Treasures aka See How She Dies

by Lisa Jackson

  “Why didn’t she demand ransom?”

  “Again. I don’t know,” Adria said, as a truck roared past, sending pigeons scattering through the park and trailing a plume of blue exhaust.

  “What about the million-dollar reward that Witt left for anyone who found his daughter? Wouldn’t Ginny have wanted a piece of that?”

  “I can’t speak for her.”

  Another woman asked, “At the time of the kidnapping, some people thought a local businessman, Anthony Polidori, was behind the plot. Witt Danvers always maintained that Polidori was involved.”

  “I don’t know who was behind it.”

  “Polidori was harassed by the police but he swore he was innocent.”

  “I can’t comment on that.”

  “Who was behind the kidnapping?”

  “I don’t know-”

  “What about you, Mr. Danvers? What do you and your family think?”

  Zach responded by skewering the woman with a gaze meant to strike fear into her heart. “I have nothing to say.

  “But you’re here, with a woman claiming to be your half-sister.”

  He felt his blood beginning to boil. “This is her circus, not mine.”

  “So that’s what you think about it?” the woman pushed, obviously pleased to get a rise from him. “What about the rest of the family?”

  “You’ll have to ask them.”

  “They’re not here. You are. What do you think?”

  “I have no comment.”

  “Weren’t you one of the prime suspects at the time?”

  Zach’s eyes flashed. “I was seventeen, for Christ’s sake,” he said, then forced a lid on his temper. “You’ll have to ask the police that one.” He grabbed the crook of Adria’s arm and if he could, he would have bodily carried her away from this ridiculous sideshow. Reporters were jackals. The whole lot of them. He’d learned that firsthand when London had been kidnapped.

  “What do the police have to say?” the redhead asked.

  Adria shot a glance in Zach’s direction. “Nothing yet.” She didn’t add that, at Zach’s insistence, she’d spent the last three hours at the station, explaining her story, giving the police a copy of the tape, showing them the threatening notes. “Thank you all for coming. If you need to get hold of me, please leave a message at the front desk of the Orion Hotel.”

  “The Orion? Why not the Hotel Danvers?” a man yelled.

  “Hold on a minute-”

  “Just a few more questions-”

  Zach’s fingers clamped firmly around her elbow and he propelled her to the Jeep. “Damned zoo,” he ground out as he helped her inside, then slid behind the wheel. Glancing in his rearview mirror, he spotted more than one of the hungry reporters dashing to their cars and vans, hoping, no doubt, to follow them. Good luck, Zach thought humorlessly. He knew the city like the back of his hand and had spent most of his teenage years trying to outrun the law. He slammed the rig into first, popped the clutch, and took off. A few cars gave chase and he had to suppress a grin of satisfaction.

  “I think it went well, don’t you?” Adria asked.

  “It was a fiasco.”

  “Spoken like a true Danvers.”

  He braked around a sharp corner and the tires skidded.

  “We’re being followed?” she asked.

  “Yep.” He glanced in the side-view mirror, frowned, and turned down an alley that opened onto Burnside. “Some of the vultures weren’t finished getting what they wanted.” He sped across the bridge over the dark Willamette, heading east toward the mountains, then doubled back on the freeway, crossing the river again and turning south, continuously checking his rearview mirror until he was satisfied that the cars shifting from lane to lane behind the Jeep weren’t giving chase. “You’ve really stirred up a hornet’s nest now.”

  “It’s time.”

  “You shouldn’t have called the press in the first place-”

  “I told you I didn’t.”

  “Well, someone did.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, her thoughts whirling as they left the city. “Someone did.” Who? Someone from the Danvers family? Anthony Polidori? The stalker who had left her the ugly notes? Someone who had overheard one of her conversations? Trisha? Jason? Nelson? Zach? A headache thundered behind her eyes and she realized that other than some dark, bitter sludge the police department called coffee, she hadn’t had anything to eat all day.

  “You’ll have to check out of the Orion.”

  “I know.”

