggested, then started ordering some of his men to talk to everyone remotely associated with the Danvers family. Other officers were told to interrogate everyone staying at the hotel, then asked to check the records and contact guests who had stayed in the hotel for the last three months.

While each family member was interrogated a second and third time, the detective sergeant kept track of the investigation via walkie-talkie. His men were situated throughout the building and checking every available space in the hotel as well as working the grounds and spreading through the city, reporting anything remotely suspicious on the streets.

Informants were contacted, and anyone with an arrest record for kidnapping was in for a shock, though Logan suspected that this case was different. This wasn’t the work of penny-ante crooks-this was different and deadly.

Logan was a practical man, a cop who had fought his way through the ranks to make detective sergeant. He hadn’t earned his position because of his education or his sophistication; he’d built his reputation by the simple fact that he always got the job done. Over the course of his twenty-odd years with the force, he’d been called a mule, a terrier, and a self-centered bastard, but the bottom line was that he got results. Crusty and cantankerous, with four-letter words being the essence of his vocabulary, he’d devoted his life to cleaning up the filthy streets of Portland.

He called ’em as he saw ’em and in his book, Zachary Danvers was a bad seed. Maybe not even Witt’s son. Rumor had it that Zach was sired by Anthony Polidori, and though Logan didn’t give much credit to most of the gossip he heard, he did believe that where there was smoke there was fire. He’d caught more than one slippery criminal on the anonymous tip, the “gossip” of the streets. So maybe the grudge between Zach and Witt was stronger than the old man wanted to admit. Maybe Zach hated the man who had raised him. Considering the feud between the Polidori and Danvers families, anything was possible.

The sooner Zach was located, Logan was convinced, the sooner he’d find London, and when he did, his score with Witt Danvers would be even. Members of the family, swathed in hotel robes, hair mussed, smoking cigarettes, sat in the chairs and whispered quietly, hoping not to set off Katherine, who, arms wrapped around her middle, stared sightlessly out the window, a neglected Virginia Slim dangling from her fingers.

Trisha chewed at the corner of one fingernail. Jason paced from the window to a small table and back again. Nelson was wide-eyed and nervous, as if he was on speed, Witt thought with distaste. Everyone was there except London, her nanny Ginny, and Zach.

Witt stared at the bleary-eyed faces of his children and prayed to God that little London was safe, just misplaced. He hoped that the child, upon being hauled away from the party, had protested by “running away” to some hidden corner of the hotel and that Ginny, the idiot of a nanny, rather than lose face and admit that she’d lost his most precious possession, was tearing the hotel apart, searching for her missing charge. But he knew in his heart that he was wasting his time on empty hope. London was gone. Abducted and kidnapped and probably worse. His back teeth ground together in frustration as he wondered where she was-if she was still alive. He couldn’t let his mind wander too far along that dark path, or he’d lose every bit of his sanity.

The police, except for Jack Logan, left the room.

Kat ran the fingers of one hand through her rumpled hair and glanced sightlessly at her husband. With effort she stubbed out her cigarette. “I think we should do something.”

“Logan’s got his men searching the building. He’s going over the guest list. He’ll question anyone who was in the hotel.”

“That’s not good enough!” she said with a deadly calm that belied her ravaged emotions. “My baby’s gone, Witt. Our baby. Gone! Disappeared!” Blinking back tears, she walked to her purse, pulled out her gold cigarette case, and fumbled with the catch. She lit up again and wrapped one arm around herself, as if warding off a chill.

“What do you want me to do?” He felt so damned helpless and he hated the feeling. He was always in command, the man in charge…

“Use your influence, for God’s sake. You’re the richest man in this city, so you shouldn’t sit around here waiting for the police to fumble all over themselves. Do something, Witt. I don’t care who you have to bribe or threaten. Call in the goddamned FBI! Just find my daughter!” Her hands shook as she took another drag on her cigarette.

“They’ve already called the feds-in case she’s been taken over state lines. And I’ll do anything I can to find London, you know that. Believe me, I’m trying.”

