See How She Dies (10 page)

“Was it?” she asked, then decided that she wouldn't learn anything if she didn't push a little bit. “What did you do to him to have him disown you?'

“Why did it have to be something
I
did? Why not him?” He slid her a cold glance that cut to her bone, then looked back through the window.

“I'm just guessing,” she admitted, but her hands were shaking a little and she gripped the glass more tightly. Just being around him was unnerving; sitting calmly under his harsh stare was nearly impossible.

“Then figure it out yourself.”

“What happened, Zach?”

He turned on her then and his eyes, once so cold, had shifted subtly and she felt as if the temperature in the room had suddenly elevated. From the fire, the flames reflected on the hard contours of his face, the flickering shadows making the angles and planes appear harsher, rougher, but she felt another sensation as well, one that started deep within her and caused her heart to pound, a sensation she didn't want to analyze too closely. She licked her lips.

“It's really none of your business.”

Despite the knots in her stomach, she said, “I tried to find out what happened between you and Witt, but couldn't dig up anything substantial. I thought it was because you were considered a suspect in the kidnapping, that somehow what had happened to you that night was confirmation that you were involved.”

He snorted. “That was probably part of it.”

“And the other?”

Zach's jaw tightened and for a second she thought he might confide in her. Instead he turned back to the window and continued to glower. “Doesn't matter.”

“Of course it does—”

“Leave it alone, Adria.” She heard the warning in his voice and decided it was better to back off. For now. But she was determined to find out Zach's secret. More than ever, she wanted to find out what made Witt's rebellious son tick. Maybe there was some truth to the rumors that he wasn't really Witt's boy, that his father was Anthony Polidori. And maybe there was more. The way he had stared at Katherine's portrait had been chilling. There were far more secrets in this house than she'd guessed. She took another drink and slowly settled back into the cushions of the couch to wait.

 

Jason Danvers threw caution to the wind as he put his Jaguar through its paces. Speeding up the narrow, rain-slickened streets of the west hills, he tried to think rationally. He'd left the celebration early, after giving his well-rehearsed speech and spending enough time to dance with the mayor, a woman recently elected and surprisingly popular. He'd made small talk, accepted congratulations from the president of the historical society for refurbishing the old building, smiled at the appropriate times, and even managed a clever quote or two for the reporters of the
Oregonian
and
Willamette Week
. Finally, after two hours, he managed to stuff Kim into a cab and leave the celebration behind.

He felt sweat beading along his collar line and remembered Adria's beautiful face, so much like Kat's. Could she be the real thing—after all these years? Jason's biggest fear—his worst nightmare—was that someone impersonating his long-lost sister would turn up and look so much like her that people might believe she was truly London. For nearly twenty years he'd sweated it out, suspecting that someday the impostor would waltz into Danvers Manor, calmly say she was the little lost princess, make a statement to the press, and start a legal battle over the fortune that would be tied up in court for decades.

Jason had thought his father, while alive, would be foolish enough to believe any beautiful, black-haired, blue-eyed woman who would smile at him and call him “Daddy.” But Witt had proved to be made of tougher stuff than Jason had given him credit for.

Soon after London's disappearance, when the police, the FBI, and even Witt's private eye, Phelps, had given up hope of ever locating the little girl again, Witt had determined he had to find her himself.

He'd bought some airtime on television and offered a million-dollar reward, no questions asked, if anyone could lead him to his little girl.

The television appeal had created chaos. Thousands of phone calls and letters had poured in not only from this country but from as far away as Japan, Germany, and India. All of the would-be heiresses had been fakes, of course, screened by Witt's team of specialists and defrauded quickly, but the search had cost millions of dollars, only to turn up fruitless.

Now, this new interloper was here and her resemblance to Kat was so damned creepy. It scared the shit out of him.

What if she's really London?

That thought settled like lead in his gut, but he knew, damn it, he
knew
she had to be a phony.

 

The beams of headlights splashed against the window and Zachary felt a sense of relief knowing that his brother had finally arrived. Good. Jason could deal with Adria and Zach could get the hell out of town. He didn't want or need to be so close to a woman who reminded him of Kat. “Looks like we've got company.”

“About time.” She was seated in a corner of the couch, her shoes kicked off, her knees drawn up beneath the silky folds of her gown.

As if she belonged. As if she were really a Danvers. As if she were London. Shit. He watched his brother's car screech to a stop near the garage. “He's not gonna be happy.”

“Neither are you.”

Zach caught the irony in her voice and felt the corners of his lips curve upward. She was something. Trouble was, he didn't know what. But she'd rattled Jason and that, in and of itself, was a trait Zach respected.

The Jaguar's powerful engine shut down and a door slammed.

“Still time to back out of this.”

“No way.”

Jason, like many lawyers, was one of the most consummate actors Zachary had ever met. Always aware of presence, drama, and effect, Jason never appeared surprised, unless it was to his advantage. Except tonight, when he'd been forced to face his deepest nightmare—that London, his half-sister, was back and ready to claim her portion of the estate, which just happened to be the lion's share.

Jason's expression was grim as he strode into the room, but he seemed composed. Not a hair out of place, his tuxedo as crisp as when he'd taken it from his garment bag, he'd managed to regain control of his emotions. With a smile as cool as November, he walked to the bar and poured himself a drink.