  “You have another place to stay?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Jason thinks you should move to the ranch.”

  “With you?” she asked.

  “I suppose.”

  The Jeep’s interior seemed suddenly close, the atmosphere thick as she considered what life would be like living far removed from the city-with Zachary. How would she stand every day cooped up with him? She glanced at his profile. Her heart began to beat more loudly. Of course, she couldn’t accept his proposal-she had work to do, here in the Willamette Valley. This was just another ploy by the family to derail her from her goal. “I don’t care what Jason thinks.”

  “It wouldn’t be a bad idea. You’d be safe.”

  Alone with Zachary Danvers? Safe? She didn’t believe it for a minute. Zachary was dangerous on too many levels to count. She was never safe with him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she said, touching the inside of the passenger window with her finger and erasing the dew that had collected on the glass. “Then I’d be trapped in a place where the family could watch me, tape my phone conversations, and monitor me twenty-four hours a day. Thanks, but I don’t think so.”

  He eased off the freeway and found a truck stop. A diner with a flickering neon sign that advertised breakfast was served around the clock was set back from the road. Zach parked close to the front door. “Come on, let’s eat something and then you can decide.” He reached across her and opened the door on her side of the Jeep. The feel of his body, warm and hard, leaning over her thighs had a definite effect on her pulse rate. Stop it!

  As if he felt it, too, his gaze found hers and for a ridiculous heartbeat she thought he might kiss her again. His eyes darkened for a second, searching hers, and his breath fanned her face. He smelled of leather and coffee and musky male and his jaw was nearly black because he hadn’t shaved.

  Earthy and raw.

  Primal and wanton.

  Passionate and wicked.

  Zachary Danvers was all these and more. She licked her dry lips and held her breath. Waiting…sensing he could read her thoughts. “What the hell am I going to do with you?”

  “I’m not your responsibility.”

  “Aren’t you?” One dark brow lifted.

  Her spine stiffened in defense. “Look, Zach, I guess I should thank you for helping me out today, but I don’t really need a baby-sitter.”

  “You might be surprised.” He sent her a smile that cut past all her facades. Pure male animal. He hopped to the gravel and she had to scramble out of the Jeep and hurry to catch up with him.

  She wanted to tell him to get lost and leave her alone, but she couldn’t. He’d been nearby when she’d needed him and when she’d decided to hold the press conference, he hadn’t argued with her, even helped her pick the spot and stayed with her throughout the entire, nerve-fraying ordeal. She didn’t know his motives, but she doubted they were pure. She’d just been thankful to have his strength, his presence during the press conference, though she was certain she could have handled the situation herself and she believed that he was probably sticking to her like glue in order to spy on her for his family. But why then did he insist she go to the police station with her complaints? Maybe he had no choice and felt backed into a corner since the word was out on the street that another woman claiming to be the little lost daughter of Witt Danvers had shown up in Portland.

  They walked into the diner. Country music could be heard over the buzz of conversation and sizzle o
f the grill. They sat in a booth near the window.

  Within seconds, a waitress poured coffee and promised to be back for their orders. Adria picked up her menu and tried to concentrate on the daily special, but having Zachary seated directly across from her was a distraction-the kind of distraction she didn’t want.

  Once they’d ordered, Zach drained his coffee and settled onto the small of his back. “You’d better tell me what you’re planning, Adria,” he said, staring at her with eyes that seemed to see into the darkest corners of her soul, “because from here on in, it’s not gonna be much fun.”

  “And that’s why I’m here. To uncover the truth. To find out if I’m really Witt and Katherine Danvers’s daughter…” Her voice was clear. Strong. Her chin thrust forward as if she wouldn’t back down.

  Hell!

  In a private room, Katherine’s killer stared at the television screen with its flickering images of Adria Nash.

  Why didn’t she back off? Why in the world would she actually call a press conference? Now all of Portland-no, make that all of the whole damned country-was watching!

  Rage boiled up inside.

  What if she really was London? Jesus, she looked so much like Kat it was eerie.

