“She’ll take phone calls, and guests can wait in the lobby after she screens them, but no one, not even Jason, is to rescind this order. If anyone tries, I want to be notified immediately. I’ll be in my usual rooms. And she doesn’t need to register. She’s my guest.”
“Yes, Mr. Danvers,” the manager said crisply. He slid the key across the desk to Adria and she, grinding her teeth together in frustration, accepted it. For the time being. Just until she could rent a car and relocate.
Zachary wasn’t finished. “I’ll take her bag up myself and as far as you know, the person who’s in the rooms is a VIP and no one, I mean no one, is to know that she’s here.”
Adria started to protest, but held her tongue. Let him do this. It would take only a few more minutes and then she would be totally independent. Or would she? A contrary part of her heart begged to differ as she watched him, all quiet authority and rugged good looks. Telling herself that she could force herself to be immune to him, she followed Zach into the elevator, where his presence all but dominated the little car, and up to the sixth floor to a corner suite with several rooms, fireplace, private veranda, and Jacuzzi. He tossed her bag onto the couch and locked the door behind him. It clicked so loudly she nearly jumped.
“I’d feel better if I stayed with you,” he said, cocking his head at the floral couch where her bag rested.
“I think, under the circumstances, that would be a big mistake,” she said, but already, her pulse was jumping. The thought of being alone with him caused a warm, wanton sensation deep in the pit of her stomach.
“I can’t protect you if I’m not with you,” he said. The distance between them was only a few feet and she could barely stand it.
“And I can’t protect myself if I am with you.” She rested her rear against the ledge of the window. “This has gone too far, Zachary, and I’m not blaming you. It happened between us and it was a mistake…I can see that now, but I don’t know, I’m just not sure that I can trust myself if you’re here with me.” She spoke from the heart and she felt as if she were shredding inside because a part of her longed to be held by him, to kiss him, to feel his hands upon the crook of her waist. She bit her lip before she said something that she shouldn’t.
“This is your call, Adria,” he said, his voice low and soft, almost a caress.
Her heart shattered. She remembered the feel of his hands on her, the taste of his skin, the way he sighed against her ear. “Then it’s the way it has to be.”
Zach’s shoulders stiffened and the brackets around the corners of his mouth grooved deep. “I’m in 714.”
Her throat closed in on itself at the mention of the suite from which London had been stolen all those years ago.
“Call me if you need me.”
I need you. I need you now! Her fingers curled over the window ledge and she held back the urge to run to him.
Back ramrod-stiff, he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.
Swearing under his breath, Zach pulled into the parking lot of the headquarters of Danvers International. The lot was closed, but he used a special card and the gates opened as if for royalty. Danvers royalty.
He hadn’t been happy about leaving the hotel, knowing that Adria would probably bolt, but he’d talked to Detective Stinson to advise her and knew that Adria was keeping in touch with the police. Right now, Zach had to find answers and any he’d gotten from Jason on the telephone had been evasive and vague. He’d called, tracked his brother to the offices, and decided that if he had to, he’d knock Jason senseless, because it was time to find out the truth.
Before he fouled up Adria’s life forever.
Spoiling for a fight, he parked in a spot reserved for a vice president and took the elevator to the floor housing the suite of executive offices. During the day the building was crawling with people; at night it seemed like a tomb.
He walked down the short hallway lit only by security lamps, past the empty reception area, and through the carved wooden doors to the president’s office.
Jason, dressed in a crisp suit and tie, was sprawled on the leather couch angled in front of the television in the corner. He must’ve had one helluva day, because his hair was slightly mussed and his tie was loosened. Propping one heel on a glass coffee table, he sipped from a glass of amber liquid.
Zach let the door bang shut behind him and studied the room where all the important decisions of the company were made. The two exterior walls were glass, offering a panoramic view of blazing city lights and two bridges spanning the Willamette River.
