“Yes.”
“Then let’s put it back.” He started to stuff the rodent carefully back into the packet.
“Wait a minute. What are you doing? We have to save it.”
“I’ve got a friend who works for the police department. A detective. He’ll know what to do with it.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“It’s better than anything you’ve come up with. You don’t want to go to the cops, fine. Let’s handle this discreetly.”
“I’ll have to fill out a report.”
“Yeah. Eventually. But come on, do you really want to spend another night with this guy?” He hitched his chin at the envelope where the rat was now tucked.
“No, I guess not,” she admitted, but she didn’t know if she could trust him.
As if he could read her mind, he said, “Believe me. I’ll talk to my friend ASAP. Come on. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“I don’t like being manipulated.”
“I’m just trying to help.” His gaze held hers for a second too long. “You’ve got to trust someone, Adria. And you’re the one who came looking for me a few days back. Not the other way around.”
That much was true. “Fine,” she said with a quick nod. “Have your friend in the department call me. I would like my necklace back.”
Zach lifted a dark brow. “You’d wear it again?”
“I don’t know. But I’d like the option.”
Carefully, he tucked the envelope into his jacket pocket and walked to the door.
“We need to stop downstairs at the front desk. Get new keys…”
“As if that will stop anyone,” she muttered, and hated feeling a little more secure because Zach was around. Which was just plain stupid. He was a Danvers. One of them. She shouldn’t trust him one little bit, but she didn’t argue when the elevator landed on the first floor and he helped her get a new room key at the front desk. He also impressed upon the woman behind the counter that no one, not even a member of the staff, was to go into Adria’s room.
“I don’t think your speech is going to help. Whoever wants to get into my room will find a way,” she said as they crossed the foyer to the bar.
“Over my dead body,” Zach whispered and held open the frosted glass door. Inside he chose a booth near the windows that had a view of the door. Zach could watch people on the sidewalk near the exterior door and he could also watch anyone slipping into the bar through the vestibule. Not that there weren’t hidden service entrances and back doors where someone could slip inside.
Adria had never felt more vulnerable in her life. And yet, silly as it was, Zach’s presence was comforting. If only she could trust him.
You can’t trust anyone, Adria. Remember that. Remember the notes. Remember the package that is now in Zach’s pocket. Don’t let your guard down for a second.
A waiter deposited their drinks and Adria tried to sip her wine, but she couldn’t enjoy a swallow, not with Zach so close, his eyes trained on the doorway, his jaw hard and set. Not with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.
Zach glanced around the small establishment, his gaze scouring the patrons settled into dark, paneled booths or perched upon stools at the long, polished metal bar. “I don’t like this,” he said, ignoring his beer as laughter broke out from a corner table.
“That makes two of us.” But along with a case of nerves, she was furious. No one had the right to terrorize her. “Look, I’m not going to let that bastard, whoever he is, stop me. That’s what he’s trying to do, you know. I guess he thinks I’ll just shiver in my boots and hurry on back to Montana.”
Zach’s mouth twitched.
“Well, it’s just not happening. He’s made me too angry. Instead of running scared, I’ve decided to notch things up a bit. Turn up the heat.”
He watched her over the rim of his glass.
“I’m going to go to the press and I’ll start with the newspapers.”
“Fine.” His eyes crinkled at the corners.
“Don’t you care?”
“What? About the bad press? Hell, no. What I care about is that you don’t get hurt.” His gaze drilled into hers and she had to look away. “Call a damned press conference for all I care, but watch your back. Better yet, have someone watch it for you.” He took a long pull on his beer and his eyes narrowed on her in a way that made her stupid heart skip a beat. “You know what you need?”
She nearly groaned. “No, but I have the feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“A bodyguard.”
“What? You’re joking, right?”
“Not a bit.”
He was suddenly so serious, she nearly laughed. “Give me a break. I can take care of myself. Remember, I grew up on a ranch in Montana and—”
“And you’re getting threatening letters.”
“From a coward.”
“Who plays with dead animals. Wake up, Adria. This is serious.”
She felt a chill as cold as midnight pass over her skin and swallowed hard. “So…Danvers…Are you suggesting that you become my bodyguard? Are you applying for the job?”
He didn’t reply but gazed straight back at her with such an intensity she felt as if her diaphragm had slammed up against her lungs. Breathing was suddenly all but impossible.
“Don’t you think it would be stupid of me, I mean really stupid, to have someone named Danvers protecting me?”
“You can’t fight the world alone.”
“Not the world, Zach. Just the Danvers family.”
“They’re powerful.”
“You mean you’re powerful, don’t you? You’re part of the family whether you like it or not.”
He hunched over his beer. “For the record, I don’t like it.”
“But you’re tied to them, aren’t you?” she said. “Because of Daddy’s money.”
His arm shot across the table and he clamped his work-roughened fingers over her wrist. His words came out in a low, menacing growl. “Listen to me, lady. I’m trying to do you a favor here and all you’re doing by fighting me is pissing in the wind.”
