See How She Dies (33 page)

“Jesus, Zach, listen to you. Don't even think about it.” Nelson shoved the sleeves of his sweater to his elbows as he looked from one of his siblings to the other. “Look, arguing among ourselves isn't doing any of us any good. What we've got to do is find a way to discredit her. She assured me that if we found out the truth and proved to her that she
wasn't
London, she'd take a hike.”

“And you believe that?” Trisha asked with a low-throated chuckle. “Jesus, Nels, you really are a dumb shit, aren't you? The more I think about it, the more I think you're the perfect public servant.”

“Knock it off,” Jason ordered. “I've got Sweeny checking her story and he's got a man following her. If she's got an accomplice, we'll hear of it.”

“Sweeny?” Zach said, disgusted. He'd suspected that Jason would have Adria followed, but Oswald Sweeny was lowlife trash who would sell his own mother if the price were right.

“He'll get the job done.”

“He's a fucking creep,” Trisha said.

For once Zach agreed with his sister, but he didn't have time to argue with Jason's choice of private investigators.

Zach turned his attention to his younger brother. Nelson seemed incredibly nervous—like he was on speed. “Are the notes legitimate threats?” he asked, forcing himself to think logically. On one level he wanted to tear his siblings limb from limb for all their disparaging remarks about Adria, and yet, he was a fool to think he could trust her one little bit.

Nelson eyed him curiously. “What're you getting at?”

“Could she have written them herself?”

“What for?” Nelson asked.

Zach peeled the label off his beer. “Public sympathy.”

“You are perverted, aren't you?” Trisha said.

“Wait a minute. Why not?” Jason asked, warming to the subject. “She's clever enough to have written the threats herself. Shit, yes, that's probably just what she did.” There was genuine admiration in his eyes.

“Or else she might be in serious danger,” Zach said aloud and that thought chilled him to the bone. “Why don't you tell me where she is?”

“She's got a room at the Orion,” Nelson supplied. “Don't know the room number.”

The Orion
. He hadn't been in that hotel since the night of the kidnapping, had never been able to drive past its cold concrete exterior without feeling a time warp that dragged him back to the horrid night when he'd been beaten, left for dead, and ended up a suspect in his kid sister's abduction. “Who knows she's there?”

Nelson bit his lower lip. “Probably half the people in Portland by now. Hell, Zach, didn't you hear me? She's talking about going to the police and the press! Do you know what will happen? It'll be a circus—”

“Why do you care?” Trisha asked Zach as she reached for another cigarette. “As I said, you've never given a good goddamn about the family.”

“Still don't.”

“But you've got a bug up your butt, don't you?” She flicked her lighter to the end of her filter tip. “You know, Zach, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were interested in Adria. Romantically speaking.”

He didn't bother answering.

“Just like Kat. Couldn't keep your hands off her, even though you knew it was suicide.” Trisha studied the glowing tip of her cigarette as if it held all the answers to the universe. “I'd hate to think this copy-Kat's got her claws into you already.”

Zach forced a cold smile. “Hell, Trisha, and here I thought you were the only one with claws.”

She glowered at him through smoke.

Jason said, “I still think the best idea would be to hide her away somewhere like the ranch.”

“Forget it.” Zach told himself he wasn't interested.

“Could give you a chance to be alone with her,” Trisha taunted. “At the ranch. Just like Kat.”

Zach's fingers tightened around his Coors and Jason, his mouth set and grim, held up a hand. “Time for a truce, you two. Get ahold of yourself Zach. You know who the enemy is here.”

Yeah, Zach knew. But he didn't like it. Jason was still suggesting that he convince Adria to leave Portland and go to the ranch with him.

The trouble was, Zach was beginning to agree.

From the outside, the Orion Hotel looked the same as it had years ago when Zach, determined to lose his virginity, had crossed the threshold. Inside, things had changed. The main lobby had been remodeled. Glass tables and floral couches were positioned away from the desk and spiky-leaved palms seemed to grow out of the terra-cotta floor.

Ignoring a sense of déjà vu that made his skin crawl, Zach walked straight to the desk where two clerks—a man and a woman in their early twenties—were manning the night shift. “Would you ring Ms. Nash's room?” Zach asked. “Tell her she has a guest in the lobby.” The two exchanged glances and the woman checked her watch.

“Is she expecting you?”

“No.”

“It's late—”

“She won't mind.”

Polished fingernails flew over the keyboard of her computer. “Let me see if she's asked not to be disturbed…” She studied the monitor, gave a little shrug, and lifted the phone receiver to her ear. “What's your name?”

“Zachary Danvers.”

“She knows you?”

“Yeah.”

“It'll be just a minute.”

“I'll wait in the bar.”