Inside, trophies and plaques were hung on a wall of rough cedar, a tribute to the forests that had been the source of so much of the Danvers fortune.
“You’re angry,” Jason guessed as he stood and tucked his shirt into the waistband of his slacks.
The understatement of the year. “A little.”
“Adria?” Jason clicked off the television and reached for his drink.
“She’s got a mind of her own.”
“Thought you liked that in a woman.”
“Not in this one.”
Jason lifted a skeptical brow.
“Heard she was attacked. Is she okay?”
“She’ll be fine.”
“Do the police have any suspects?”
“Probably.”
“What does your friend Len Barry have to say?” Jason asked, feigning disinterest.
“Nothing.”
“Isn’t that odd?”
“Of course not. The police will get in contact with Adria when they have something.”
“And she’ll tell you?”
Zach shrugged. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”
“Hey, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Like hell.”
“Help yourself to the bar.”
“Not tonight.” Propping his hip on the corner of Jason’s wide desk, he said, “I just came here because I want to get in contact with Sweeny.”
“He called earlier.” Jason polished off his drink. “Big news.”
Zach’s blood seemed to freeze.
“He called to crow, really,” Jason continued as he walked to the bar and added more Scotch to his melting ice cubes. “Seems he’s found Bobby Slade, the one who we hoped would turn out to be Adria’s real father. Robert E. Lee Slade. He’s Ginny Watson’s ex-husband, all right, and he’s living’ in Lexington, Kentucky—has himself some kind of auto repair shop or something.” Jason made a dismissive gesture with his hands, as if whatever it was that kept Bobby Slade employed didn’t really matter. “According to Sweeny, Slade doesn’t know where his ex-wife is, hasn’t kept up with her since he heard from her two years ago when she’d taken some kind of nanny job in San Francisco.”
Zach’s hands began to sweat and he remembered Ginny Slade as a plain woman in dowdy suits and heavy shoes who looked ancient compared to Kat. But somehow the birdlike woman had managed to steal her precious charge right out from under Witt’s nose.
“What else does the guy have to say?”
“Plenty. Bobby claims his wife was a nutcase. Totally bonkers. She lost any grip on reality she had when their toddler daughter was killed in a drowning accident. She blamed him, he blamed her, and their marriage fell apart. Sweeny says Slade was glad to be rid of her.”
“So what about London?”
“Here comes the clincher,” Jason said, looking up at the ceiling. “Slade says that years ago—the mid-70s, he thinks, just before he moved to Kentucky—she showed up in Memphis out of the blue. Ginny had a kid in tow, a dark-haired girl of about four. He thought it was strange at the time, but just assumed that the kid was hers as she claimed. She’d always had a thing about babies, even before losing her own.” Jason looked straight at his brother and the hidden anger in his eyes bordered on hatred. “The odd thing about the situation was, and it kind of gave Slade the creeps, that she named the kid Adria, the same name she’d given their little girl who’d died.”
“Jesus Christ
,” Zach whispered.
“My sentiments exactly. I hate to admit it, but it looks like Adria might just be London.”
Zach gripped the edge of the desk. This was all wrong. It had to be. Adria couldn’t be his half-sister. No way! She wasn’t related to him! He thought of her being battered, nearly killed by an attacker. Someone who thought of her as a fraud. His insides grew cold. If the would-be killer discovered the truth…Jesus! And there was another more personal issue. One he wanted to forget. But he couldn’t. He remembered her lying beneath him, her body shiny with sweat, her voice moaning in gentle rhythm to his thrusts…for the love of God…
“Nelson’s fit to be tied. He’s on his way over here.”
“What about Trisha?” Zach asked, though he could barely keep his mind on the conversation.
“Couldn’t get hold of her,” Jason admitted. “She’s probably out prowling again.”
“Let me talk to Sweeny. He’s probably lying—”
“Shit, Zach, get a grip.”
“I need to talk to him!”
“Why?”