“I don’t want any favors.” She inched her chin up but she couldn’t ignore the five warm impressions where his fingertips pressed against the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. Her throat seemed as dry as smoke and his gaze lowered, resting for what seemed an endless second on the pulse throbbing above her collarbone.
“I’m trying to help you. After the threats you’ve been getting I’d think you’d take a hand when it’s offered.”
She wanted to believe him, but she knew that he was probably lying, that he’d been sent on a mission to render her harmless. He’d come from the family—whether he admitted it or not—and that thought, of the Danvers kin deciding how to manipulate her, caused her temper to ignite. For as long as she could remember, someone was trying to dictate to her, bend her will, and this time, by God, she wasn’t giving in an inch. Gritting her teeth, she yanked back her arm and scrambled to her feet. “Back off, Danvers. I know I’m on my own here, so you don’t need to be playing the part of the hero.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“You tell me.”
He watched her storm out the door, noticed the curve of her hips and the stiff set of her back. Her legs were thin, but not skinny, and he wondered what they’d feel like wrapped around his waist.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, disgusted at the direction of his thoughts.
No matter what, he intended to camp out on her doorstep. Dropping some bills on the table, he took out after her. He stepped into the lobby just as the elevator doors were closing, but that suited him just fine and he paused, leaning against a pillar to watch as the elevator’s indicator lights mounted over the closed doors, blinked on in succession, then held steady for several seconds at the fifth floor. There were no other stops as the car descended. Without a second’s hesitation, he waited for the doors to open and rode the empty car back up. He’d sit out
in the hallway if he had to, but he’d damn well see for himself if there was anyone set on stalking her.
The elevator bell rang softly as it reached the fifth floor. Zac stepped into the empty corridor and spied a house telephone. He made a quick call to Len Barry, his friend on the force. Len agreed to stop by for the package burning a hole in Zach’s jacket pocket. After hanging up, Zach found a chair and fake tree nestled against windows at the corner of the hallway, with a view down both wings. He settled into the low-backed chair to wait.
Adria slowly counted to ten. Zachary’s taunts had followed her up the elevator shaft. His arrogance disturbed her—the way he tried to order her around made her want to kick at something. He and the rest of the family acted as if she just wanted to rip off all their money. She unclipped her hair and threw the barrette onto the bed in frustration. “Bastard,” Adria muttered and caught herself as the word rolled easily off her tongue.
There was more than a little truth to the name, wasn’t there? If she looked inside herself, really looked, she knew she’d discover that a part of her wanted Zach to be sired by another man—any man other than Witt Danvers, whom she believed to be her own father.
Because, damn it, she found Zachary sensual and disturbing and like no man she’d ever met before. Was he trying to help her? Or had it all been an act?
Her head began to pound. Was Zach really Witt’s son? Oh, who cared? Did it matter? All she needed to know was if she was really Witt’s daughter. Zach’s paternity wasn’t something she needed to think about. Zachary Danvers wasn’t anyone she needed to think about.
She picked up the newspaper lying in sections on the small table in her room and snapped it open. With furious fingers, she flipped through the pages and stopped at the section marked Rooms For Rent. Tomorrow, first thing, she’d find a new place to live, then she’d waltz into the Oregonian and tell a tale that would leave the reporters hustling as they scrambled to get her story into the next edition. Later she’d talk to the television and radio news stations.
If the Danvers family wanted to play hardball, so be it. She was more than ready to pitch them a curveball the likes of which they’d never yet seen.
Trisha parked in her usual spot, between the garage and the cabin in the woods of the Polidori estate. A gardener’s cabin that was supposed to be unoccupied, Mario had converted the little vine-covered cottage that had served as their secret rendezvous for over twenty years. Her heart was beating a light little tempo and she chided herself for being foolish as she ducked under the dripping clematis and knocked softly on the front door before turning the lock.
He was waiting for her. Backlit by the lights in the kitchen, he strode across the dark living room and her breath caught in her throat. Though she’d grown cynical and callous over the years, the sight of Mario never ceased to cause a wave of anticipation to race through her blood.
He was bare-chested—his jeans hanging low over his hips. “You’re late,” he said in the smoky voice that had always caused her bones to turn liquid.
“Problems at home.”
“Forget them.” He reached over her shoulder and pushed the door so hard that it slammed in the casing before the lock latched. His arms surrounded her and his lips crashed over hers—hot, hungry, possessive. Trisha shivered in anticipation and closed her mind to everything but this one vital man. She needed a few hours to forget about Adria and London and the whole sordid mess.
If Adria could prove she was London, all of Trisha’s dreams would be shattered, her life destroyed.
Unless she could be stopped.
Adria nearly jumped from the bed when the alarm jangled at six A.M. She felt as if she’d barely drifted off after a night of tossing and turning and worrying subconsciously that someone was sneaking into her room. Sleep had been nearly nonexistent and her mind had swum with images of rats with big teeth, strangers hiding in the shadows, and Zachary—sometimes as her enemy but more often than not as her lover. Over and over again she remembered the night in the Jeep when he’d kissed her with a raw animal passion that made her insides turn to hot, soft wax. Because of the fear she felt, because she knew she was being followed and watched, because someone was out to terrorize her, she was more drawn to Zachary Danvers.