“Let's just get down to it, shall we?” he said as he recapped a bottle of expensive Scotch.

Zach rested a hip against the fireplace.

“What is it you want, Miss Nash?” Jason asked.

She was ready for him. “Recognition.”

“That you're London?”

“Yes.”

Jason's smile was so cold, Zachary felt a moment's concern for Adria. “You know we don't believe you.”

“I expected it, yes.”

“And you know that there have been hundreds of young women who have claimed to be our half-sister.”

She didn't bother answering, but her eyes never left Jason's face.

“She says she has proof,” Zach interjected, uncomfortable with Jason's arrogant attitude.

“Proof?” Jason's eyebrows raised and a muscle tightened in his jaw.

“I have a tape.”

“A tape of—?”

“It's from my adoptive father. It explains what happened.”

Jason looked at his brother. “You've seen it?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, what're we waiting for? I assume you have it with you, Miss Nash.”

“In my purse.” She reached for the purse near her feet.

Zach stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Don't you think we should wait until Nelson and Trisha are here?”

“Why?”

“We're all involved, Jason,” Zach said as Adria handed Jason the tape.

Opening the plastic cover, Jason asked, “Is this the only copy?”

Adria slanted him a glance that told him to quit acting as if she didn't have a brain in her head. “Of course not.”

“Didn't think so.” Jason stared at the videocassette, flipped it over, and slipped it onto the corner of the desk. “Everything on this tape can be verified, right? If there's any question of legality, there would be documents to back it up.”

“Such as?”

“Adoption papers, that sort of thing.”

“The papers were destroyed.”

Jason's lips twitched. “Destroyed?”

“By a fire.”

“Convenient.”

“I don't think so.”

For a reason he couldn't explain, Zach stepped in. “There must be copies filed with the start.”

Adria shook her head. “I think the adoption was illegal.”

Jason's mouth swept into a grin. “This just gets better and better.”

Zach felt his stomach curl at the way Jason stepped closer to Adria—moving in for the kill. “Back off,” he warned his brother.

“Oh, no, she started this.” Jason was suddenly enjoying the evening.

But Adria didn't back down. “Look,” she said, getting to her feet and staring the brothers down. “I know you're going to do everything you can to disprove me. I expect you to put me through hell. I did a lot of soul-searching before I came here, because, to put it frankly, I'm not sure I'm London Danvers.”

Jason looked smug, as if he thought she was already hedging her bets. “You've changed your mind.”

“No,” she said emphatically and stepped toward him. “I just want you to know where I stand. My father thought I was London.”

“Your father?”

“Victor Nash. He died last year. I didn't find out the truth until I discovered the tape.”

“That makes things easy, doesn't it?” Jason asked. “Your father—and I presume your mother, as well—aren't around to be questioned. But, happily for you, he leaves you a mystery tape telling you that you're going to inherit millions. Have I got it right so far?”

“Dad thought I should know,” she said, a slight defensive edge to her voice.

“So he gave you some sort of deathbed swan song about you being the lost princess of the Danvers kingdom, is that it?”

She pinned him with eyes that darkened with the pain of her past. “That's it.”

“And you must believe it or you wouldn't be here.”

“Of course. But I'm not sure.”

“How much would it cost to convince you that you're no blood relation?”

“As I said before, it's not a matter of money. If I find out I'm not London, I'll leave.”

“And you won't go running to the press?”

Suddenly she crossed the short distance between Jason and the couch so quickly, Zach's breath caught. Without the added inches of her heels, she was a full head shorter than Jason, yet she craned her neck upward and glared at him. Two spots of color stained her cheeks. “You may find this impossible to believe,” she said in a voice so low it was nearly inaudible over the hiss of the fire, “but I don't really care about money. I've seen what it's done to your family as well as a few others, but it is important to me to find out the truth.” Her lips flattened in distaste and her eyes narrowed just a fraction. “Be honest, Jason—wouldn't you like to know if I'm really London?”

“I already know,” Zach said.

Jason glanced at his brother.

“She's a fake.” Zach finished his drink.

So like Zach to make a snap judgment, Jason thought. He was so damned cocksure. To Zach, everything was black or white, right or wrong, good or bad. Once again, Jason's hotheaded brother wasn't reading the situation the way it was. The reason this woman worried Jason wasn't because of her incredible resemblance to Kat. Hell, any decent plastic surgeon could alter her face, her black hair could come out of a bottle, and she could be wearing sky-blue contact lenses for all he knew. Her looks weren't the real problem, though they did worry him more than a little, but it was her attitude that bothered him. Adria was the first person to claim she wasn't sure of her birthright. Whereas every other imposter, the pretenders to the Danvers crown, were sure of themselves and threatening lawsuits, adverse publicity and stories in newspapers coast to coast. Adria was different…chillingly so.

“Sit down, Miss Nash,” he suggested in a voice that most witnesses in a court of law obeyed instantly.

Unmoving, she stood her ground and from the corner of his eye, Jason saw Zachary's mouth twitch in amusement. He was enjoying this, because he didn't have much of a stake in the inheritance. The old man had written him out of his will once and then, as he'd aged Witt had mellowed, tried to patch things up with Zach and offered him the ranch, the only asset that Zach cared about.