“I just need to ask him some questions,” Zach said, and Jason favored him with a smug little smile that said he could read his brother like the proverbial book.
“The number’s on the desk, Zach, but it won’t do any good. The facts, as they say, are the facts. Adria Nash is probably our sister. The good news is that she doesn’t know it.”
“Yet,” Zach said, with a sinking sensation.
“Ever.” Jason’s jaw hardened and he suddenly looked so much like their father, Zach winced. “As far as I’m concerned,” Jason said with deadly calm, “she’ll never know.”
23
“We finally caught ourselves a break,” Sweeny said, his voice self-satisfied and oily as it sang through the wires.
Every muscle in Zach’s body contracted an inch and he could barely breathe. “You have an address where Ginny Slade can be found?”
“Nope, but I’ve got one where she worked a couple of years ago. Pacific Palisades in San Francisco.”
“Let’s have it.”
The detective hesitated only a second, then gave Zach the name and number of Virginia Watson’s last employer of record. It wasn’t much, but it was all Zach needed. He hung up just as Nelson shouldered through the double doors of Jason’s office, took one look around, and paused, his face blanching slightly. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Sweeny found Ginny Slade,” Jason said. “Well, nearly. He thinks she’s in San Francisco.”
“Then it’s true—?” Nelson was speechless as he plopped down in one of the side chairs and rubbed his temples with his fingers. It was obvious that he thought his life was unraveling. “I can’t believe it. She’s really London?”
“Looks that way,” Zach said tightly.
“We don’t have to believe it!” Jason was adamant. “We don’t have to buy into it—we just have to keep our mouths shut.”
“No way. She deserves to know,” Zach said, though it twisted his guts and a vile taste rose in the back of his throat when he realized that he still wanted her. Despite the nearly certain truth that she was his long-lost half-sister, he couldn’t stop thinking of her as a woman.
Nelson pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to forestall a headache. “First Mother, then this…”
“Eunice?” Zach’s head snapped up.
“She slipped and fell chasing after that damned cat of hers,” Nelson said. “She’s all right, just banged around a little. A few scratches. Nothing serious, thank God. But this London business. It’s unbelievable.” He glanced up at Zach and his mouth twisted into a shadow of his former smile. “You know, a long time ago, you were my hero. Getting beat up, having yourself a prostitute…” His voice faltered and his gaze shifted to the floor. He sighed loudly, a tortured soul who’d been cast adrift years before. “I guess that’s all gone now.”
Zach couldn’t think about the might-have-beens. Nelson had always been out of step—no reason that having London resurface would change anything. He clamped a hand on his youngest brother’s shoulder, then let go. With renewed conviction, he crossed the room and thrust open the doors.
“Hey—where’re you going?” Jason’s voice followed him into the hallway. “Wait a minute. Zach! Oh, shit, what’s he going to do now?”
“Who cares?” Nelson said. “It’s over, Jase.”
“Not yet—”
The rest of whatever he was saying was cut off when the doors closed. Zach pounded on the elevator call button with his fist. Though he was sick inside at the thought of Adria being London, he told himself it had been inevitable and was probably for the best. Deep in his gut he didn’t believe it. The good news was that they were closer to the truth and the pall that had been shrouding the family for years might finally be lifted. The bad news was that he’d never be able to touch her again.
Trisha was pissed.
She climbed into her Alpha and took off, putting the little sports car through its considerable paces, and driving through the night without knowing where she was going. She’d hoped to meet Mario, but her plans had fallen through. Again. Her fingers tightened over the steering wheel and she took a corner a little too fast, the tires screeching, the car skidding into the oncoming lane. Headlights bore down on her. The driver of the other car swerved, nearly taking out a tree, and laid on his horn as Trisha maneuvered her car back into the right-hand lane. “And fuck you, too,” she muttered under her breath, then glanced at the rearview mirror to make sure the jerk didn’t turn around and chase after her. Well, let him. She’d show him what a real car could do. She was in one bitch of a mood.
