Treasures aka See How She Dies

5

The memory of her fight with her mother was vivid. It had started as an argument about a boy Adria had been seeing on the sly and accelerated quickly to a full-blown battle.

“The Lord thy God is a vengeful God, Adria-”

“He’s not my God,” Adria, then eighteen, had said. “He’s your God, Mom. Yours. But he’s not mine!”

The slap had been one of the few blows Sharon Nash had ever inflicted upon her adopted daughter and it had stung deeper than Adria’s skin; the pain had reached the thick hide that covered her soul.

“Don’t you ever, ever talk like that again.” Sharon’s breath, bitter from the coffee and tinged with the underlying odor of gin, had drifted over Adria’s face. “Now, go wash up, and you forget about ever seein’ that boy again. He’s trash, y’hear. Trash. Just like his ma. Bad blood flows through his veins, girl.”

“And what kind of blood flows through mine?” Adria had demanded.

“We don’t know-you don’t need to.”

“Of course I do!”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways-he brought you to us for a reason. You’re not to question His wisdom, y’hear?”

Adria had turned on her heel and fled to her little bedroom tucked under the eaves of the second story.

Years ago. But it seemed like yesterday and the argument seemed to ring through the tiny motel room near the airport.

She’d remembered the fight because of Zachary Danvers, another rogue, another man she should avoid. Though she’d only talked with him for a few minutes, she’d read all about him and his family, her family, and she hadn’t been disappointed.

He was the black sheep of the family-kicked out of the house and cut out of his father’s will more often than not. He did things his own way, didn’t give a hang that he was born rich, and he was cursed with an irreverent spirit that just might want to help her find the truth.

Or maybe not. In the year before his father’s death, Zach and Witt had seemed to bury the hatchet. Nonetheless, she knew instinctively that he would be her only ally in the family; the others appeared to be ready to pick at the old man’s bones and take his fortune.

Maybe Zachary was like the rest.

If so, her battle would be harder than she’d thought.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror over the sink in the bathroom and bit her lip. Was she on a fool’s mission? How could she ever hope to battle the powerful Danvers family? And why was Zachary Danvers-her half-brother, for crying out loud-so attractive?

Adria had always been drawn to the kind of men her mother despised-the rebels and misfits and loners whom Sharon Nash found repulsive. The Zach Danvers of the world.

Yet Zach was the one member of the Danvers family she instinctively turned to, the only one of her siblings she felt she could trust. Trust! She snorted a laugh at her own foolishness. Zachary Danvers was about as trustworthy as a hungry rattler with a trapped mouse. She walked into the bedroom and found a copy of the videotape that had led her to Portland and tucked it into her bag. As she snapped the purse closed, she wondered why she never seemed to learn that very important lesson about men.

Just because Zach might be her half-brother didn’t mean he was safe. He was a predatory man, a man who would take any challenge, a man with a wild streak that he hadn’t yet tamed, a man who wouldn’t care one bit if she were his half-sister. There was an animal side of him-pure male and extremely lethal-that defied the bounds of kinship. He was sexy and rough and seemed about as stable as a blasting cap.

No wonder she was attracted to him. It had been the flaw in her character to be attracted to rough-and-tumble, irreverent boys and men all her life.

“You’re an idiot,” she told her reflection as she stood barefoot on the tan carpet that had worn thin near the door.

So if she couldn’t trust Zachary, who in the family could she trust? No one. Just as they couldn’t trust her.

Half dressed in her lacy slip, she walked back into the tiny bathroom where her dress hung on a hook in the door. She’d found the dress in a boutique that handled “previously worn” items. A white, silky confection with a designer label, the gown fit her perfectly. She’d never owned such a creation before, never spent so much money on one dress-and a used one at that!

Her adoptive mother had been a frugal, God-fearing woman who didn’t believe in women wearing ornaments of any kind-no jewelry save a gold wedding band or a gold cross suspended from a necklace and clothes that were practical, shoes that were sensible and sturdy.

Not so her father. Unlike his wife, Victor had been a dreamer, always expecting a larger crop than the land would yield, always certain that the next year, life would become easier.

And she’d believed him. When she’d discovered his secret, that he thought her to be London Danvers, she’d grabbed that gold-plated carrot he’d swung before her nose and held on with a death grip.

She’d done her research, read every clipping on the Danvers family and the kidnapping, searched through all the old papers in her father’s desk, called her deceased Uncle Ezra’s secretary, searching, digging through every scrap of information, praying she’d find some irrefutable evidence that either proved or disproved that she was the little lost princess. Ezra Nash, a lawyer known to bend the law, had handled the adoption. Either he hadn’t bothered with records, or they’d long-since been destroyed, or there was a secret surrounding her birth that he’d wanted to keep hidden.

She’d fought the anticipation that had raced through her bloodstream when she’d learned that she might be London Danvers, that she might finally discover her true identity. She told herself the chances that she was the missing heiress were a billion to one, but in the end, she’d followed her heart-her father’s dream-and driven her beat-up Chevy steadily westward to Portland, London’s hometown. She’d nearly convinced herself that she was London Danvers, believed that she would finally find her family, and after the initial shock had worn off, they would welcome her with open arms. Now, as she tilted her head and screwed on the back of her zirconium earrings, she bit her lower lip. The teardrop earrings sparkled in the light, as if they were diamonds, but they were fakes, made to look like expensive jewels when they were really cheap and common.

Like you.

No! She wouldn’t believe the speculation she’d heard all her life from the people in the small town where she’d grown up. Wouldn’t!

She ran a brush through her hair and started working with the long, black curls. Wild, “witchy hair,” her adoptive mother had often called the long, riotous waves that Adria didn’t bother taming, and she was right.

She planned to crash the party celebrating the grand opening of the Hotel Danvers. It was time to face the family. She’d tried to call Zachary Danvers after their first meeting in the ballroom, but hadn’t been able to get past the hotel reception desk and though she’d left messages, Zachary hadn’t seen fit to call her back. She hadn’t bothered trying to reach anyone else in the family. She knew too much about them to try and trust any of them. Zachary was the one with the least to lose, the only one of Witt’s children to make something of himself on his own; the others-Jason, Trisha, and Nelson-had, from what she’d read, been content to stay in Witt’s shadow, doing his bidding, waiting, like vultures, for him to die.

But Zach was different and had been from the beginning when there had been speculation about his paternity. He’d been in trouble with the law and he and the old man had been rumored to be at each other’s throats. When Zach was still in school, there had been a major blowup and rift, though she never found out why, and Zach had been thrown out of the house and disowned. Only recently, before Witt’s death, had he been back with the family.

Adria figured that someone who had been on the outside so long would be her most likely ally. So far, she’d been wrong. So tonight, she’d make public her claims and if nothing else, get the Danvers family’s attention.

She was a fraud.

Zach could smell a fake a mile away, and this woman, this black-haired woman with the mysterious blue eyes and hint of irreverence in her smile when she claimed to be London, was as phony as the proverbial three-dollar bill.

But he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He’d tried, but she kept swimming to the surface of his consciousness, toying with his thoughts.

Already in a foul mood because of the grand opening, he poured himself a drink from the bar in the suite he’d called home for the past few months, the very same set of rooms he was to have slept in on the night London had been kidnapped. The suite on the seventh floor looked different now, as the decor reflected the turn of the century rather than the 1970s, but it was still eerie remembering that night. Witt had raged, Kat had wept, and the rest of the children…the survivors…had cast suspicious glances at one another and the police.

He ran a finger along the smooth surface of the window, then pocketed his hotel-room key. He didn’t have time to reminisce and he resented Adria for brining back the pain of his checkered past.

Right now, Zach just wanted out. He’d held up his part of the bargain, which was to renovate the hotel, and now he wanted his due-the price he’d extracted from the old man before Witt had died.

It had been a painful scene. His father had tried to break the ice and admit that he’d been wrong about his faithless wife, but the words had gotten all tangled up and once again they’d ended up arguing. Zach had nearly walked out, but Witt had enticed him back.

“The ranch is yours, if you want it, boy,” Witt had declared.

Zach’s hand rested on the doorknob of the den. “The ranch?”

“When I die.”

“Forget it.”

“You want it, don’t you?”

Zach had turned and skewered his father with a stare intended to cut through steel.

“You always take what you want, if I remember right.”

“I’m outta here.”

“Wait,” the old man had pleaded. “The ranch is worth several million.”

“I don’t give a shit about the money.”

“Oh, right. My noble son.” Witt was standing near the window, one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around a short glass of Irish whiskey. “But you still want it. What for?” His white eyebrows had raised a bit. “Nostalgia, perhaps?”

