See How She Dies

by Lisa Jackson

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Something to think about.” She added cream to her coffee—not too much, as she prided herself on working out and keeping her body in shape, then watched the clouds swirl to the surface. “Come on now,” she encouraged, blowing across her cup before she took a sip. “Tell me about her.”

  Cradling the warm porcelain between her fingers, Eunice waited. Nelson would tell her everything. He always did. It was his way of trying to be special to her. After the divorce from Witt, all the children suffered and she felt an incredible sense of guilt for their pain. She’d never wanted to hurt the children—they were her most precious possessions. Never would she intentionally wound any of them. It had been Witt she had hoped to cripple, but he seemed to have survived the divorce, even thrived as a businessman, and had taken that slut of a young girl for his second wife. Suddenly her special blend of French roast seemed to curdle in her stomach.

  Nelson scraped his chair back and stood near the windows. Throwing out a hip, he gazed through the glass. Though he’d called her, begged to come by and unburden himself, she sensed that he regretted his decision to open up to her. He’d always been volatile—not so openly hostile as Zach had been—but energized by a pent-up anger just under the surface, a blasting cap primed to explode. She wondered if he even had a clue about how he’d been conceived, but held her tongue.

  Nelson was the child who should never have been born. She and Witt were estranged when she’d gotten pregnant. Witt had finally found out about her affair with Anthony Polidori and all hell had broken loose.

  “You stupid, stupid bitch!” Witt had roared when he’d discovered the truth. He’d sensed that Anthony had been in his house, his room, his bed, though Anthony had slipped away minutes before.

  Witt had slapped her so hard her head had snapped back on her neck and she’d stumbled to fall back on her bed. He was on her in an instant, pinning her to the mattress with his enormous bulk. “How could you?” he’d yelled, straddling her and crushing her face between his meaty hands. She was a big woman, a strong woman, but no match for him. “You lying, cheating bitch, how could you?”

  She was crying, tears streaming down her cheeks and through his fingers, and she knew that he might kill her. His palms squashed her cheeks and she stared up at eyes bright with rage and hatred. Saliva collected in the corners of his mouth and his lips were pulled into a snarl of malice.

  “I…It just happened,” she’d choked out.

  “Like hell! You’re my wife, Eunice, my wife! The wife of Witt Danvers. Do you know what that means?” He gave her head a little shake and she mewled a protest. She could barely breathe. “You may not like me—”

  “I detest you!” she spat.

  “So you go crawling to Polidori. Taking off your panties and spreading your legs and screwing his brains out. Why? To get back at me?”

  “Yes!” she screamed, not daring to utter that she loved Anthony as she’d never loved Witt and the hands around her face pushed harder. Pain jolted through her brain.

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  “At least he’s a man, Witt! He knows how to satisfy a woman!”

  He roared back and this time the hand that came down against her cheek landed so hard she heard bones crack. A moan escaped her throat.

  “A man, eh?” Witt thundered. “I’ll show you a man.”

  She’d shivered as he’d held her down with one hand and undid his belt with the other. He’d never beaten her before, but now she was certain he was going to flay her until her skin was raw. Swallowing all of her pride, she whispered, “Don’t, Witt…please…”

  “You deserve it.”

  “No.” She got one hand free and held it up to protect her face. “Don’t—”

  He hesitated, his shirt undone, his breathing hard and fast.

  “You’re a whore, Eunice.”

  “No—”

  “And you deserve to be treated like one.”

  Still straddling her, he took her hand and guided it to his fly. “Undo it.”

  “No, I—” She withdrew her hand and then held back a little scream as she saw his muscles flex beneath his shirt. He slid his leather belt out of the loops and for a second she saw the flash of a silver buckle—a running horse with sharp little hooves, made of metal that could cut and scar. Oh, God. Pain jolted through her body. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  “Take the zipper down.”

  “Witt, no—”

  “Just do it, Eunice. You’re still my wife.”

  “Please, Witt, don’t make me do this,” she whispered and watched as his nostrils flared and his eyes bulged. How had they ever come to this? How had she ever thought she loved him.

  “Now!”

  Her hands were shaking and she felt revulsion when she noticed the bulge beneath his fly. He was enjoying torturing her and had become hard, after months of impotence, months of silent fury. He’d blame the business, then her, and now he was wreaking his vengeance.

  The zipper slid down with a sickening hiss.

  “You know what to do. Do for me what you do for Polidori. Show me what it takes to make that filthy bastard come.”

  “Witt, no, I don’t want—” He grabbed her by her hair and his eyes glowed with evil rancor. Thick fingers knotted in her French braid as it fell loose.

  “We’re going to do what I want, Eunice. You’re going to make me feel good, Eunice, no matter what it takes, no matter how it hurts.” The fingers pulled hard on her hair. “And when I’m finished with you, you’ll never run back to that bastard again!”

  Sick to her stomach, she had closed her eyes and given herself up to her husband and all his perversity.

  “Mom?” Nelson’s voice broke into her painful reverie.

  Startled, she cleared her throat and quickly reached for her napkin to dab at her eyes.