“Well, try harder!” She squashed out her half-smoked Virginia Slim in a glass tray. “She might be with Zach,” she said, not for the first time, though at one point she’d defended the boy. She’d been the first to suggest that Zachary was involved, then changed her mind as if the thought were too distasteful. “Maybe Zach’s got her somewhere and this is just a prank…” She must’ve noticed the skeptical expression on his face. “Well, he’s involved, then. You know him, Witt, always in trouble…walking on the wrong side of the law…like his father.”

Stung, Witt held his tongue. The crack about Zach’s paternity struck home, but he didn’t call her on it. He’d never believed, never let himself think for one minute, that Zach had been sired by Polidori. A bitter taste filled his mouth at the very thought. It was possible, but, no, he wouldn’t believe that the boy he’d considered his second son for all these years wasn’t his. But he wasn’t going to argue the point with Kat. There was no reasoning with her now and he had to keep a clam head, no matter what else.

Nelson, his youngest son, looked scared. Witt had never much cared for the boy; at fourteen he was still a scrawny kid who seemed to take after him, but always reminded Witt of his first wife, Eunice. There was something about Nelson that was…odd. Unsettling. “Why didn’t you tell me Zach didn’t come upstairs?” he asked the boy, and Nelson swallowed hard, avoiding his father’s eyes. “You were supposed to be sharing a room.”

“Dunno.”

“Where is he?”

“Dunno.”

Witt let out a sigh and stared at Nelson with an intensity that had made loggers with inch-thick hides squirm. “You know where he is.”

“No!”

“But you know something,” Witt prodded, sensing that the boy was holding back. Hell, what a bunch of headstrong kids he was raising.

“I, uh, saw him leave the party,” Nelson admitted sullenly, looking as if he thought he was Benedict Arnold, for Christ’s sake!

Witt didn’t move. “Leave? When?”

Katherine walked over to Nelson. “It must have been after Witt cut the cake, because I saw him earlier.”

Nelson nodded mutely.

So Kat had kept her eye on Zach. “Was London with him?” Witt demanded, already knowing the answer.

Nelson shook his head furiously, his long blond hair brushing the back of his shoulders. “He left alone, didn’t want to be bothered.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this earlier?” Katherine seemed tense enough to slap the boy.

“I didn’t want to get him in trouble.”

“London’s missing!” she screamed. She was at the breaking point, nearly hysterical, not making a lot of sense. “I don’t give a damn about your brother getting his ass in trouble again!”

Witt stepped between his son and young wife. “We don’t know anything. Not yet. Let’s not go jumping to conclusions.”

“That kid’s always had a mean streak,” Katherine said. “I didn’t want to believe it, but I wouldn’t put it past him to-”

“Enough!” Witt turned his attention on his oldest son, who had watched the exchange with a hint of amusement on his lips. “You think this is funny?” he roared.

“No.”

A muscle ticked in Witt’s jaw. “You act as if you know where your brother is.”

“Probably meeting a girl,” Jason replied, then shrugged indifferently. “He’s always horny. My guess is he’s spending the night with someone he picked up.”

Katherine looked stricken.

“Come on, Dad. Don’t pretend you don’t remember how it was when you were seventeen and horny as hell. Zach just wanted to get laid.”

Witt could barely remember, but he didn’t give a damn. Not now. Not when London was missing.

Sirens.

Somewhere in the distance sirens screamed through the night. Horns honked, people shouted, and the pounding in his head wouldn’t fade. Slowly Zach opened an eye. The floor tilted and for a second he didn’t know where he was. He tried to move and pain ricocheted down his arm. He was woozy and his head felt as if it weighed a ton.

Gritting his teeth, he got to his knees and saw the dark stain of blood-his blood-on the cheap carpet. The room swayed. He was dizzy, his mind a blur, until he saw his bloody reflection in the mirror over the bureau. The Orion Hotel. Room 307. Sophia. All at once he remembered everything-the pretty girl, the hoodlums barging in and nearly killing him.

Why?