The jab cut deep, but Zach didn’t so much as flinch. “It doesn’t matter.”

Witt snorted. “It’s yours.”

Zach wasn’t easily suckered by the old man. He was smart enough to know the ranch had a price-a high one. “What do I have to do?”

“Nothing all that hard. Restore the old hotel.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t act like I’ve asked you to fly, damn it. You have your own construction crew in Bend. Move them over here or hire new people. Money’s no object. I just want the hotel to look as good as it did when it was built.”

“You’re out of your mind. It would cost a fortune to-”

“Indulge me. It’s all I’m asking,” Witt said, his voice low. “You love the ranch, I’m fond of the hotel. The logging operations, the investments, they don’t mean much, not to me. But that hotel has class. It was the best of its kind in its day. I’d like to see that again.”

“Hire someone else.”

Witt’s eyes narrowed on his son and he swallowed the last of his whiskey. “I want you to do it, boy. And I want you to do it for me.”

“Go to hell.”

“Already been there. Seems as if you had something to do with that.”

Zach’s throat tightened. He’d never seen eye-to-eye with the old man, but knew an olive branch when it was thrust under his nose. And this particular branch was attached by a silver chain to the deed to the ranch.

“Don’t let your pride stand in the way of what you want.”

“It won’t,” he lied.

Witt extended his big hand. “What d’ya say?”

Zach hesitated just a fraction of a second. “It’s a deal,” he’d finally said and the two men had clasped hands.

Zach had started to work on the hotel and Witt had changed his will. The project to reclaim the Hotel Danvers and refurbish the old building to its earlier grandeur had lasted over two years, and Witt had died long before it was finished, never realizing his dream. Zach had been able to spend most of his time at the ranch, until a year ago. Then the job had become so involved that he’d been forced to move to Portland to ensure that all the finishing touches were just right.

Now, he tightened the knot of his tie around his throat. He had to get through the grand opening, check a few last bugs, and then get the hell out of Dodge.

What about Adria?

Christ, why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? It seemed that she was always there, close to the surface of his thoughts, just as Kat had been. A curse, that’s what it was. For, like it or not, she did resemble his deceased stepmother. That black hair, her clear blue eyes, her pointy chin and high cheekbones, replicas of Katherine LaRouche Danvers. Adria wasn’t quite as small as his stepmother had been, but she was every bit as beautiful and had the same special grace that he hadn’t seen in a woman since Kat.

His gut twisted as he remembered his ill-fated, one-night affair with his stepmother. The passion, the danger, the thrill that he’d never found with another woman. At the memory of his stepmother, a forbidden heat curled through his blood. She’d seduced him, taken his virginity, showed him a glimpse of heaven, then heaved him through the gates of a hell that was to be the remainder of his life. Not that he would’ve changed a thing.

So why did his one meeting with Adria Nash conjure up such vivid memories of what he’d tried to hide for so long?

He hadn’t seen Adria since she’d appeared in the ballroom, all starry-eyed as she’d tried to convince him that she was his long-lost half-sister, but he knew she’d turn up again. Like the proverbial bad penny. They always did. She’d tried phoning him and he hadn’t bothered returning her calls. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction or the false hope. She wasn’t the first impostor trying to claim to be darling little London and she sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

Sticking two fingers under the stiff collar of his tuxedo, he growled at his reflection and wondered why he bothered with the stupid monkey suit at all. Formality. And he hated it. Just as he hated the party he was about to attend.

He glanced at his duffel bag. Packed and ready to go. He’d be out of here by noon tomorrow.

“Good riddance,” he muttered as he locked the door behind him and strode along the corridor to the elevators. He hadn’t told the rest of the family about Adria’s visit. No reason. They’d all just wind themselves in tighter knots than they had tied themselves into already. The old man’s estate hadn’t been settled yet and if the principal heirs got wind of the fact that another London impersonator had shown up…One side of his mouth lifted at the thought. He ran his thumbnail along the edge of the brass rail in the elevator car and considered dropping the bomb, then discarded the idea. He was well past toying with his siblings just to get a reaction.

The car stopped on the second floor and Zachary stared into the open doors of the ballroom. Guests, like flocking birds, had already collected. A sense of déjà vu crept over him as he heard the rustle of silk, the clink of crystal, and the murmur of soft laughter. There hadn’t been an event in this room for almost twenty years; the last party had been Witt’s sixtieth birthday.

Beneath his tuxedo jacket and shirt, his shoulder muscles bunched, as if he expected trouble. From the corner, a pianist in long tails was playing on a concert grand that gleamed like polished ebony. Zachary recognized the tune, the theme from a recent movie, but he didn’t pay much attention.

Champagne flowed from a fountain that gurgled to a pool at the base of an ice sculpture of a rearing horse, the symbol for the Hotel Danvers. Pink roses floated in crystal vases and petals were strewn across linen table clothes. A fist knotted in Zach’s stomach. This was too much as it had been on that fateful night when London disappeared.

He’d let Trisha handle the arrangements for the event, barely listening as she’d rattled off the guest list, the menu, the musicians, the artists, or anything else to do with the damned celebration. He’d told her to do what she wanted; he’d done his part in fixing up the old hotel and he’d stick around for the party, but that was it. He had no interest in the grand opening itself.

Now he wondered if he’d let loose a demon. This celebration was certain to evoke memories of the surprise party Kat had thrown for Witt on his sixtieth birthday. The twinkling white lights in the trees, the polished dance floor, the prestigious guest list, even the champagne, served in long throated glasses, were reminiscent of the fated celebration.

He swept past a table laden with hors d’oeuvres. Making a beeline toward the bar, he ignored his brother, who was waving for him to join a group of his friends. The men with him looked a lot like Jason. Neatly trimmed hair, impeccable and expensive tuxedos, polished shoes, bodies built at exclusive athletic clubs. Zachary was willing to bet they were all junior partners in some stuffy law firm in the city. Who needed them?

Insolently, Zach leaned an elbow on the bar. The bartender, barely twenty-one and sporting a thin mustache, trimmed beard, and gold earring, smiled. “What’ll it be?”

“A beer.”

“Pardon?”

“Henry’s. Coors. Miller. On tap or in a bottle, I don’t care. Anything you’ve got.”

The bartender offered a patronizing smile. “I’m sorry, sir, we don’t have-”

“Get some,” Zachary growled, and the bartender, though perturbed, spoke quickly to a passing waiter, who scurried off in the direction of the service elevators.

“Hey, Zach, great job. The place looks fabulous,” a female voice enthused from somewhere behind him. Zach didn’t bother to respond.

Another woman-someone from the press, he thought-caught hold of his arm. “Just a few questions, Mr. Danvers, about the hotel-”

“I think my sister sent out a press release.”

“I know, but I have some questions.”

Zach was barely civil. “Speak to Trisha. Trisha McKittrick. She’s the interior decorator.”

“But you were the general contractor.”

“She handled all the interior design.” Turning on his heel, Zach left the woman with her questions and glanced pointedly at his watch. Jason was going to make some sort of speech and be congratulated by the mayor, the governor, and someone from the historical society. Zach would stick around, get his face photographed a couple of times, then make good his escape.

Still waiting for his beer, Zach paced to the windows, frowning, wishing the evening were over. He shouldn’t have agreed to stay. Damn, he was getting soft. There was a time when he would’ve told Jason explicitly what he could do to himself if his brother had asked that Zach be a part of this farce. As it was, probably because of some sort of egotistical pride in what he’d accomplished here at the hotel, Zach had reluctantly agreed. You’re as bad as the rest of them, Danvers, always hoping for a little glory.

“Mr. Danvers?”

Zach blinked and found the waiter carrying a silver platter with a long-necked bottle of Henry Weinhard’s Private Reserve and a frosted glass. With a crooked smile, Zach grabbed the beer. “Don’t need that.” He pointed to the glass as he twisted off the cap and dropped it onto the tray. “But I will want more than just this one.”

“At the bar, sir. When you’re ready.”

“Thanks.” Zach took a long tug on his bottle and felt better. He glanced out the window and saw the stream of glossy white limousines waiting to pull up to the striped awning and deposit their guests, the elite of Portland, to the front doors. Men in dark tuxedos, women in jewels, furs, and silk emerged from their modern-day royal coaches and dashed into the hotel.

It was a joke.

He itched for a smoke and told himself to forget it. He’d given up that particular vice nearly five years ago. Leaning a shoulder against the windowpanes, he glared out at the night. Then he saw her. Like a ghost from his past, Adria Nash appeared on the opposite street corner. His insides twisted as he watched her weave through the clogged traffic, dashing among cabs, limos, and cars idling near the front door of the hotel. Wrapped in the same black coat she’d worn before, she sidestepped puddles and swept past the doorman.

