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
“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.”
