Treasures aka See How She Dies

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