So she’d had the guts to show up here.

With a final swallow, he finished his drink, left the empty bottle on the corner of the table, and moved quickly through the crowd. Several people tried to stop him; women offered him encouraging smiles and men looked up as he passed. He was probably the subject of more than one conversation, but he didn’t really care that he was labeled the black sheep of the family or that people thought he’d reconciled with the old man just before Witt had died to get himself back in the will.

As he dashed through the double doors, he saw her, smiling at the hotel manager, assuring him she had an invitation.

“You said your name was Nash-?” the manager asked with a friendly smile as he scanned his list.

“Actually, it’s Danvers.”

The manager’s smile didn’t waver. “Danvers? Then you’re related.”

“Yes-”

“It’s all right, Rich. She’s with me.” Zachary grabbed hold of Adria’s chilled fingers but didn’t bother to smile.

She looked at him with those clear blue eyes that seemed to cut straight to his soul. “Thanks, Zach,” she said, as if she’d known him all her life.

The tightening in his chest warned him that he was making a colossal mistake-he could feel it in his bones-but he helped her leave her coat with an attendant guarding the closet and walked with her into the ballroom. He felt almost as much a traitor as he had on the night he’d slept with his stepmother; that same sense of doom, of stepping onto a path that had no beginning or end, was with him, and yet he let her link her arm through his.

More than one head turned in her direction. She was as beautiful as the woman whom she claimed was her mother. Her black hair gleamed, as it brushed against the bare skin of her back. Her dress, white and shimmery, fell off one shoulder, draped across her breasts, nipped in at her waist and flared again over her hips to sweep the floor.

“What’re you doing here?” he demanded when they were out of earshot of most of the guests.

“If you would have called me back I would have explained.”

“Sure.” He didn’t believe her.

“I belong here.”

“Like hell!”

She smiled tightly. “Why’d you come to my rescue?”

“I didn’t.”

“Sure you did. Otherwise old Richard would have tossed me out on my ear.” A waiter stopped to offer them each a drink and Adria took a fluted glass from the silver tray. Zach shook his head and the waiter disappeared through the crowd. “Face it, Zach, you saved me.”

“I just avoided a scene.”

Her smile was bewitching. “That’s what you thought I’d do-create a scene?”

“I know it.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Except that you’re a gold-digging fraud.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“Sure I do.”

“Then why not let me make my ‘scene’ and let me hang myself.” She sipped from her drink, somehow managing a smile for the eyes of the curious.

“Bad publicity.”

“Since when do you care?”

“This family has had enough scandals,” he said.

“And I thought you didn’t care about the family name.” Her eyebrows arched in a sensual manner that caused a tightening in his groin.

“I don’t.” He watched her closely. She wasn’t as confident as she pretended to be. There were questions in her eyes, but also a challenging light that dared him to defy her. As beautiful as Kat, with full lips and high cheekbones and eyebrows that arched over those mysterious blue eyes, she was sensual and earthy. Yet there was an innocence about her that had never been a part of Katherine LaRouche Danvers. Even at her most vulnerable, Kat had seemed to play a part, and that role was always sexy and manipulative.

“You can prove you’re London?” he asked, deciding to get to the point.

“Can and will.”

“Impossible.”

She lifted a bare shoulder and sipped slowly from her glass as the pianist found the notes of an old Beatles tune and managed to strip the melody of any hint of nostalgia. Laughter drifted to the ceiling where the chandeliers sparkled with a million tiny lights-just as they had nearly twenty years before.

Zach ignored the sense of déjà vu that threatened to swallow him whole.

“I think you should introduce me to the rest of the family.”

“Is that why you came here tonight?”

She smiled slowly and Zach’s heart nearly stopped. “I came back to see you, Zach.”

Just like Kat. His chest squeezed tight, but he wouldn’t be fooled. “I doubt it. Don’t try and pander to my male ego, all right? It won’t work.”

Smiling as if she knew he was joking, she said, “You’re the only one I could approach, the only family member who might believe me, give me a chance.”

“You’ve got that wrong, sister. I don’t believe you at all. I don’t care who you are or what your game is, but I don’t believe that you’re London. Now, you can sell your story to the press if you want to, and you can tell it to the rest of my family, but even if you turned out to be the Queen of England, I won’t give a damn.”

“You’re a liar, Zachary,” she said in a tone that chilled him a little because she was at an advantage. Obviously she’d done her homework and she knew a helluva lot more about him that he did about her.

“Fine. Meet the rest of the clan. They’re charming.” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her through the knots of guests, raising eyebrows and causing whispers to follow in their wake.

Much as it bothered her, Adria let Zach propel her through the crowd. She knew that showing up tonight would be the best way to capture every member of the Danvers family’s attention. She held out a slim hope that she’d find an ally within the family, someone who would be honest with her. She’d thought that person might be Zachary because of everything she’d read about him; how, soon after his sister’s kidnapping, he’d been disinherited. How he was always at odds with his father. How he’d struck out on his own and made a small fortune out of a bankrupt construction company that he’d managed to turn around. There was a time when he’d been thrown out of the family, but somehow he’d weaseled his way back in. Street-smart with a ruthless edge, Zach always seemed to land on his feet.

She recognized Jason from the photographs she’d studied. He was tall and raw-boned with red-brown hair flecked with gray. His expression was serious. Caught in conversation with a reed-thin woman about half his age, he glanced up at the commotion, took one look at Adria and hesitated for just a second, his eyes narrowing as if to focus. The skin beneath his tan paled and he swallowed with sudden difficulty before he recovered to look the part of a poised, successful attorney.

Adria wasn’t surprised by his reaction. She knew of her uncanny resemblance to the woman who was supposed to have been her mother; saw in the fear flashing through Jason’s blue eyes that he recognized it, too.

“I think you might want to meet someone,” Zach said, as they approached.

“Excuse me a minute,” Jason whispered to his thin blond friend. The girl’s gaze slid to Adria and small wrinkles appeared between her perfectly arched brows. “I’ll be just a little while, I promise, Kim.”

With a thrust of her lower lip, Kim didn’t move, obviously ready to meet Adria’s challenge.

Zach’s fingers clenched around Adria’s arm, as if he expected her to bolt. “This is Adria Nash-my brother, Jason.”

“Have we met?” Jason asked.

“In another lifetime,” Zach intervened. “Adria thinks she’s London.”

Kim’s mouth rounded a little, but Jason managed to smile. “Another London. How perfect, considering the circumstances.” His voice was as cold as his eyes. “Let me guess-you showed up tonight to make a big splash, be sure that the reporters and photographers saw you?” He took a swallow from his glass and observed her over the rim. “Am I right?”

“Actually, she showed up last week,” Zach said as he released her arm.

Jason turned on his brother. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“I thought she might go away.”

“Just go away.” Under his breath Jason muttered something about thickheaded fools. A ruddy stain began to crawl up the back of his neck as he pinned Adria under a harsh, uncompromising glare. “How’d you get in here?”

“I said she was with me,” Zach intervened.

Jason’s lips flattened over his perfect teeth. “You let her in and you don’t know what she plans to do? Or are you in on it, too? Is that it?”

Zach didn’t bother to answer, just lifted a shoulder.

“You just like to see the rest of the family squirm, don’t you?”

“She’s a fake,” Zach said flatly. “Let her do what she wants.”

“Not here. Not now.” Jason lowered his voice, suddenly aware of more than a few curious glances cast in his direction. “Don’t you know what the law firm for the estate will do if-” His blue eyes suddenly sharpened on Adria and it was all she could do to keep from shrinking away from that hate-filled glare. “Take her upstairs. To your suite-no, better yet, to my house. You’ve got a key.”

“No one’s taking me anywhere,” she said.

“You started this,” Zach reminded her.

“Which means we’ll do things my way,” she countered, knowing she had to appear strong-any sign of weakness in front of the Danvers clan would be suicide.

One side of Zach’s mouth lifted in a crooked, amused grin. “Maybe you are London after all. She was a stubborn thing, too.”

“Just get her out of here. I’ll meet you at the house.”

“What about Nicole?” Zach asked and watched his brother’s mouth tighten at the mention of his wife. Theirs was a rocky marriage at best.

“She’s out of town. Visiting relatives in Santa Fe.”

Zach didn’t ask any questions. Why Jason’s wife was away on one of the most important nights of her husband’s life didn’t concern him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Adria stated. “And don’t talk about me as if I’m not here. As far as I’m concerned, I have as much right to be here as the rest of you.”