  Nelson was staring at her. Her baby. The last of her children. The boy conceived during that night of hell. Never once had there been any question of Nelson’s paternity. Even now, staring at her, his carved features set with worry, he was the spitting image of his father as a young man, a man Eunice had thought she’d loved, a man she could barely remember. Witt Danvers with all his energy, his ambitions, his vision for Portland had seemed the perfect match. Though she wasn’t a dainty woman, he hadn’t minded, probably because she was from the “right” family, had a small fortune of her own, and he felt that she would help and support him.

  “It will be ours one day,” he’d said, smiling from a penthouse apartment and looking down at the city. “Every block will have a building with the Danvers name!” She’d believed in him then, trusted him. Until the other women. And the fact that after two children his sex drive at home had dwindled.

  Anthony had been the balm for her ego and she’d stupidly fallen in love with him.

  “Are you all right?” Nelson asked, snapping her back to the present. His handsome face was etched in concern, his blond brows beetling to form one line. So like Witt. Poor child. Despite the rough, humiliating way Nelson had been conceived, Eunice had loved him, as she’d loved all her children.

  “I’m fine,” she lied, forcing a smile. As she stared up at her son now, she thought all the agony and humiliation had been worth it. Clearing her throat, she took her boy’s hand. “Now, tell me what you know about this girl—the one who claims she’s London.”

  “There’s not much to say. No one knows anything, except what we heard last night.”

  Eunice stirred her coffee as Nelson unburdened himself and she heard the sketchy details of the woman pretending to be London Danvers. Nelson was worried, but that was nothing new; he’d been born worried. As a child he’d had a wild imagination, dreamed of fantasy worlds, and as an adult he was always trying to prove himself—as if he silently knew that he hadn’t been wanted, that he’d been created during an act of violence. His job with the public defender’s office was just to show the populace that although he had been born with a s
ilver spoon wedged firmly between his Danvers gums, he still cared about the little people.

  She would help him, of course—as she would help all her children. To make up for the years when she hadn’t been there, when she’d been banished to the role of unfit mother and Jezebel. Witt’s power and money had seen that she had been forced to watch from the outside as he molded her children into little carbon copies of himself.

  Of course, it hadn’t worked. Her offspring were too strong-willed on one hand, and too weak on the other. Jason was the most like Witt in personality and he, too, seemed to care little about anything other than the Danvers name, the Danvers money, and the Danvers corporation. Trisha would never really be her own woman. Witt had taken care of that a long time ago. Zach…She smiled as she thought of her second son. He was special. He’d been a thorn in Witt’s side from the minute he was born and Eunice had reveled in her son’s rebellious nature. Nelson was more of a conformist, but he’d only gone along with Witt for his own purposes.

  The divorce had been ugly, most of it replayed in the newspapers. Eunice was portrayed as a bored, rich woman who had partaken of numerous affairs, including sleeping with her husband’s sworn enemy. She hadn’t had the energy or the resources to fight Witt’s power, so she’d agreed to a nice little settlement and left her children with their beast of a father. Even now, as she thought about how Witt had manipulated her into losing her darlings, her teeth clenched in silent rage. She should have known better than to have pushed him so far; she should have sacrificed herself and lived with his mood swings and impotence and rage, so that she would never be separated from the children, but she’d been cowardly and accepted his token alimony—blood money—and left.

  Her life had never been complete. Even when she’d remarried, she’d been restless and there hadn’t been a night she hadn’t gone to bed feeling guilty as sin and lonely for the chubby little arms and adoring eyes of her babies.

  As for her affair with Polidori, it had cooled and cracked as quickly as hot glass dipped in ice water once Witt got wind of the situation. She often wondered if Anthony had used her. If he’d seduced her for the express purpose of tormenting Witt. She blinked rapidly and once again fought the threat of hot tears.

  “You’re sure you’re all right?” Nelson said, touching her lightly on the shoulder.

  “Right as rain,” she replied, refusing to break down. “Now, come on. Surely we can find out more about this imposter who’s posing as London.”

  Adria zipped her huge purse shut, then closed her eyes and rotated her head, straightening the kink that had tightened between her shoulder blades. She’d learned a lot about the history of the Danvers family. They were powerful and influential and had been for over a hundred years. Some of the scandals had been reported to the press, others had only been hinted at, but she felt as if she’d made progress. She had names and dates and more information than she’d ever found in Montana.

  She’d started her search in 1974 at the time of the kidnapping and worked backward and forward, learning as much as she could. She wasn’t finished; the Danvers name littered the newspapers before and since the kidnapping, but she needed a break. Gathering her papers, she left her table by the window on the second floor.

  Outside, the sun had won the weather battle. Beams reflected off the puddles on the sidewalk and the breeze had died. A few clouds drifted over the sky, but the day, for winter in the Pacific Northwest, was mild. She decided to walk south to the Galleria, an old department store that had been converted to several stories of shops.

  She found a café on the first floor.

  She’d just picked up the menu when she spied Zachary and her breath caught at the base of her throat. Without a word or an invitation, Zachary picked up the chair opposite hers, turned it around, set it back down, and straddled it.