  Pictures of Katherine Danvers skated through her killer’s mind.

  Kat, young and successful, assured of her sexuality, walking up to Witt on the street.

  Kat, a bit older, the gold band on her finger flashing the fact that she was Mrs. Witt Danvers.

  Kat, pregnant and still sexy, her once-taut belly rounded. Smug pride had lifted her sharp chin because of the baby growing within her. Now she was tied to Witt and the Danvers fortune irrevocably.

  The killer blinked, felt sweat beading, then dripping onto the plush carpet.

  Calm down. Don’t let it get to you.

  But the images on the television only brought others to the fore, mental pictures that could never be forgotten. Pictures that burned and flashed painfully.

  Flash!

  Kat with the baby, the darling, and Witt doting on them both, as if he didn’t already have a family, as if he didn’t have four other children, as if this one precious piece of flesh was more important than all the other ones put together.

  God, it had been sickening. Horrible.

  Inside, Katherine’s killer was shaking. Remembering.

  Flash!

  Kat getting her figure back, toning up any remaining fat from her pregnancy and showing off her figure, in a sleek, one-piece swimsuit.

  Flash!

  Kat, black hair gleaming and pinned high on her head, holding court with the elite of Portland. Playing bridge. Attending charity auctions or balls in her tight dresses…

  Flash!

  Kat flirting with anything in pants.

  Flash!

  Kat naked…her body gleaming…the shower…oh, God, how vulnerable she’d been after London had been stolen from her-how easy it had been to place the pills in her drink and then, when she was disoriented, when she’d stumbled outside, give her a shove over the wall.

  Flash!

  Kat falling over the wall, recognition dawning as their eyes met, fear contorting her beautiful features…

  Then the sound. The sickening sound of bones cracking and muscles thudding hard against the pavement below.

  It hadn’t been hard.

  It could be done again.

  “Just a few more questions,” a reporter was insisting but the camera was no longer trained on Adria. The focus had been shifted to the rock-hard countenance of Zachary Danvers and he was pissed. A vein bulged in his neck and his eyes were so dark they were nearly black as he forcibly propelled Adria away from the crowd.

  Of course he’d be there. Zachary had always been a sucker for a beautiful woman. Hadn’t he, like so many other men, been enthralled by his stepmother? Hadn’t he risked Witt’s wrath to be with her?

  And now he was with a woman who could be a carbon copy.

  Like father. Like son.

  Fools both.

  It was time to do something.

  Something permanent.

  But first…a scare.

  Katherine’s killer smiled and clicked off the television.

  Flash!

  In a glimmer of the future there came an image of Adria, the pretender, lying in a pool of her own blood, her bones broken, her neck and head turned to an impossible angle, her eyes staring sightlessly upward.

  Even in death, she would resemble the woman she claimed was her mother.

  The intercom beeped.

  “I know you said you didn’t want to be disturbed, Mr. Danvers,” Jason’s secretary, Frances, said in her most annoyed voice, “but your brother is on line two and he insists on speaking with you right now. I tried to get rid of him-”

  “It’s all right. I’ll take it.”

  Jason crossed the thick forest-green carpet and picked up the phone. Nelson’s voice was agitated and high-strung. “Channel Two. The news.” A click signified that he’d hung up.

  Like a hangman’s noose, dread took a choke-hold on Jason’s neck. He grabbed the remote control, pointed it at the television in the opposite corner of his office, and, with a sick feeling, dropped the telephone receiver back into its cradle. The television flickered on. As Jason stared at the program in progress, his worst fears crystallized. She’d done it. Adria Nash had held her own goddamned press conference in the middle of the park blocks and standing to her side, sometimes in the camera’s eye, often not, was Zach. Good old pain-in-the-ass Zach. A day’s growth of beard discolored his chin and his eyes were dark and unreadable. He was wearing clothes that were mussed and he looked like a damned range cowboy, but he didn’t seem to care that the cameras weren’t being particularly kind.

  Jason swore loudly. A tic started beneath his left eye as he watched, transfixed.