“She has a point.”

“Get her out of here, Zach.”

“As I said, Jason, I’m not budging,” Adria insisted, unmoved by the older Danvers brother’s anger. She hadn’t grown up on the Montana range without learning a thing or two about arrogant, self-important men. She could be just as headstrong as any man when it came to something she believed in and she was certain…well, nearly…that she was London Danvers.

Adria noticed the glint in Zach’s eyes and she realized that he was enjoying watching his brother lose his cool. Jason, the attorney. Jason who had married well. Jason who seemed to be the one in charge of the family fortune.

“This is not the time or the place-”

“Then name them,” she said firmly and caught a movement from the corner of her eye. Kim, the waif-thin blonde, inched closer, listening to every word.

“What?”

“The time and place, name them.” Adria wasn’t backing down, not after she’d come this far, swallowed all her doubts, and found her nerve.

“My God!” another male voice whispered behind her and Adria turned to find a man, tall, blond, and lanky, with startling blue eyes that widened when he caught sight of her face. “She looks just like-”

“We know, Nelson,” Jason said, obviously irritated.

“Nelson, this is Adria Nash,” Zachary drawled as if enjoying his family’s discomfiture. “She’s here claiming to be London.”

Nelson looked quickly from his oldest brother to Zach. “But she couldn’t be. Not really. Everyone knows that London was killed…”

“Everyone assumed,” Adria cut in.

Jason’s temper snapped. He glared at Zach. “You got her in here, you get her out.”

“Maybe I’m not ready to go.”

“If you want anyone in this family to listen to your story with an open mind, you’ll haul your sweet ass out of here,” Jason ordered.

“I’ll take care of her.” Zach’s hands were coiling around her arm again but she jerked away from him.

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” she said, suddenly defiant.

“Then why are you here?” Jason asked. “If not for a piece of the pie, for someone to take care of you, why didn’t you stay wherever it is you came from?”

“Because I need to know.”

“So this isn’t about money?”

She didn’t answer and Jason smiled without a trace of warmth. His companion, the woman he’d called Kim, watched her with interested eyes.

“It’s always about money, Adria,” Jason said as the pianist took a break and the music suddenly stopped. “No reason to lie about it.”

Before she could respond, Zach had grabbed her and this time he didn’t let go. No amount of wriggling could pull her arm free and rather than make a scene, she allowed herself to be shepherded from the familiar ballroom. She knew she’d been here years before; everything was nearly the same. The lights, the music, no…there had been a band instead of a solitary pianist and the champagne glasses had been a different shape. And there were other changes as well: there had been a huge green cake ablaze with sixty candles and the ice sculpture had been of a running horse rather than a rearing stallion. And the rose petals had been cast upon the floor, creating a fragrant pink carpet.

Surely she was remembering Witt’s sixtieth birthday, her last night with her parents-or was she only dreaming, caught in the fantasy that was London Danvers? In the past few months she’d read every newspaper article, studied every photograph, read every word she could find about the Danvers family. She recognized her half-brothers from the pictures she’d seen of them and would have recognized her parents, had they still lived.

Witt had never given up believing that his favorite daughter would return to reclaim her heritage and he’d left a million-dollar reward for anyone who could find her; he’d also provided for London in his will, and his estate was rumored to be valued at well over a hundred million.

The money wasn’t important, she told herself as Zachary retrieved her coat, but she was determined to find out the truth, and damn the consequences.

Gold digger! Bitch! Fraud!

Watching from the shadows of a tiny alley, Katherine LaRouche Danvers’s killer stared after the car that sped away. Rain drizzled relentlessly from the sky, gurgling in the gutters, dripping from the eaves, doing nothing to soothe the white-hot rage that was being experienced by Katherine’s killer.

Hadn’t Katherine’s death been enough?

Why would this spawn of the she-devil show up now?

If Adria Nash did prove to be the bitch’s daughter, then everything would be ruined, the Danvers fortune splintered…but, of course, she was a fraud. She had to be.

The fists of Katherine’s killer were clenched so hard they ached. Near the curb there was the scratch of tiny claws, barely discernible over the gurgle of water in the gutters and downspouts. Glancing down, the killer spied a wet, half-crippled rat, long tail dragging behind, slide toward a crevice in the sidewalk. Tiny eyes caught in the reflection from the street lamps and blood dripped from a wound near one motionless back leg.

“Go away,” the killer hissed, rattled for a second before thoughts of Adria Nash and her outrageous claim returned.

Calm down. Collect yourself. You can handle this. Haven’t you always? The family owes you a big debt and they don’t even know it.

“She’s not London.”

Probably not. Most likely not. But you can’t take a chance. You’ve worked too hard to let it fall apart now. You have to stop her.

“She’s not London.”

Perhaps so, but she’s the right age, isn’t she? And she’s the spitting image of Kat. You saw the features of her face; she has the same bone structure, identical cheekbones and eyes. And her hair. Could it be more like Kat’s? She’s a dead ringer.

Rage curled white-hot at the thought of Katherine. Beautiful. Sexy. Sleek. No wonder she’d turned so many heads. Women had found her strangely fascinating; men had felt the eroticism that was so innately a part of her.

A bad taste crawled up the throat of Katherine’s killer.

It couldn’t happen.

The Danvers fortune couldn’t be destroyed.

A pitiful squeak caught the killer’s attention.

The rat again!

It was too large or wounded to squeeze through the crack in the curb. The frightened rodent was eyed as it hobbled quickly back and forth, searching anxiously for a way out of the alley. Its pinkish nose quivering in the darkness, tiny teeth ready to be bared if it were to be cornered, the rat scurried to the relative safety behind a parked van. With a new deadly calm, the killer moved closer to the drenched beast and it, sensing fear, panicked and slithered into the gutter, searching frantically for a way to escape.

“You can’t get away,” the killer whispered, but wasn’t thinking of this near-dead rat, but about the beautiful woman who had just slipped away into the night.

But she would be back.

It was inevitable.

And one way or another, this new London, whether a fraud or the real thing, would have to be destroyed. If she wouldn’t leave on her own, then she would simply have to die.

So Adria Nash looked like Katherine Danvers?

Enough that she could be considered a dead ringer?

The trapped rat was eyed again.

Exactly.

6

“What makes you think you’re London?” Zachary shifted down for a light that reflected red on the rain-washed streets The engine of his Jeep idled and the wipers slapped drops of water from the windshield.

“I have proof.” Well, that was a little bit of a lie, but not a big one.

“Proof,” he repeated, easing up on the clutch as the light changed. He punched the throttle and the Jeep started climbing through the steep, twisting streets of the west hills. As she gazed out the window, staring past the thick branches of fir and maple, Adria saw the city lights winking far below. “What kind of proof?”

“A tape.”

“Of what?”

“My father.”

“Your father-meaning Witt?” He took a curve a little too fast and the Jeep’s tires skidded before holding firm.

“My adoptive father. Victor Nash. We lived in Montana.”

“Oh,” he said derisively, “that clears that up.”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”

He slid her a glance that silently called her a fool as they crested a hill and he turned sharply into a drive complete with electronic gates that whirred open when he pressed a numerical code into a key pad.

He parked near the garage of a rambling Tudor home. Three stories of stone and brick with dark cross beams and a gabled roof, the house seemed to grow from the very ground on which it had been built. Exterior lamps, hidden in dripping azaleas, rhododendrons, and ferns, lined the drive and washed the stone-and-mortar walls with soft light. Ivy clung tenaciously to one of several chimneys and tall fir trees rose above a stone fence that guarded the grounds.

“Come on,” Zach instructed, leaning across her to open the door of the Jeep. He climbed out and led the way up a brick path and through a breezeway to the back door. “Bring back any memories?” he asked as he flipped on the lights of a huge kitchen.

She shook her head and he lifted a brow, as if surprised that she would admit that she couldn’t remember. “This is it-home sweet home.”

Swallowing hard, she looked around, hoping for a trace of remembrance, but the gleaming tile floor meant nothing to her-the glass doors of the cabinets, the hallways that angled in different directions, the plush Oriental carpets, nothing sparked any old, long-dead memories. “We can wait in the den,” Zachary said, watching her reaction. “Jason will be here soon.”

Adria’s stomach knotted at the thought of squaring off with the Danvers family, but she hid her uneasiness. The den, located in a back corner of the house, smelled of tobacco and smoke. Coals glowed from a stone fireplace and Zach tossed a piece of mossy oak onto the embers before straightening and dusting his hands. He shed his jacket and dropped it over the back of a leather chair. “What about this, hmm? Dad’s private room. You-well, London-used to play in here while Dad worked at the desk.” His eyes were challenging, his chin thrust forward.