  In the few hours they’d been apart, she’d forgotten how imposing he was. Dressed down in faded Levi’s, flannel shirt, and jacket, he was formidable nonetheless. He hadn’t bothered to shave and his features bordered on harsh. He seemed distinctly displeased as he folded his arms over the back of the chair and glared at her.

  “You lied to me.”

  “Did I?” she asked as she ignored the sexy slope of his jaw.

  “Big time. You didn’t stay at the Benson.”

  “Is that a crime?”

  “I really don’t give a damn where you stay, but the rest of the family seems to think it’s important.”

  “Then I must worry them.”

  “Appears so,” he drawled, his gray eyes cloudy.

  “What about you? If you don’t ‘give a damn,’ then why are you here?”

  “I got elected.”

  She wasn’t buying it. She didn’t think that Zachary was the kind of man who let anyone talk him into doing something he opposed.

  “How did you find me?”

  “It wasn’t hard.”

  She had to hold onto her temper. “You followed me.”

  He shrugged and the tense little smile that touched the corners of his mouth infuriated her.

  “How?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m here to extend you an invitation.”

  She eyed him suspiciously, but a waitress, dressed in a white blouse, black skirt, and bow tie, appeared to take their order and the conversation lagged for a few minutes.

  “You weren’t invited here,” she told him once the waitress turned her attention to the next table.

  “Just like you weren’t invited last night.”

  “Why are you following me?”

  “You make some members of the family nervous.”

  “You—do I make you nervous?”

  He hesitated and stared at her with such scrutiny that she wanted to squirm out of his range of vision. Cold, assessing gray eyes searched her face. “You bother me,” he admitted, tilting his head back, “but you don’t worry me.”

  “You still don’t believe me.”

  “You don’t believe it yourself, not really.”

  There was just no winning this argument. Zach Danvers was obviously like a terrier with a bone and he believed what was convenient. Fine, she told herself, let him think what he wants, but the cynical disbelief in his eyes made her uncomfortable. She took a sip from her water glass and decided she should try to make some peace with this man. He was her only link to the family.

  “You said something about an invitation,” Adria reminded him as she buttered a slice of sourdough bread.

  “The family thinks it would be a good idea if you would stay in the Hotel Danvers.”

  She should have expected as much, but she hadn’t. “So it’s easier for them to spy on me.”

  “Probably.”

  “Well, you can tell the family to go to hell.”

  One side of his mouth lifted. “Already have.”

  “Look, Zach. I don’t like being manipulated, I hate being followed, and I detest the feeling that Big Brother is watching me.” She broke off a piece of bread and chewed it.

  “You came looking for us, remember?”

  That much was true. With a sigh, she blew her bangs out of her eyes. She shouldn’t have let her temper get the better of her. She was tired from too little sleep on a sagging mattress, grumpy from lack of food, and her nerves were strung tight as piano wires at the thought of facing the Danvers family, her family, again.

  “I just want you to help me find the truth.”

  “I know the truth,” he said.

  “If you’re so sure, why are you following me?”

  Zach studied her another long minute. “I think you’re going to stir up a hornet’s nest the likes of which you’ve never seen before and I think you’ll regret it.”

  “My mistake to make.”

  “I’m just warning you.”

  “About what?” She leaned her elbows on the table and pushed her face closer to his. “I’ve had months to think this through, Zachary. I had doubts, of course I did, but I can’t spend the rest of my lif
e wondering who I am.”

  “What if you find out you’re not London?”

  Her smile was slow and sexy and caused Zach’s diaphragm to cram hard against his lungs. “I believe in crossing bridges when I come to them.”

  The waitress brought their orders and Adria dived into her soup with a vengeance.

  “Jason thought you might be more comfortable at a suite in the hotel.” Zach took a bite of his sandwich.

  “Concerned for my health and safety, is he?” she mocked.

  Zach lifted a shoulder.

  “Tell him ‘thanks but no thanks.’ The cost’s a little too high.”

  “The room is gratis.”

  “I wasn’t talking about money.” Her eyes met his for an instant and again Zach felt an unwanted tug on his gut. She was getting to him, with her clear blue eyes, sexy smile, and quick wit. He didn’t say another word until they were finished with their meal and he insisted on paying. She argued, of course, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer and in the end, she gave up, deciding that she’d forgo the small battles for the larger ones to come, or so she’d said.

  The streets were crawling with people by the time they started walking back to the library. Cars, trucks, bicycles, and pedestrians clogged the alleys and sidewalks. Adria yanked the rubber band holding her hair away from her face and shook the loose curls free. Zach’s mouth went dry as the wild blue-black strands shimmered in the sunlight. She looked so damned much like Kat it was eerie.

  “So what was it that caused the rift between you and your father?” she asked as she shifted her shoulder bag from one arm to the other.

  “I was a pain in the neck.”

  She let out a little laugh. “That, I believe.”

  “Always getting into trouble with the law.”

  “Oh.”

  “Witt didn’t approve. He wanted all of us to graduate at the top of our class from an Ivy League school…or if we couldn’t get in, then Reed College would do since it’s kind of a family tradition…afterward we were to finish law school and join a prestigious firm.”