Because the thugs had thought he was Jason.

That bastard. He’d been set up. By his own brother. Zach pulled himself upright and staggered into the bathroom. His head throbbed, his gut ached from being kicked and his shoulder felt as if it were aflame, but somehow he managed to twist on the faucets and splash some water onto what had once been his face. He looked like hell. His eyes were already beginning to blacken and swell shut, blood crusted in his nostrils and clotted over his lips. One cheekbone was crushed, and a clean slice ran from the top of his head and down to his cheek.

His monkey suit, the tuxedo Kat had bought for him, was torn and stained with blood.

Shame and rage grappled with each other as he glared at his reflection. Jason had lured him with a hooker-a lousy hooker-and then let Zach take the fall. Jesus, he could have been killed.

But he hadn’t been. He was alive and though he’d probably have to be stitched up at a hospital, he’d survive long enough to beat the living shit out of his brother. With a white terrycloth rag emblazoned with a black “O,” he cleaned his face, wincing when the warm water touched the knife wound. He didn’t dare mess with his shoulder, couldn’t afford to have it start bleeding again. Besides, he had to leave quickly. No way did he want to try and explain what had gone on here or give the thugs another chance at him. He’d have to sneak back into the Hotel Danvers and up to his own room without being spotted by anyone.

That shouldn’t be too hard. According to his watch, it was almost four-thirty, nearly dawn. Witt’s party should have wound down to nothing. Anyone who was still awake would be too drunk to notice Zach slinking in.

And then he’d hunt down his older brother and beat the piss out of him. Jason had a lot to answer for.

He slipped out of the room unnoticed, took the stairs to the first floor, and while the desk clerk had his back turned, Zach crossed the lobby, hurried past the magazine stand where some old coot was hoping to sell the early edition of the newspaper, and was out the door.

A summer storm had hit. Warm rain lashed from the sky, puddling on the sidewalk and drizzling down the back of Zach’s neck. Ducking his head against the wind, he started back toward the Hotel Danvers. He hunched his shoulders-his legs felt as if they were made of rubber.

As he rounded a corner, he noticed the police cars, six or seven of them, parked in front of the hotel like vultures hovering over a dying sheep. Blue and red lights flashed against the side of the building and a dozen uniformed officers milled around the grounds.

Zach stopped dead in his tracks.

His anger turned to fear as he realized what had happened. Joey and his pal had probably left Zach and attacked his older brother right in his father’s hotel! Jason was dead! Oh, God! Without realizing what he was doing, Zach started running, forcing his heavy legs forward, unaware of the sight he made, unafraid of the police with their riot sticks and guns. His footsteps pounded on the wet cement and he dashed across the cross streets, ignoring the early morning traffic, mindless of the brakes squealing and the horns honking as he flew toward the hotel.

Jason. Oh, God-

“Hey, you!” a loud male voice yelled.

Zach didn’t pay any attention. He sidestepped between two parked cars.

“Kid, I’m talkin’ to you. Stop!”

Zach was barely aware of anything except the fear that gripped him and a burning sensation in his shoulder.

“Police! Freeze!”

He skidded to a stop as the words sank in and whirled on the two officers who approached him. They emerged from one of the cars, their weapons drawn, no-nonsense written all over their features.

“Hands in the air! Do it!” Zach slowly raised his one arm. The other hung limply at his side. “Shiiiit, look at him, will ya, Bill?” the one with the loud voice said. “Looks like our boy here got himself into a fight. What happened to you? Haven’t seen a little girl, have you?”

“What?” Zach figured they must be talking about Sophia, but he kept his mouth shut. Something wasn’t right and he didn’t trust the cops.

The stocky officer-Bill-smiled without a trace of humor in his suspicious eyes. “Don’t you know who this is, Steve? It’s the Danvers kid. The one who’s supposed to be missing.”

“Zachary?”

“Yeah, so what?” Zach snarled.

The policemen exchanged glances and Zach’s blood ran cold as ice. The tall one, Steve, said, “So where’s the girl?”