“I-I don’t think so,” she admitted, trailing fingers on the timeworn desk.

“Gee, isn’t that a surprise,” he mocked. “The first of many, no doubt.” He propped a foot on the edge of the raised hearth. “Now, you want to get this over with and tell me your little story or wait for the rest of the clan?”

“Is there a reason you need to be so offensive?”

“This is just the start. Believe me, I’m the prince of the family.”

“That’s not what I read” she said, holding her ground. “Rebel son, black sheep, no-good, juvenile delinquent.” He wasn’t pulling any punches, so neither would she.

“That’s right, the best of the lot,” he admitted with a grin that lifted one side of his mouth. “Now, what’s it going to be, Miss Nash?”

“I don’t see any reason to repeat myself. We can wait for the rest of the family.”

“Your choice.” His gray eyes were glacial, as warm as an arctic sky as he gave her a cursory glance, then walked to the bar. “Drink?’

“I don’t think it would be such a good idea.”

“Might take the edge off.” He found a bottle of Scotch and poured a stiff shot into a short crystal glass. “Believe me, you’ll need it before they’re done with you.”

“It you’re trying to scare me, it’s a waste of time.”

He shook his head as he raised the glass to his lips. “Just warning you.”

“Thanks, but I think I can handle whatever it is they have to say.”

“You’ll be the first.”

“Good.”

Shrugging, he drained the drink and set the empty glass on the bar. “Have a seat.” Waving to a couch, he pulled off his tie, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves. Dark hair dusted his forearms, and despite the season, his skin was tanned. “Just for the sake of argument,” he said, “how much would it take to have you close your mouth and go home?”

“Pardon?”

He rested his hands on the bar and pinned her with an uncompromising glare. “I don’t believe in bullshit, okay? It’s a waste of time. So let’s cut right to the chase. You plan on making a big stink, start talking to the press and lawyers and claim that you’re London, right?” He poured another drink, but let it sit untouched on the bar.

“I am London. At least I think I am. And so far, I’d like to keep lawyers out of it.”

“Of course you’re London,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You don’t need to patronize me.”

“All right. Then we’re back to square one. How much money would it cost to change your mind and decide that you are, after all, just Adria Nash?”

“I am Adria.”

“So you want it both ways.”

“For now.”

“Until we accept you as London.” The fire popped loudly.

“I didn’t expect you to believe me,” she said, refusing to leap at his bait. Her stomach was jumping. Sweat collected at the base of her neck and dampened her palms, but she told herself to remain outwardly calm. Don’t let him get to you. That’s exactly what he wants. “I wouldn’t have come all this way if I didn’t think I was-I am-your sister.”

“Half-sister,” he said with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Get it right. If you’re gonna do this thing, Adria, get all the facts and do it right.”

Rankled, she said, “I have the facts and I know all about your family.”

“So you decided to take advantage of your resemblance to my stepmother.”

“Maybe you should just see the tape.”

“The tape?” he challenged.

“Yes, the videotape that brought me here.” The tape that had been the catalyst but certainly not the proof-not all of it. Suddenly it seemed frail, as fragile as her father’s dreams and beliefs that she was some sort of modern-day princess. “I found it after my father died. He left it for me.”

“Can’t wait,” he muttered sarcastically. Glancing at her for a moment, he poured a second glass. “But we’ll wait to start the show.” He set her drink on the corner of a glass-topped coffee table, then snatched his off the bar and claimed his position at the window. He stood like a sentry, staring through the rain-drizzled glass.

Standing, she said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to use the powder room.”

“Powder room?” he said with a snort. “Kind of a fancy term for a farm girl from Montana.”

She stared at her hands for a second, then lifted her eyes to meet his. “You love this, don’t you?”

“I don’t love anything.” His gaze raked down the length of her body.

“Oh, but you enjoy baiting me. You get a perverse pleasure in taunting me, trying to trip me up.”

“You started this.” His lip curled slightly. “Find the ‘powder room’ yourself. See if you can conjure it up from all those hidden memories.”

Silently counting to ten, she grabbed her bag and hurried out of the room. The hallway was unfamiliar, but she turned to the right, rounded a corner, and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw what could only be described as a shrine to the family of Witt Danvers. Pictures, plaques, and trophies resting in a glass case cut into the wall were displayed prominently.

She swallowed with difficulty when she spied a large portrait of the three of them: Witt, Katherine, and London. Could this be…? Adria’s heart caught and she touched the glass, her finger displacing a tiny sheen of dust. Seated in a wicker chair, Katherine was dressed in a wine-colored dress with a scooped neck and long sleeves. Diamonds encircled her throat and winked from her fingers. She held a grinning London, who appeared near the age of three. London’s wild hair fell in ringlets and she wore a pink velvet dress with a lacy collar and cuffs on the short, puffed sleeves. Witt stood behind them both, one hand placed possessively over his wife’s shoulder. He was smiling at the camera and his eyes seemed to twinkle mischievously.

“Dad,” she mouthed, though the word wouldn’t come. Could this have been her family? Her natural family. Her chest seemed to cave in on itself. “Oh, God.” Tears stung the back of her eyes and she felt her teeth sink into her lower lip. After all the years of not knowing, could she be looking at her family? Her throat grew hot and she blinked as she traced the line of Katherine’s jaw, so like her own, with a finger and then looked into the child’s smiling face. True, there was a resemblance, though Victor and Sharon Nash had taken very few pictures when she was young.

Were you my mother? she silently asked the woman in the portrait and again she lifted her finger to the glass.

“Touching, wouldn’t you say?”

Startled, she jumped backward. She hadn’t heard Zach approach, didn’t realize he was standing behind her, one shoulder propped on the opposite wall, watching her reaction. Her heart drummed wildly in her chest. “I-I didn’t hear you.”

He lifted his shoulder. “What do you think of the family memorial?” Sipping his drink slowly, he gazed at the wall of pictures. “The Danvers family et al. Kind of reminds you of Ozzie and Harriet, doesn’t it?”

Adria stared at the case. There were diplomas and football trophies, an art school award for Trisha, an “outstanding student” certificate for Nelson, a swimming medal with Jason’s name engraved on it, and a key to the city issued to Witt Danvers. Surrounding the case were the pictures: shots of Witt with dignitaries, Witt with one or more of his children, Witt as a young man with his father, Jason in a football uniform, Nelson in cap and gown, Jason’s wedding, even Trisha dressed in a long formal with a scrawny, longhaired beau.

But there wasn’t one snapshot, not one, single, faded black-and-white Polaroid of Zachary. She couldn’t believe what her eyes told her and she searched again.

“I didn’t win too many popularity contests,” he explained, as if reading her mind. “The old man wasn’t into mounting mug shots.”

“I-uh-I didn’t expect to see this.” She motioned toward the wall.

“Who would?”

He gazed at the framed portrait of Witt and his second wife and daughter and Zach’s eyes seemed to lock with those of Katherine. A muscle worked in his jaw and Adria felt as if she were suddenly intruding, that this place was somehow sacred and intimate and she was, indeed, the interloper. The air seemed suddenly hard to breathe as Zach stared at Katherine.

“I couldn’t find-”

He snapped out of his reverie and the darkness in his eyes disappeared. “Around the corner. Second door on the left.”

She didn’t wait for other directions but hurried down the hall. Her steps were quick, as if she were running from something, something so private and dark that she felt a cold jab of dread.

In the bathroom she splashed cold water over her face. Don’t let them get to you, she told herself as she saw her pale reflection in the mirror. Don’t let him get to you. But she couldn’t shake the sensation that something menacing and evil existed here in this expensive home.

When she returned to the den, he was back at the window, staring out at the gloomy night.

Reminding herself that she needed at least one ally in a family that was certain to try and discredit her, she picked up the drink he’d left for her and took a sip that burned all the way down her throat. “Do you know why I came to you first?” she asked, hoping to break down the barriers that he’d erected around himself.

He didn’t answer, just glared out at the night as if the blackness was hostile.

“I thought you might understand.”

“I don’t understand anything fake.”

She plunged on. “You know what it’s like being on the outside.”

His shoulder muscles bunched and he took another swallow of his Scotch. “Don’t let a few pictures on the wall make you think that you and I have anything in common. So I was on the outside.”

“But you wanted back in.”

His back stiffened. “Get this straight, sister, I never wanted in. It was the old man’s idea.”

“Was it?” she asked, then decided that she wouldn’t learn anything if she didn’t push a little bit. “What did you do to him to have him disown you?’

