Treasures aka See How She Dies

something about checking on her daughter before hurrying up the stairs. Trisha didn’t join the rest of the group, but preferred to sit on a stool at the bar, where she smoked and drank and observed everyone from a distance. There was a bitterness to her, a hardness Adria couldn’t comprehend.

“No one here believes you,” Eunice stated flatly.

“I expected as much.”

“So you came ready to accept defeat.”

“I came for-”

“I know, I know.” Eunice waved in the air, as if swatting a bothersome insect. “The truth. Listen,” she leaned closer, “let’s get past all this talk about the truth, all right? It’s tedious. Noble, I suppose, but tedious just the same, and we all know it’s a lie. What you really want is to be taken seriously enough so that the family scrambles around and offers you a decent amount of money to go back to wherever it is you came from.”

“I didn’t-”

“Cut the crap,” Nelson said quietly. “We’re prepared to pay you, but you’d have to sign a document-”

“Aren’t any of you interested in the fact that I could, just could, be your sister?” Adria asked. “I know you’re worried about the estate, but think about it, what if I really am London?”

“Doesn’t make any difference,” Trisha said through a cloud of smoke. “To us, you’re a stranger, and if you fell off the earth, we wouldn’t care.” Her lips curved up just a little. “In fact, a few of us might celebrate.”

“Trisha!” Eunice said sharply, then turned her attention from her daughter to Adria. “She’s a little harsh.”

“Look, I don’t need this. I thought you called me here to talk to me, to ask me questions, to help me find out the truth, but I guess I was wrong.” She stood and slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Believe it or not, I didn’t drive to Portland to wreak havoc on your lives, or steal your fortune, or hurt anyone in any way.”

“Of course you did,” Trisha said.

Adria’s back stiffened. “I won’t give up.”

Trisha, with her cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth, clapped her hands. “Bravo! What a fine performance!”

“Stop it, Trisha!” Zachary said so vehemently that Eunice’s eyes narrowed on her second son.

Jason ignored the outburst. “We could make it worth your while.”

“You still want to pay me off?” She picked up her glass and sipped.

“Mmm. Say twenty-five thousand?”

She almost choked on a swallow of wine. She had expected a bribe, but the amount staggered her. “I-I don’t think so.”

Jason’s smile tightened. “We’d be willing to go up to fifty.”

Nelson visibly blanched and when Adria shot a glance in Zach’s direction, he returned her stare impassively. He was in on it! He wanted to buy her out, too. Her blood boiled silently because she’d told herself that he was different, that he would help her, that he, the rebel, cared. Obviously she’d been mistaken.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, setting her drink on the table with trembling fingers, “I think I’ll go pack.”

Jason was on his feet. “You don’t have to move out of the hotel-”

“Of course I do. Staying there was a mistake. Only one of many.” Her gaze swiveled once again to Zachary’s and this time she saw a little spark of the fire in his gray eyes. She thought about their kisses in his Jeep, the anger and passion that had radiated from him. Had it all been part of the plan to break down her defenses? Would he stoop low enough to try and seduce her, just to scare her off? Sick at the thought, she squared her shoulders, turned on her heel, and marched up the stairs. As far as she was concerned, the battle lines had been drawn. The Danvers family could rot in hell for all she cared.

The locket glittered and spun, catching the light as it dangled from a worn gold chain. Cheap. A fake. Like the woman who owned it.

It had been a big risk sneaking into Adria’s hotel room, but sometimes risks were necessary. And look what the spoils were-a cheap piece of jewelry and an even cheaper pair of panties. Oh, they were sexy enough. Black lace and not much of it.

Adria Nash was obviously into carnal pleasures, or perhaps she was a tease.

So much like Kat.

In the privacy of a hotel room, Katherine’s killer clenched Adria’s personal items in angry hands and tried to calm down. It was impossible. Unwanted memories of Kat continued to haunt and torment the one person who had so desperately wanted to bury Katherine LaRouche Danvers forever.

Even now, as Katherine’s killer stood near the windows of a penthouse suite with a view of Portland’s city lights, the panorama was lost beneath visions of long black hair that gleamed blue as it fell down an unmarred back, breasts that were full and high, long legs that promised men dangerous pleasures.

Kat.

Would she never die?

Would her image never fade?

Dear God, how long would this torment go on?

As long as the family is threatened. As long as there is a chance Kat’s child is alive; as long as London walks this earth.

Rage coursed through the blood of Katherine’s killer. The locket, clenched so tightly, cut into a palm, drawing blood that was wiped with the scrap of lace Adria Nash called underwear.

No, this job was far from finished. The threat still existed.

Because of Adria Nash.

Because of London.

But that would change.

Soon.

Very, very soon.

14

No one believed her. She’d told the front desk, the man in charge of security, and even Zachary Danvers himself that she’d felt someone had been in her room. Even though she’d insisted that she was missing her locket and probably a few other things as well, that they had been stolen, she’d been dismissed.

“You think I set you up to be ripped off?” Zach had asked when she’d called him.

“I’m just telling you what happened.”

“While you were dozing in the Jacuzzi,” he’d clarified, unable or unwilling to keep the disbelief from his voice.

“Yes.”

“And you think someone-no, make that the Danvers family-is spying on you, is that it? That we put you into a room filled with all kinds of electronic surveillance equipment, then sent a burglar up when we caught you sleeping in the tub?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but-”

“But nothing. It is crazy, Adria.”

“It happened, Zach.”

“Fine. I’ll talk with Security.” His voice was filled with disbelief. He was placating her.

“I should go to the police.”

“Please. Do. Tell them what you just told me. Have them search the room and dust for prints, if they’re not too busy. Tell them they didn’t take your credit cards or your money, that nothing but a few personal things were lifted-and while you’re at it, you may as well let them know that you think you’re London. Let them know that they can close the books on that open kidnapping file.”

She’d gritted her teeth. “I’ll think about it,” she assured him as she’d hung up, but, of course, she wouldn’t call the local authorities. Not yet. Not before she hired herself a lawyer and knew her legal rights. She’d talked to an