 

As the telephone jangled for the third time, Adria reached blindly for it and glanced at the clock. Twelve-thirty. She'd been asleep for less than an hour, but the clouds of slumber had been heavy and hard to part. Fumbling for the receiver with one hand, she pushed her bangs out of her eyes with the other. “Hello?”

“Ms. Nash, this is Laurie at the front desk. I'm sorry to disturb you, but you have a visitor. Mr. Danvers is here to see you.”

“Who?”

“Zachary Danvers.”

“Zach?” The fog cleared from her mind as the apologetic clerk conveyed Zach's message. Her heart skipped a tiny little beat before she realized that he'd been called in by the troops. It was time to circle the Danvers family wagons as Adria had threatened to go to the press. She wondered how he'd try to convince her to take a hike.

She threw on a pair of jeans and a bulky sweater. Unable to control the wild black curls, she clipped a barrette over her hair at the base of her neck and grabbed her purse.

“Ready for round three,” she told herself as she thought of Polidori and Nelson Danvers and the damned dead rat wearing her locket! Suddenly she'd become popular. Too popular. And too many people knew where she lived. It was time to move to cheaper, more private quarters.

She saw Zach the minute she entered the bar. Despite the soft lights and the dark interior, she noticed him at a table in the corner.

His jean-clad legs were stretched out in front of him and he rested on the small of his back. His blue work shirt was pushed high on his forearms and he was watching the door with hawklike eyes that followed her as she made her way to the table.

She'd forgotten how formidable he was: the cruel set of his mouth, the thick black brows, his face—all sharp angles and planes—and eyes that seemed to see through any facade.

Nursing a beer, he didn't say a word as she approached, didn't offer the hint of a smile or indicate in any way that he was glad to see her. In fact, he almost scowled as if irritated by the sight of her.

“Do you know what time it is?” she asked, dropping her purse onto the table.

He shrugged. “After midnight.”

“If you're here to offer me a bribe, forget it.”

“Sit down, Adria,” he suggested. “I heard you've been getting some nasty mail.”

“Bad news travels fast.” She settled into a chair.

The waiter came and she started to decline, then decided she could use a drink. Zach's presence always unnerved her. It was his attitude, she supposed. All male ego and raw sexuality, as if he knew he was attractive to females, the kind of cynical man most women considered a challenge and itched to tame, the kind of man she should stay away from—a lonesome cowboy who was up to no good. “I'll have a glass of chardonnay, please.”

“Tell me about the letters.”

“Not exactly love notes,” she said and pulled a plastic bag from her purse. She slid it across the table and he read the short messages through the plastic.

“Someone means business.” His mouth was grim, his eyebrows pulled together.

“Someone named Danvers, unless I miss my guess.”

“Nelson said you got a package, too.”

“That I did.” Her wine came and she took a long sip.

“From the same guy?”

“I imagine.”

“What was it?”

Oh, Lord
. “A personal gift,” she said, watching his reaction. “A dead rat with—”

“What! Someone sent you a dead rat?” His face drained of color.

“—with a necklace around its throat and body, the very locket and chain that was stolen from my room when I was staying at the Hotel Danvers and this note.” She pointed to one of the plastic encased letters.

“Jesus Christ, Adria, are you kidding?”

“About this? Nope.” She shook her head.

“And you didn't call the police?”

“Not yet.”

“Where is the damned thing?”

“On ice.”

“What?”

“In the mini fridge in my room.” He looked as if he didn't believer her. “You want to see it?”

“Damned straight.” His countenance had changed from shock to anger and he slapped some bills onto the table and followed her out of the bar, past the front desk and to the elevators.

“This is friggin' nuts,” he growled as she unlocked the door to her room, stepped inside, and walked to the minibar.

“You're telling me.” She opened the refrigerator door and Zach, bending on one knee, looked inside. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered. “Son of a goddamned bitch.” He didn't touch the bag, but said, “You have to tell the police about this, Adria.” He motioned toward the package. “This isn't just a simple threat scratched on a note and slipped under the door.”

“I was just waiting.”

“For what? The sicko to come after you? No. There'll be no waiting.” He crossed to the bed and swept the phone from its cradle. “Either you call or I will. But this has gone far enough!”

“Just hold on a sec. I said I'd call the police and I will, but…but let's go back downstairs and finish our drinks. Think about this calmly.” She suddenly needed to get out of the room.

“There's nothing to be calm about. This is serious, Adria.” Using a handkerchief, he pulled the plastic bag with its grisly contents from the refrigerator. “Is this what it came in?” he asked, motioning to the torn manila envelope on the desk.

“Yes.”

“Then let's put it back.” He started to stuff the rodent carefully back into the packet.

“Wait a minute. What are you doing? We have to save it.”

“I've got a friend who works for the police department. A detective. He'll know what to do with it.”