It was ridiculous, of course. She couldn’t want him. Her fantasies were only because he was the sexiest man she’d been around in a long while and the simple fact that he was forbidden fruit—a rough man she couldn’t have.
“Character flaw,” she told herself as she brushed her teeth and saw her tousled-haired reflection in the mirror over the sink.
She stepped under the hot spray of the shower until she was awake. Today was the day she was going to the papers. A knot of dread twisted her stomach at the thought. She had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but she’d been foolish. Talking to the press was inevitable.
But first things first. She needed a permanent residence. She dressed quickly and, armed with yesterday’s paper, she walked out of the room and stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart jolted and she could barely find her tongue as her gaze collided with Zachary Danvers’s interested gray eyes. Still in the clothes he’d worn the night before, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his chin shadowed with more than a day’s growth of beard, he rubbed the crick from his neck and gave her a crooked smile.
“Mornin’,” he drawled, as if they saw each other at the crack of dawn each and every day.
“What’re you doing here?” she managed to ask.
“Waitin’ for you.”
Another jolt. “Why?”
“I thought someone should hang around, you know, and scare away the bad guys.”
“Did you?”
“You didn’t have any trouble, did you?”
“And that was because of you?”
He shrugged. “Only a few people saw me. The early risers this morning. Jogger and guys with briefcases off to important meetings.” He stretched, his tall body seeming to grow longer and leaner as he reached over his head, then winced as the cramps left his muscles. “So, no one bothered you?”
“No one called, but I asked the desk to take messages.”
“Maybe I could buy you breakfast.”
She slid a glance in his direction. They were alone in the elevator and he seemed to fill it with his presence. For once there wasn’t a trace of hostility in his eyes and she was tempted to let down her guard a bit even though he had the innate and maddening ability to make her see red at the drop of a hat. Be that as it may, she needed one friend, one contact in the family, someone who didn’t outwardly hate her, and yet being close to Zach was dangerous on an entirely different and deeper emotional level.
As the elevator ground to a stop and the doors whispered open, Adria stepped into the lobby and let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. She paused at the desk to ask for her messages. The clerk offered her a plastic smile. “You’re a popular lady,” he said, handing her a stack of eight or ten pieces of paper.
“What’s this?” she asked aloud as she fingered the pages: Mary McDonough from KPTV news, Ellen Richards with a local magazine, Robert Ellison, a reporter for the Oregonian. Her throat tightened. “Looks like the cat’s out of the bag,” she said to Zach just as a short balding man pushed himself out of a chair half hidden by large-leafed ferns.
“Are you Adria Nash?” he asked with a smile. Beside her, Zach tensed. “I’m Barney Havoline with the Portland Weekly.” He shoved a card at her and she checked it quickly, her fingers curving over the crisp edges. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.” He didn’t wait for her to answer, but rushed on, “I heard that you’re in town, claiming to be London Danvers. Is that true?” He clicked on his microphone and grinned at her as if she were his long-lost friend.
Zach took a step closer to her.
Adria managed a thin smile. “That’s essentially true, yes.”
“And how do you know you’re the Danvers heiress?”
“I f
ound out from my father.”
“Witt Danvers?”
“No, my adoptive father. Listen, Mr. Havoline, I don’t know how you found out why I’m in town or where I’m staying, but—”
“Can you prove you’re London?”
“—I was planning to call a press conference later in the day and explain everything.”
He flashed her a smile and she was aware that several patrons of the hotel were staring at them; even a bellboy had stopped to watch the unfolding drama.
“Really,” Havoline insisted. “This will take just a little while. I only have a couple more questions.”
“She said later,” Zach cut in, stepping between the pushy reporter and Adria.
“But we’re here now,” Havoline insisted. “I could buy you both a cup of coffee or breakfast…and who are you?” he asked, before his eyes met Zach’s and the light dawned on his face.
“Your worst nightmare.” Zach’s expression had turned murderous.
“What—”
“Get out.”
“Zachary Danvers.” The reporter’s eyes gleamed as if he realized he had more of a story than he’d first guessed. “So this woman could be your long-lost—”
“I said ‘get out’!”
“Not just yet. I’ve got a few more questions?” He tried looking over Zach’s shoulder to catch Adria’s eye, but a huge hand clamped over the lapels of his jacket and propelled him past the magazine stand toward the entrance. “Hey, you can’t do this! I’ve got rights!”
Zach shoved Havoline through the glass doors and he stumbled onto the street. “I’ll sue you, you bastard!” he yelled, brushing off his jacket as a news van for a local station pulled up to the front doors.
“Hell,” Zach muttered and clamped his fingers over Adria’s arm. As reporters climbed out of the cab, he spun her around and half ran back to the desk. “We need to leave,” he told the clerk who had witnessed the entire scene. “You must have a back way out so we don’t have a mob scene here in the lobby.”