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.”
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
