“I don’t believe you.”
“Your prerogative,” he said with a shrug.
“You can be a real bastard, Danvers. You know that, don’t you?”
One side of his mouth lifted insolently. “I work at it.”
“A true Danvers.”
His smile faded. “Let’s order.”
They didn’t say another word to each other and Adria watched while the waitress flirted outrageously with Zachary as she spouted off the specials of the day. In the end, they both ordered steak sandwiches.
Some country song about lost love and broken hearts was overshadowed by the clink of glasses, rap of pool balls, and murmur of differing conversations. More tavern than restaurant, the old log cabin seemed home to a dozen or so blue-collar types. Hard hats had been exchanged for baseball caps and cowboy hats, but it seemed as if the men sitting on stools in the bar were at home. It reminded Adria of Belamy.
“Why’d you bring me here?” she asked as the waitress slid their drinks onto the table.
“It was your idea, remember.”
“But out here-in the middle of nowhere?”
“You’d rather go to some restaurant downtown?”
“Not really.” She took a sip from her beer.
“Thought you wanted to know the real me.” His eyes glinted sensually. “Now you do.”
“I don’t think so. I think you’re hiding something, Zach. Trying to scare me off.” She stared him down. “It won’t work.” Leaning back against the tufted plastic upholstery, she said, “You were raised in Portland.”
“I try to forget about that.”
“Why?”
He hesitated and gazed at a point over her shoulder where, she suspected, he saw his own youth. “I was always in trouble. Gave the old man nothing but grief.”
“And you’re still cultivating that bad-ass attitude, aren’t you?”
He relaxed against the back of the booth and took a long drink from his glass. “Maybe.”
“No maybes about it.”
Lifting a shoulder, he said, “So what’ve you found out about my illustrious family?”
“Not enough.”
He pinned her with a look and she thought twice about answering. Finally, as the meals were delivered, she said, “Okay. The library was pretty much a bust. Sure, the microfilm from the newspapers had information on the kidnapping and on the family, but there wasn’t much…much substance to it all.”
“So you came up empty.”
“Almost. But I’m not done digging.” She started in on her salad and Zach muttered something about mule- headed women under his breath. She let the comment slide.
“Where are you going to look next?”
She smiled and took a sip from her glass, her eyes meeting his over the rim. “Lots of places. I’m going to talk to reporters and the police. Believe me, I’ve only just begun.”
“You’re going to wind up empty-handed.”
“Is that right? Why?”
“You’ve got one helluva hole in your father’s story. It’s about as big as all of Montana.”
“I’m all ears,” she invited, anxious to hear what he thought. Somehow it was important, as if his opinion would help.
He picked up half of his sandwich. “If everything you say is true-why did Ginny Slade take London in the first place?”
“Who knows?”
“No one, I guess,” he said thoughtfully. “But it wasn’t because she wanted a child or she wouldn’t have left you with the Nashes.”
“I know, but-”
“And it wasn’t for the money because she left some cash in her bank accounts in Portland and never demanded ransom.”
“Maybe she was paid off.”
“My father offered a million dollars, no questions asked, for the return of his daughter. In 1974 that was a helluva lot of money.”
“It’s a helluva lot of money today.”
“But Ginny didn’t claim it.”
“She could’ve been worried about prosecution. Your father-our father-wasn’t known to be as good as his word. He had a reputation for retribution.”
“The plain truth of the matter is you might not be London.”
“There is still one motive left,” she said as she finished her beer and set the empty glass on the table.
“Which is?”
“Revenge. Witt had made more than his share of enemies, Zach. He’d walked all over people, didn’t care who he stepped on to get what he wanted. Seems to me there were plenty of people who would have loved to see him hurt. I just have to figure out who it is. I was hoping you would help me.”
“Why would I bother?” he asked.
“Because London was your half-sister and a lot of people in town thought you were somehow behind her disappearance.”
“I was a kid at the time.”
“A kid who was always in trouble. A kid who had more than his share of run-ins with the law, a kid who suffered big-time at Witt Danvers’s hand, and a kid who was involved in some kind of mugging that night.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to London,” he growled, the skin over his cheekbones stretching tight.
“Okay, Danvers, now’s your chance to prove it. All you have to do is help me find out who I really am. If I’m London, then your name is in the clear-the little girl didn’t really die, she was raised in Montana.”
“And if you’re not?”
“You’re no worse off than you were before. At least your family and the people who care will know that you tried to find out the truth.”
“Except-” he said, nudging his plate aside.
“Except?”
“Except I don’t give a shit what the ‘people who care’ think.” He settled back in his chair and regarded her with eyes suddenly smoky with desire. “Your offer’s not good enough, Adria.” His gaze drilled into hers. “I’m not interested.”
Oswald Sweeny shivered in the breeze that roared off the mountains and cut through his coat. He drew one last warm lungful of smoke from his Camel and ground the butt into the gravel lot surrounding the rooming house. In his opinion, Belamy, Montana, was about as far from civilization as he ever wanted to be. He locked the car door and shuffled up the steps to the wide front porch.
Inside, heat and the smell of something cooking-soup or stew, maybe-enveloped him.
He heard the landlady rattling around in the kitchen, but didn’t bother with any chitchat just now. He hurried upstairs, snapped on the light, and yanked off his jacket. He hadn’t found more than he’d expected in Belamy, Montana, and that bothered him because he was already tired of this little town and its straight-arrow, salt-of-the- earth citizens.
He’d suspected Adria Nash was broke, and it looked like she was drowning in red ink-hospital debts, a large mortgage on the farm she owned, college loans, doctor bills. He had to do a little more checking to find out just how desperate she was for money-Danvers money.
For the last twenty-four hours he’d trudged around this podunk town and nearly frozen his butt clean off trying to pick apart Adria’s story. There were discrepancies, but not many, and the part about her growing up as the adopted daughter of Victor and Sharon Nash was absolutely true.
But there was more dirt yet to dig. He’d seen it in a few of the good citizens’ eyes when he started asking
