See How She Dies (36 page)

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. Jason 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.”

“Piece of cake. Oh, by the way, thought you might like to know that your girl Adria's been busy.”

Jason's fingers tightened over the receiver. “Has she?”

“Yep. I found out from an insider in the Polidori house that she's big news over there. The old man thinks he can use her if she is London because, as you probably already know, he's interested in buying out big chunks of Danvers International.”

“Go on,” Jason said through clenched teeth.

“Well, that's about it. Except that the younger Polidori seems to be very interested in her.”

“Mario?”

“Mmm, could be messy, don't you think? Your sister's still seeing him.”

“I know,” Jason ground out. Trisha would never learn.

“Fun family you got there, Danvers. I'll call you when I have more.”

Click.

“Wait!” Jason said, hating to be dismissed by the slimy detective. Sweeny's information usually was good and if he'd managed to make an informant out of one of the servants in the Polidori house, then Jason felt as if his money had been well spent. But he wanted to know more. Lots more.

The noose around his neck tightened a notch.

Glancing at his watch, he frowned and yanked his briefcase from the top of the desk. In the reception area, Frances was talking on the phone. He headed to the elevators, but she flagged him down. “It's Guy in Security,” she said, hanging up. “Seems we've got a siege of reporters downstairs wanting to talk to you or someone in the Danvers family. And these”—she held up a small pile of messages—“are all from reporters and columnists from all over the country. They want to talk to you about London.” She raised her eyebrows over the tinted lenses of her glasses. “Do we have a new one again?”

“Yes, and a very convincing one,” Jason said, unable to hide his irritation.

“Oh, dear.” Her small lips pursed in her fleshy face. Frances Boothe would lay down her life for Danvers International. “Well, Guy said you might want to avoid the lobby.”

“I am,” he said, flashing her a not-to-worry smile. “They won't expect me to be going off the roof. Anything else?”

“Miss Monticello called twice. Wanted you to call back.”

Jason's fingers clenched over the handle of his briefcase at the mention of Kim. She could stew for a while; it wouldn't hurt her to wait for him. Now that Adria had gone to the press, Kim held nothing over his head—except his affair. Frowning to himself, he dashed down the hall with two vice presidents. They were both talking to him at once, two yes-men who cared more about Danvers International than they did their own families. He managed to respond automatically as they rode the elevator to the helicopter pad on the roof.

The chopper was waiting and Jason was grateful for the roar of the whirring blades that drowned out conversation for the next few minutes. As the helicopter lifted off and he looked down at the city he felt a premonition of doom. At one time he'd been certain he would be the crown prince of Portland. Now, because of Adria Nash, he wasn't so sure.

It was time to show Ms. Nash what she was up against. Really up against.

 

Zach glanced at Adria. She was huddled in the far corner of his Jeep, staring at the middle distance through the windshield, but, he guessed, seeing nothing as cars sped around them. She acted as if she didn't know he was in the rig with her, and he couldn't forget how close she was. Whenever he was with her, his instincts seemed to sharpen and his nerves were strung tight as bow strings.

Her lower lip protruded slightly and her fingers drummed impatiently upon her leg. Her hair was loose and windblown and fell down one shoulder in thick, unruly curls. Beneath her jacket he noticed the outline of her breasts and he wondered if her resemblance to Kat stopped at her face or continued beneath her clothes…

Angry with himself for the single-minded track of his thoughts, he switched on the headlights and pulled out of the parking lot of a restaurant where he hadn't been able to keep his eyes from gazing at the curve of her cheek, the precocious little dimple when she smiled, the smooth column of her throat, and the roundness of her breasts.

He'd been hard half the day, silently cursing himself for feeling like a sex-starved teenager all over again. It was more than just her looks that attracted him; her mind was just as sexy as the rest of her.

Adria had given one interview after another and though Zach had disapproved, he didn't have a death wish and didn't do anything as stupid as try to stop her. He'd stood in the shadows, watching her handle the reporters' questions deftly, though she couldn't have missed the innuendoes that she was just a cheap fortune hunter out to steal a dead man's money. She had managed to stay calm, even injecting a little humor into the situation. From the newspaper-reading and television-watching public's point of view, Adria Nash was going to look good—damned good—and if the Danvers family didn't accept her as an honest woman searching for the truth, they would have one hell of a public relations problem.

Zach snorted in disgust. Public relations and public image were Nelson's department. The kid was certain to be sweating. “Okay, where to?”

“I guess back to the hotel.”

“You'll have reporters swarming through the lobby,” he predicted. “Your phone will ring off the hook.”

She smiled a little. “I'll leave that to Security.” Stifling a yawn, she added, “Besides, I think I can handle them.”