“Why did it have to be something I did? Why not him?” He slid her a cold glance that cut to her bone, then looked back through the window.

“I’m just guessing,” she admitted, but her hands were shaking a little and she gripped the glass more tightly. Just being around him was unnerving; sitting calmly under his harsh stare was nearly impossible.

“Then figure it out yourself.”

“What happened, Zach?”

He turned on her then and his eyes, once so cold, had shifted subtly and she felt as if the temperature in the room had suddenly elevated. From the fire, the flames reflected on the hard contours of his face, the flickering shadows making the angles and planes appear harsher, rougher, but she felt another sensation as well, one that started deep within her and caused her heart to pound, a sensation she didn’t want to analyze too closely. She licked her lips.

“It’s really none of your business.”

Despite the knots in her stomach, she said, “I tried to find out what happened between you and Witt, but couldn’t dig up anything substantial. I thought it was because you were considered a suspect in the kidnapping, that somehow what had happened to you that night was confirmation that you were involved.”

He snorted. “That was probably part of it.”

“And the other?”

Zach’s jaw tightened and for a second she thought he might confide in her. Instead he turned back to the window and continued to glower. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does-”

“Leave it alone, Adria.” She heard the warning in his voice and decided it was better to back off. For now. But she was determined to find out Zach’s secret. More than ever, she wanted to find out what made Witt’s rebellious son tick. Maybe there was some truth to the rumors that he wasn’t really Witt’s boy, that his father was Anthony Polidori. And maybe there was more. The way he had stared at Katherine’s portrait had been chilling. There were far more secrets in this house than she’d guessed. She took another drink and slowly settled back into the cushions of the couch to wait.

Jason Danvers threw caution to the wind as he put his Jaguar through its paces. Speeding up the narrow, rain-slickened streets of the west hills, he tried to think rationally. He’d left the celebration early, after giving his well-rehearsed speech and spending enough time to dance with the mayor, a woman recently elected and surprisingly popular. He’d made small talk, accepted congratulations from the president of the historical society for refurbishing the old building, smiled at the appropriate times, and even managed a clever quote or two for the reporters of the Oregonian and Willamette Week. Finally, after two hours, he managed to stuff Kim into a cab and leave the celebration behind.

He felt sweat beading along his collar line and remembered Adria’s beautiful face, so much like Kat’s. Could she be the real thing-after all these years? Jason’s biggest fear-his worst nightmare-was that someone impersonating his long-lost sister would turn up and look so much like her that people might believe she was truly London. For nearly twenty years he’d sweated it out, suspecting that someday the impostor would waltz into Danvers Manor, calmly say she was the little lost princess, make a statement to the press, and start a legal battle over the fortune that would be tied up in court for decades.

Jason had thought his father, while alive, would be foolish enough to believe any beautiful, black-haired, blue-eyed woman who would smile at him and call him “Daddy.” But Witt had proved to be made of tougher stuff than Jason had given him credit for.

Soon after London’s disappearance, when the police, the FBI, and even Witt’s private eye, Phelps, had given up hope of ever locating the little girl again, Witt had determined he had to find her himself.

He’d bought some airtime on television and offered a million-dollar reward, no questions asked, if anyone could lead him to his little girl.

The television appeal had created chaos. Thousands of phone calls and letters had poured in not only from this country but from as far away as Japan, Germany, and India. All of the would-be heiresses had been fakes, of course, screened by Witt’s team of specialists and defrauded quickly, but the search had cost millions of dollars, only to turn up fruitless.

Now, this new interloper was here and her resemblance to Kat was so damned creepy. It scared the shit out of him.

What if she’s really London?

That thought settled like lead in his gut, but he knew, damn it, he knew she had to be a phony.

The beams of headlights splashed against the window and Zachary felt a sense of relief knowing that his brother had finally arrived. Good. Jason could deal with Adria and Zach could get the hell out of town. He didn’t want or need to be so close to a woman who reminded him of Kat. “Looks like we’ve got company.”

“About time.” She was seated in a corner of the couch, her shoes kicked off, her knees drawn up beneath the silky folds of her gown.

As if she belonged. As if she were really a Danvers. As if she were London. Shit. He watched his brother’s car screech to a stop near the garage. “He’s not gonna be happy.”

“Neither are you.”

Zach caught the irony in her voice and felt the corners of his lips curve upward. She was something. Trouble was, he didn’t know what. But she’d rattled Jason and that, in and of itself, was a trait Zach respected.

The Jaguar’s powerful engine shut down and a door slammed.

“Still time to back out of this.”

“No way.”

Jason, like many lawyers, was one of the most consummate actors Zachary had ever met. Always aware of presence, drama, and effect, Jason never appeared surprised, unless it was to his advantage. Except tonight, when he’d been forced to face his deepest nightmare-that London, his half-sister, was back and ready to claim her portion of the estate, which just happened to be the lion’s share.

Jason’s expression was grim as he strode into the room, but he seemed composed. Not a hair out of place, his tuxedo as crisp as when he’d taken it from his garment bag, he’d managed to regain control of his emotions. With a smile as cool as November, he walked to the bar and poured himself a drink.

“Let’s just get down to it, shall we?” he said as he recapped a bottle of expensive Scotch.

Zach rested a hip against the fireplace.

“What is it you want, Miss Nash?” Jason asked.

She was ready for him. “Recognition.”

“That you’re London?”

“Yes.”

Jason’s smile was so cold, Zachary felt a moment’s concern for Adria. “You know we don’t believe you.”

“I expected it, yes.”

“And you know that there have been hundreds of young women who have claimed to be our half-sister.”

She didn’t bother answering, but her eyes never left Jason’s face.

“She says she has proof,” Zach interjected, uncomfortable with Jason’s arrogant attitude.

“Proof?” Jason’s eyebrows raised and a muscle tightened in his jaw.

“I have a tape.”

“A tape of-?”

“It’s from my adoptive father. It explains what happened.”

Jason looked at his brother. “You’ve seen it?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, what’re we waiting for? I assume you have it with you, Miss Nash.”

“In my purse.” She reached for the purse near her feet.

Zach stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Don’t you think we should wait until Nelson and Trisha are here?”

“Why?”

“We’re all involved, Jason,” Zach said as Adria handed Jason the tape.

Opening the plastic cover, Jason asked, “Is this the only copy?”

Adria slanted him a glance that told him to quit acting as if she didn’t have a brain in her head. “Of course not.”

“Didn’t think so.” Jason stared at the videocassette, flipped it over, and slipped it onto the corner of the desk. “Everything on this tape can be verified, right? If there’s any question of legality, there would be documents to back it up.”

“Such as?”

“Adoption papers, that sort of thing.”

“The papers were destroyed.”

Jason’s lips twitched. “Destroyed?”

“By a fire.”

“Convenient.”

“I don’t think so.”

For a reason he couldn’t explain, Zach stepped in. “There must be copies filed with the start.”

Adria shook her head. “I think the adoption was illegal.”

Jason’s mouth swept into a grin. “This just gets better and better.”

Zach felt his stomach curl at the way Jason stepped closer to Adria-moving in for the kill. “Back off,” he warned his brother.

“Oh, no, she started this.” Jason was suddenly enjoying the evening.

But Adria didn’t back down. “Look,” she said, getting to her feet and staring the brothers down. “I know you’re going to do everything you can to disprove me. I expect you to put me through hell. I did a lot of soul-searching before I came here, because, to put it frankly, I’m not sure I’m London Danvers.”

Jason looked smug, as if he thought she was already hedging her bets. “You’ve changed your mind.”

“No,” she said emphatically and stepped toward him. “I just want you to know where I stand. My father thought I was London.”

“Your father?”

“Victor Nash. He died last year. I didn’t find out the truth until I discovered the tape.”

“That makes things easy, doesn’t it?” Jason asked. “Your father-and I presume your mother, as well-aren’t around to be questioned. But, happily for you, he leaves you a mystery tape telling you that you’re going to inherit millions. Have I got it right so far?”

“Dad thought I should know,” she said, a slight defensive edge to her voice.

“So he gave you some sort of deathbed swan song about you being the lost princess of the Danvers kingdom, is that it?”

She pinned him with eyes that darkened with the pain of her past. “That’s it.”

“And you must believe it or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Of course. But I’m not sure.”

“How much would it cost to convince you that you’re no blood relation?”

“As I said before, it’s not a matter of money. If I find out I’m not London, I’ll leave.”

“And you won’t go running to the press?”