“I don't think this is a good idea.”

“It's better than anything you've come up with. You don't want to go to the cops, fine. Let's handle this discreetly.”

“I'll have to fill out a report.”

“Yeah. Eventually. But come on, do you really want to spend another night with this guy?” He hitched his chin at the envelope where the rat was now tucked.

“No, I guess not,” she admitted, but she didn't know if she could trust him.

As if he could read her mind, he said, “Believe me. I'll talk to my friend ASAP. Come on. I'll buy you a drink.”

“I don't like being manipulated.”

“I'm just trying to help.” His gaze held hers for a second too long. “You've got to trust someone, Adria. And you're the one who came looking for me a few days back. Not the other way around.”

That much was true. “Fine,” she said with a quick nod. “Have your friend in the department call me. I would like my necklace back.”

Zach lifted a dark brow. “You'd wear it again?”

“I don't know. But I'd like the option.”

Carefully, he tucked the envelope into his jacket pocket and walked to the door.

“We need to stop downstairs at the front desk. Get new keys…”

“As if that will stop anyone,” she muttered, and hated feeling a little more secure because Zach was around. Which was just plain stupid. He was a Danvers. One of them. She shouldn't trust him one little bit, but she didn't argue when the elevator landed on the first floor and he helped her get a new room key at the front desk. He also impressed upon the woman behind the counter that no one, not even a member of the staff, was to go into Adria's room.

“I don't think your speech is going to help. Whoever wants to get into my room will find a way,” she said as they crossed the foyer to the bar.

“Over my dead body,” Zach whispered and held open the frosted glass door. Inside he chose a booth near the windows that had a view of the door. Zach could watch people on the sidewalk near the exterior door and he could also watch anyone slipping into the bar through the vestibule. Not that there weren't hidden service entrances and back doors where someone could slip inside.

Adria had never felt more vulnerable in her life. And yet, silly as it was, Zach's presence was comforting. If only she could trust him.

You can't trust anyone, Adria. Remember that. Remember the notes. Remember the package that is now in Zach's pocket. Don't let your guard down for a second.

A waiter deposited their drinks and Adria tried to sip her wine, but she couldn't enjoy a swallow, not with Zach so close, his eyes trained on the doorway, his jaw hard and set. Not with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

Zach glanced around the small establishment, his gaze scouring the patrons settled into dark, paneled booths or perched upon stools at the long, polished metal bar. “I don't like this,” he said, ignoring his beer as laughter broke out from a corner table.

“That makes two of us.” But along with a case of nerves, she was furious. No one had the right to terrorize her. “Look, I'm not going to let that bastard, whoever he is, stop me. That's what he's trying to do, you know. I guess he thinks I'll just shiver in my boots and hurry on back to Montana.”

Zach's mouth twitched.

“Well, it's just not happening. He's made me too angry. Instead of running scared, I've decided to notch things up a bit. Turn up the heat.”

He watched her over the rim of his glass.

“I'm going to go to the press and I'll start with the newspapers.”

“Fine.” His eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Don't you care?”

“What? About the bad press? Hell, no. What I care about is that you don't get hurt.” His gaze drilled into hers and she had to look away. “Call a damned press conference for all I care, but watch your back. Better yet, have someone watch it for you.” He took a long pull on his beer and his eyes narrowed on her in a way that made her stupid heart skip a beat. “You know what you need?”

She nearly groaned. “No, but I have the feeling you're going to tell me.”

“A bodyguard.”

“What? You're joking, right?”

“Not a bit.”

He was suddenly so serious, she nearly laughed. “Give me a break. I can take care of myself. Remember, I grew up on a ranch in Montana and—”

“And you're getting threatening letters.”

“From a coward.”

“Who plays with dead animals. Wake up, Adria. This is serious.”

She felt a chill as cold as midnight pass over her skin and swallowed hard. “So…Danvers…Are you suggesting that
you
become my bodyguard? Are you applying for the job?”

He didn't reply but gazed straight back at her with such an intensity she felt as if her diaphragm had slammed up against her lungs. Breathing was suddenly all but impossible.

“Don't you think it would be stupid of me, I mean really stupid, to have someone named Danvers protecting me?”

“You can't fight the world alone.”

“Not the world, Zach. Just the Danvers family.”

“They're powerful.”

“You mean
you're
powerful, don't you? You're part of the family whether you like it or not.”

He hunched over his beer. “For the record, I don't like it.”

“But you're tied to them, aren't you?” she said. “Because of Daddy's money.”

His arm shot across the table and he clamped his work-roughened fingers over her wrist. His words came out in a low, menacing growl. “Listen to me, lady. I'm trying to do you a favor here and all you're doing by fighting me is pissing in the wind.”