  God, she was beautiful. Standing straight, her wild black hair tossed in the wind, her eyes clear and blue, she looked so damned much like Katherine, Jason could barely breathe. He remembered Kat’s sexy little come-hither smile, her teasing laugh, the mischievous light in her gaze. At first she’d only had eyes for Zach, even though Zach had been a kid at the time, but later, after Zach had been banished from the family, when Witt had discovered his errant son in bed with Kat at the ranch, things had changed. Kat had finally begun to notice Jason.

  It had started slowly at first. A smile. A wink. A naughty little joke. A finger touching the back of his neck that lingered a second too long. Witt’s long absences on business trips didn’t hurt, either.

  The first time had been on a cold winter night with the wind howling through the attic. The electricity had gone out and Jason and Kat had been alone in the house. She’d feigned being frightened and he’d wrapped his arms around her to settle her down and to keep her warm. When she’d tilted her face up to his, it had been the most natural act in the world to kiss her, to touch her, to rip her robe from her and to claim her like a wild buck stealing another’s mate. She’d been an untamed one, her passion pent up from years of frustration.

  After their first night together, they’d begun sneaking around, experimenting with drugs, getting high on coke and marijuana and sex. Even thinking of her now, he was harder than he’d been in years. His wife, Nicole, was and always had been frigid. Kim was a hot little piece, frantic to please him, willing to play out all his fantasies, but she kept pressuring him to file for divorce and she’d never had the raw sensuality, never shown the primal lust for sex that had set Kat apart from all his other lovers. While Kat enjoyed sex, Kim tried too hard to act as if she were enjoying it. Even though she’d do anything he asked, Kim’s responses seemed forced and inhibited.

  There had been no one to equal the pure nymphomania and narcissism of Katherine LaRouche Danvers.

  And this Adria woman-whoever the hell she was-looked so damned much like Kat it scared him-and excited him.

  She was fielding questions and smiling, for God’s sake, handling the crowd deftly. J
ason leaned his hips against the desk. He’d already realized that Adria Nash was an enemy to be reckoned with. She couldn’t be taken lightly. Nor was he. He’d seen through her scam from the minute he’d set eyes on her. She wouldn’t get away with it. He’d stop her dead in her tracks before she claimed one cent of the Danvers assets. He wondered fleetingly what she was like in bed. Sexually charged like Kat or dispassionately accommodating like Kim?

  He frowned at the thought of his mistress and her increasing demands. He couldn’t divorce Nicole. Wouldn’t. His wife, though a limp dishrag in bed, was shrewd. She’d take him for half of everything he owned, which, he hoped, would soon be the largest fortune in Portland. Somehow he’d have to find a way to keep Kim appeased-as well as deal with Adria Nash.

  Through narrowed eyes, he watched the end of the segment, listened to the two anchors speculate on the possibility that the missing heiress had stepped forward to claim her fortune, then felt his insides tense as old footage taken the night London had been kidnapped rolled across the screen. His guts twisted at the sight of his father and Kat, and there was a photo of little London. An artist, using the latest computer technology, had provided a simulated portrait of what the girl could look like and the features weren’t far from Adria’s. Dread settled like lead in his spine.

  But there was no way she could be London! It was damned impossible.

  He clicked off the television as the intercom beeped again. “I’m sorry, Mr. Danvers, I really am, but Mr. Sweeny insists that you’ll want to talk to him. I tried to tell him you were busy and he used the most foul language-”

  “It’s all right, Frances. I’ll take it.”

  “Line two again.”

  “Got it.” Jason’s palms began to sweat. He picked up and braced himself for Sweeny’s news. “Jason Danvers.”

  “You told me to call you when I got to Memphis and I’m here,” Sweeny said, his voice sounding smug.

  “You’ve found Bobby Slade?”

  “I’ve found a whole mess of ’em. Robert E. Lee Slade seems to be a family name or somethin’. It hasn’t been easy, but I got the list narrowed down to a few prime candidates.”

  “Just be sure you end up with the right one.”