Suddenly she crossed the short distance between Jason and the couch so quickly, Zach’s breath caught. Without the added inches of her heels, she was a full head shorter than Jason, yet she craned her neck upward and glared at him. Two spots of color stained her cheeks. “You may find this impossible to believe,” she said in a voice so low it was nearly inaudible over the hiss of the fire, “but I don’t really care about money. I’ve seen what it’s done to your family as well as a few others, but it is important to me to find out the truth.” Her lips flattened in distaste and her eyes narrowed just a fraction. “Be honest, Jason-wouldn’t you like to know if I’m really London?”

“I already know,” Zach said.

Jason glanced at his brother.

“She’s a fake.” Zach finished his drink.

So like Zach to make a snap judgment, Jason thought. He was so damned cocksure. To Zach, everything was black or white, right or wrong, good or bad. Once again, Jason’s hotheaded brother wasn’t reading the situation the way it was. The reason this woman worried Jason wasn’t because of her incredible resemblance to Kat. Hell, any decent plastic surgeon could alter her face, her black hair could come out of a bottle, and she could be wearing sky-blue contact lenses for all he knew. Her looks weren’t the real problem, though they did worry him more than a little, but it was her attitude that bothered him. Adria was the first person to claim she wasn’t sure of her birthright. Whereas every other imposter, the pretenders to the Danvers crown, were sure of themselves and threatening lawsuits, adverse publicity and stories in newspapers coast to coast. Adria was different…chillingly so.

“Sit down, Miss Nash,” he suggested in a voice that most witnesses in a court of law obeyed instantly.

Unmoving, she stood her ground and from the corner of his eye, Jason saw Zachary’s mouth twitch in amusement. He was enjoying this, because he didn’t have much of a stake in the inheritance. The old man had written him out of his will once and then, as he’d aged Witt had mellowed, tried to patch things up with Zach and offered him the ranch, the only asset that Zach cared about.

Zachary had been reluctant, but finally capitulated. The old man and his rebellious middle son had struck a deal of sorts, something no one ever brought into conversation. There were no signed papers and yet somehow Zach had ended up doing Witt’s bidding and refurbishing the Hotel Danvers. In return, Zach would inherit the ranch in Bend-acres and acres of rich farmland, a drop in the bucket as far as the family fortune was concerned, but worth something nonetheless. The fact that Zach wanted it gave Jason a bargaining point with his headstrong younger brother. Jason suspected that deep down, Zach was just as greedy as the rest of the clan.

If London suddenly were to appear, Zach’s share of the estate wouldn’t alter too much. He had no percentage of the assets, just the damned ranch, which would shrink by a few hundred acres if he had to pay off London for her share. But Jason, Trisha, and Nelson would suffer seriously because Witt, damn him, had talked his lawyers into leaving fifty percent of his holdings, including the value of the ranch, to his youngest daughter. Fifty goddamned percent. There was no provision for the fact that she couldn’t be found. Only after fifty years-fifty years-would the assets revert back to the rest of the estate. By that time, Jason would have one foot planted firmly in the grave.

Hell, what a mess!

Fortunately, most people didn’t know the terms of the will, or there would be London Danvers after London Danvers crawling out of the woodwork trying to get their hands on the fortune.

And this one was glaring defiantly up at him, and looking so much like Kat that he felt the same hot urges he had when he was in his early twenties and his stepmother had been the most gorgeous and sexy woman on this earth. He’d had dreams about her, fantasized about making love to her, but she’d had the hots for Zachary, who had only been a boy at the time.

Zach, for God’s sake!

Zach’s attitude reeked of insolence and he had no respect for the good things in life, yet women seemed to flock to him. Kat had been the first in a long succession of women who would have given their eye teeth, or their diamond earrings, just to get him into their beds. The fact that Zach had always appeared uninterested had seemed to drive them into wild and hot pursuit.

Jason didn’t understand it, never would. All he knew was that Zach had always been more trouble than he was worth.

“Look,” Adria was saying, her chin lifted several notches. “Why don’t you just play the tape?”

“I will,” Jason assured her as he glanced at his watch. “But we can wait a few more minutes, until Nelson and Trisha get here.”

“So it’s a family party after all,” Zach said, cynicism edging his words. “Should be a barrel of laughs.”

“I tell you, Trisha, it was downright eerie,” Nelson said as he braked in front of the garage. Zach’s old Jeep and Jason’s Jag were already parked in the drive. “I mean, I felt like I’d traveled back in time about twenty years. She looks just like Kat.”

Trisha wasn’t impressed. She’d been through this routine too many times before. Nelson was quick to jump off the deep end. “So what does she want?”

“No one knows. Money, I imagine.”

“Where does she come from?”

“I’m telling you no one knows a damned thing about her.”

“Don’t you think it would have been smarter to check her out before we confront her?”

“Jason didn’t want her to cause a scene at the party. Too many reporters were there.”

“So he hustled her out here. Great.” Trisha climbed out of Nelson’s Cadillac and slammed the door shut. She didn’t have time for these kinds of games. There had always been women who claimed they were London Danvers, and there always would be. Why was this one any different? Either intimidate the bitch into leaving the family alone, or buy her off. The imposters could usually be purchased cheaply. Offer them a check for twenty-five or thirty thousand and a promise not to prosecute them for fraud, and they were only too happy to do anything anyone asked. They all signed sworn statements that they would never pretend to be London Danvers or bother the family again and in some cases, Trisha suspected, they’d slept with Jason. He seemed to get off on bedding any woman who remotely resembled Kat. Some sort of weird Oedipal thing. Trisha didn’t care, just as long as the women took off. Paying off the little fakes saved a whole lot of time and lawyers’ fees and everyone was happy. So why not do the same with this one?

Nelson was babbling. “Right now we can’t afford any adverse publicity. My job-”

“Isn’t worth diddly squat. You work for the public defender’s office,” she reminded him. “If you didn’t get checks from the trust fund, you’d be scrounging every month to pay the rent.”

Nelson’s eyes thinned on his sister. “You know why I work where I do. It’s a stepping-stone, Trisha.”

“Politics,” she said with a sneer. “You’re as bad as Dad was. Delusions of grandeur.”

“Politics is power, Trisha, and we both know how you feel about powerful men.”

“Kind of the same way you do,” she cooed, though she felt like slapping him. He’d hit a raw nerve, but then Nelson had the uncanny ability to find a person’s weak spot and expose it. Sometimes Trisha wondered if there were any secrets in the family that Nelson didn’t know and wouldn’t use for his own personal gain. Well, he had a few skeletons in his closet as well.

As they walked through the front door, she checked her watch. It was after midnight and she was tired. The hotel opening had been a success and she would much rather have bathed in the accolades of the guests than return here, to the house where she’d been raised, a house filled with ghosts and bad blood, treachery and lies. There had been little laughter echoing through the hallways of the Danvers Manor. In truth, she remembered nothing but the continual arguments and explosive outbursts as Witt Danvers tried to force his five bullheaded children into becoming exactly what he wanted them to be.

Trisha reached into her purse and found her cigarette case. Pausing in the foyer, she lit up. She needed something stronger. A drink or a hit of cocaine would help, but she settled for nicotine and ambled farther down the hall, trying not to remember the emotional fights, the hate that had filled this house when her father had found out that she’d been seeing Mario Polidori.

“You did this to spite me!” Witt had screamed, his face flushed scarlet, the veins in his temples throbbing.

“No, Daddy, I love him-”

“Love?” Witt had cried, his blue eyes electrified with disgust. “Love?”

“I want to marry him.”

“For the love of Jesus! You’re not going to marry him. Don’t you know what the Polidoris are? What they’ve done to this family?”

“I love him,” she said firmly, tears standing in her eyes.

“Then you’re a fool, Trisha, and of all the things I’ve ever thought about you, I’ve never thought you were stupid.”

She began to shake inside, but she squared her shoulders. “You hate Mario because of Mom. Because she slept with Anthony-”

The slap sent her reeling backward and she fell against the wall of Witt’s den, her head bouncing off the corner of the mantel. “Don’t you ever speak of that woman again, do you hear me? She left me as well as every one of you kids so she could carry on her affair with Polidori. So don’t you be lecturing me about how you’re in love with that bastard’s son!”

“You don’t understand-”

“No, Trisha, you don’t understand! You’re never to see him again! Got it?”

Cowering against the wall, faced with her father’s horrid rage, she refused to agree. She loved Mario. She did. Her fists had curled into tight balls and tears rained from her eyes and it became blindingly clear that her father was an ogre, an ugly, ruthless monster who cared about only one thing: his precious daughter, London. Trisha rubbed the welt on the side of her cheek and bit her lip to keep from crying. At that moment she hated Witt Danvers and she’d do anything she could to hurt him!