Because of Mario. And Adria.
Mario claimed he couldn’t meet her, that some kind of business had come up, but Trisha wasn’t fool enough to believe him. Though he’d apologized over and over again, she hadn’t heard the slightest hint of any true regret in his voice. She knew the reason—he had a new woman, someone more exciting, someone who presented him more of a challenge. She didn’t have to be a brain surgeon to figure out that he planned the newest notch on his bedpost would be Adria Nash.
Ever since he’d been with Adria the other night, Mario had avoided Trisha, begging off with one flimsy excuse after another. But Trisha knew the score. Whenever he was involved with a new woman he became distracted and unapproachable but eventually—sometimes only days, other times excruciating months—he came back, not the least bit contrite, resuming their affair with a renewed passion and vigor, claiming to love her.
The sex was always worth the wait.
The emotional strain was not.
So now he was interested in Adria and that bothered her—more than any of the others.
“Bitch!” Trisha hissed, thinking of the pistol locked in her glove compartment. She didn’t know whom to shoot first. Mario or Adria. Maybe the two of them together. She’d bought the gun for protection and never had to use it, but tonight, her fantasies were running wild and if she caught Mario—her Mario—with that two-bit hustler from Montana, she was sure she would blow them both away.
Adria, who looked so much like Kat! Trisha’s insides twisted when she remembered her stepmother, the bitch who had convinced her to get an abortion to save Mario from Witt’s wrath and the threat of prosecution for statutory rape.
Well, Kat ended up getting hers, hadn’t she? What goes around, comes around.
And that bastard no-good Mario. How many times would she let him break her heart?
Trisha’s fingers were sweaty as she shifted down for another curve. The thought of murder was appealing, very appealing. Disgusted with herself, she pushed the cigarette lighter in and considered making a buy. A little coke would lift the old spirits and maybe give her enough guts to go through with her murderous plans. She shook out a Salem Light and placed it between her lips.
The cellular phone jangled and she smiled to herself. Mario had changed his mind. Steering with one hand, she picked up the phone. “Yes?” s
he said breathlessly and was disappointed when Nelson’s voice crackled in the receiver.
“I thought you should know,” he said, his voice heavy with despair. “It looks like Adria might be London.”
“Shit, no—”
The cigarette lighter clicked and Trisha wedged the phone between her shoulder and head while she stuck the burner to the end of her cigarette and pulled in a deep breath. Her eyes never left the road. Smoke puffed from the corner of her mouth.
“I don’t believe it, either, but Sweeny seems to think he’s got proof positive.”
“That little prick wouldn’t know his own dick if it weren’t attached to his balls.” She shoved the lighter back into the dash and took in another lungful.
“Do you always have to be so crude?”
“Has the press found out?”
“Not yet. But they will. Zach’s running wild—”
“Zach?” she said, frowning as she blew out a stream of smoke that temporarily fogged the windshield.
“Yeah, he’s back in town.”
“With the bitch?”
“I think so.” Trisha’s blood ran cold as her suspicions proved true. No wonder Mario was busy tonight. “Jason’s trying to keep the story quiet. He doesn’t want anyone outside the immediate family to know—least of all, Adria—but Zach rushed out of here like a madman and I think he’s going to tell her.”
“Shit.” Trisha’s world began crumbling at a faster rate. First Mario, now everything that went with being a Danvers—her whole life, her future—falling into little pieces. Because of Adria.
“My feelings exactly.”
“Where is she?”
“Get this,” Nelson said, his voice tinged with irony, “Zachary’s got her hidden in the damned hotel. Jason already checked, though that little creep of a manager, Rich, wouldn’t tell him which room. Jason warned the guy that he’d fire him, but he still held his tongue.”
“Zach must’ve threatened him with bodily harm.” She braked for a red light.
“Probably. Sounds like our brother,” Nelson said morosely.