Now, years later, she still felt the shame. Her father had been a bastard while alive and he was still controlling his children from the grave, putting reins on his money, making them jump through hoops. Angrily, she walked down the hall. Her father had never loved her, not at all. He’d only loved his youngest daughter and now she, or more probably some imposter, was back, trying to get her greedy little fingers into the old man’s fortune. Well, Trisha was bound and determined to fight the gold digger tooth and nail. London had escaped when the rest of them had been forced to suffer and face their father day after day, to cower and shudder and kiss the old man’s ass so he wouldn’t cut them out of his will.

Except for Zach. He’d managed to tell his father to go to hell and then slip back into Witt’s good graces. Much as she hated to admit it, Trisha admired her brother for his grit.

As for Adria Nash, even if she could prove that she was London, Trisha silently vowed she’d never get a penny of the Danvers fortune. She hadn’t paid her dues, hadn’t lived with the heartless tyrant who was Witt Danvers. London didn’t deserve half the old man’s estate and besides, this woman was probably just another fortune hunter.

“What’re you thinking about?” Nelson asked, his eyebrows pulled together anxiously as he glanced at his sister.

“Nothing.”

He didn’t believe her. “Just be on your best behavior, Trisha, and hear what she has to say. Brace yourself. She looks like our dear departed stepmother did twenty years ago.”

They entered the den and Trisha nearly missed a step as her gaze fastened on the woman-a beautiful woman. The resemblance was uncanny, and although this girl didn’t have the innate feline sensuality of the woman she claimed was her mother, she was nearly a dead ringer for Kat.

Someone, Nelson probably, thrust a drink in Trisha’s hand and she took a sip. Zach made introductions, but Trisha didn’t pay much attention; she was too wrapped up in memories of her stepmother. Her throat tightened. God, could it be? Was this woman really her half-sister? She took another calming drink and stubbed out her cigarette. Jason was talking…

“…so we waited for you two before we looked it over. Adria assures us this is the proof we’ll need.” He slapped a black video into the VCR and turned on the power and Trisha pulled her attention away from the woman with the uncanny resemblance to Kat and watched the screen.

Zachary took his position at the window. The room was tense, but he found a grain of amusement in the tight smiles of his brothers and sister. Adria had gotten to them. All of them. They were worried. For the first time in nearly twenty years.

He heard a voice and turned his attention to the television screen where an emaciated, bald man was lying on a hospital bed and speaking with obvious difficulty.

“I suppose I should have told you this before, but for reasons I’ll get to later, selfish reasons, Adria, I kept the story of your birth a secret. When you asked me about it, I swear to God, I didn’t know the truth and later…well, I couldn’t bear to tell you.

“Your mother and I, rest her soul, always wanted children, but, as you know, Sharon couldn’t conceive. This was a constant torment to her and she somehow thought that God was punishing her, though why, I’ll never understand. So when we found you…when you were handed to us, it was the blessing she’d been praying for.

“We adopted you through my brother, Ezra. You probably don’t remember him much as he died in ’77. But he was the one who brought you to us. He was a lawyer, practicing out of Bozeman. He knew that your mother and I were desperate for children. Already in our fifties and with debts that were burying us and the farm, we were considered too old and too poor to adopt through the usual legal means.”

The man paused, took a sip of water from a glass on a nearby table, then cleared his throat and looked at the camera again.

“Ezra told me that one of our distant cousin’s daughters had herself in a fix. The girl, Virginia Watson, was divorced and penniless and had a five-year-old daughter whom she couldn’t care for decently. All she wanted was to see that Adria, her girl, was placed with a loving family. Ezra was a bachelor. He didn’t want a child but he knew that Sharon and I would do anything for a baby.

“And we did. The adoption was secret and the papers…well, there weren’t many, let me tell you. We didn’t want the state involved you see. So, anyway, Virginia came with you and dropped you off and from that day forward we thought of you as our own.”

He paused, the next words difficult. “I suspected everything wasn’t on the up and up, but I didn’t care. Your mom, she was happy for the first time in years, and I had no idea who you really were. I told myself someone didn’t want you and we did and that was that.

“Only years later, after Sharon had passed on, did I start to figure it out. I swear, until that time, I didn’t have a clue that you could be someone’s missing daughter. Hell, Adria, truth to tell, even if I had known, I’m not sure I could’ve given you up. But the long and the short of it is that I was cleaning some old newspapers out of the barn and I saw one with the story of the Danvers girl being kidnapped. The police were searching for her nursemaid, a woman by the name of Ginny Slade. That didn’t mean anything to me, either, but about two weeks later I sat down in my chair by the fire to read a little from the Bible and the page opened up to the family tree and right there I see the name, big as life: Virginia Watson Slade. According to the tree, at one time Ginny Watson was married to Bobby Slade from Memphis.”

He licked his lips nervously. “I’m not a stupid person and even I can put two and two together and come up with four. It looked like you could be the missing Danvers girl, but I wanted to be sure so I tried to contact Virginia, but no one had heard of her for years. From the time she dropped you off at the house, she seemed to have disappeared. No phone calls, no letters, no address. Her parents didn’t know if she was dead or alive and had no idea where Bobby Slade was. It was almost as if she’d fallen off the face of the earth and I hate to admit it, but I was relieved. I didn’t want to lose you.” Victor blinked rapidly and took another sip of water.

The man sounded and looked sincere, as if he were really a dying father, but Zach wasn’t going to let this dog-and-pony show get to him. In his mind Adria was a fake.

“I know this sounds callous,” Victor said in a hoarse whisper, “but I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, Adria. You were all I had in the world. As for the Danvers family, I figured the damage was already done. I couldn’t undo the kidnapping. And I had to consider the adoption. At the time we’d taken you in, we knew that all the proper papers weren’t filed, that the adoption wasn’t by the book. Hell, it was probably illegal. I was afraid that somehow I’d be implicated in the crime, even though I had no idea where you’d come from. So, I’ve decided to die with this secret intact and leave this video in the safe by my bed. If anyone questions the tape’s authenticity, so be it. Saul Anders lent me his equipment, set up the tripod and saw to it that I had some privacy. He has no idea what’s on this tape and has sworn to me that he wouldn’t view it.”

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

Nelson whistled low under his breath.

Jason scowled into his empty glass.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

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

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

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

“Don’t bother.”

“I want to.”

“It’s not necessary.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

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

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

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

“Humble of you.”

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

“I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

“At least.”

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

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

He switched on the ignition and flipped on the headlights.

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

“That doesn’t worry you?”

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

7

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why she committed suicide.”

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

“What do you think about it?”

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

“Would you want that? Her alive?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never heard of it.”

“Not many people have.”

“Lived there all your life?”

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

“With your folks?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Images? Of what?”

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

“You read about it.”

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

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

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

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

“I doubt it.” The clamp twisted tighter.

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

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

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

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

“About time. Where were you?”

“I dropped her off at the Benson.”

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

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

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

“Why?’

“Why? To follow her, of course.”

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

“She represents a threat, Zach.”

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

“Now? You’re leaving now?”

“Soon.”

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

“I don’t give a shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How?”

“First, you’ve got to follow her-”

“You’ve got to be kidding!”

“I’m not.”

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

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

“Come on-”

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

“I’m not worried about it.”

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

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

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

“It doesn’t matter.”

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

“No way.”

“She’d be safe there. Isolated.”

“The lady won’t want to come.”

“Convince her.”

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

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

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

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

“Drive over there yourself.”

“As I said, she trusts you.”

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

“This’ll blow over soon. But we need to get a handle on her. All you have to do is convince her to come to the ranch with you for a couple of days.”

“No way.”

“Well, at least go talk to her. Ask her to stay at the Hotel Danvers, compliments of the family.”

Zach barked out a laugh. “As if she’d believe you. She went to a lot of trouble to hide herself. I don’t think shell want to stay in a hotel where she could be watched day and night.”

“My guess is she’ll like the higher-rent district. She’s after money, remember, and it must gall her to stay in some dump of a motel.”

“Maybe she likes her privacy.”

“Then she should never have started this, because before it’s over she won’t know what the word means.” He paused for a second and Zachary imagined Jason running a nervous hand around his neck. “Hell, Zach, we have to keep our eye on her.”

“Then invite her to stay at the damned hotel.”

“She trusts you.”

Zach snorted. “If she’s smart, she won’t trust anyone in the family.” He thought about the way she’d gazed at the picture of Witt and Katherine and London. As if she really cared. She either believed her far-fetched story herself or was the best damned actress he’d ever met.

“Talk to her,” Jason insisted.

“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…