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“And that was because of you?”
He shrugged. “Only a few people saw me. The early risers this morning. Jogger and guys with briefcases off to important meetings.” He stretched, his tall body seeming to grow longer and leaner as he reached over his head, then winced as the cramps left his muscles. “So, no one bothered you?”
“No one called, but I asked the desk to take messages.”
“Maybe I could buy you breakfast.”
She slid a glance in his direction. They were alone in the elevator and he seemed to fill it with his presence. For once there wasn’t a trace of hostility in his eyes and she was tempted to let down her guard a bit even though he had the innate and maddening ability to make her see red at the drop of a hat. Be that as it may, she needed one friend, one contact in the family, someone who didn’t outwardly hate her, and yet being close to Zach was dangerous on an entirely different and deeper emotional level.
As the elevator ground to a stop and the doors whispered open, Adria stepped into the lobby and let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. She paused at the desk to ask for her messages. The clerk offered her a plastic smile. “You’re a popular lady,” he said, handing her a stack of eight or ten pieces of paper.
“What’s this?” she asked aloud as she fingered the pages: Mary McDonough from KPTV news, Ellen Richards with a local magazine, Robert Ellison, a reporter for the Oregonian. Her throat tightened. “Looks like the cat’s out of the bag,” she said to Zach just as a short balding man pushed himself out of a chair half hidden by large-leafed ferns.
“Are you Adria Nash?” he asked with a smile. Beside her, Zach tensed. “I’m Barney Havoline with the Portland Weekly.” He shoved a card at her and she checked it quickly, her fingers curving over the crisp edges. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.” He didn’t wait for her to answer, but rushed on, “I heard that you’re in town, claiming to be London Danvers. Is that true?” He clicked on his microphone and grinned at her as if she were his long-lost friend.
Zach took a step closer to her.
Adria managed a thin smile. “That’s essentially true, yes.”
“And how do you know you’re the Danvers heiress?”
“I f
ound out from my father.”
“Witt Danvers?”
“No, my adoptive father. Listen, Mr. Havoline, I don’t know how you found out why I’m in town or where I’m staying, but—”
“Can you prove you’re London?”
“—I was planning to call a press conference later in the day and explain everything.”
He flashed her a smile and she was aware that several patrons of the hotel were staring at them; even a bellboy had stopped to watch the unfolding drama.
“Really,” Havoline insisted. “This will take just a little while. I only have a couple more questions.”
“She said later,” Zach cut in, stepping between the pushy reporter and Adria.
“But we’re here now,” Havoline insisted. “I could buy you both a cup of coffee or breakfast…and who are you?” he asked, before his eyes met Zach’s and the light dawned on his face.
“Your worst nightmare.” Zach’s expression had turned murderous.
“What—”
“Get out.”
“Zachary Danvers.” The reporter’s eyes gleamed as if he realized he had more of a story than he’d first guessed. “So this woman could be your long-lost—”
“I said ‘get out’!”
“Not just yet. I’ve got a few more questions?” He tried looking over Zach’s shoulder to catch Adria’s eye, but a huge hand clamped over the lapels of his jacket and propelled him past the magazine stand toward the entrance. “Hey, you can’t do this! I’ve got rights!”
Zach shoved Havoline through the glass doors and he stumbled onto the street. “I’ll sue you, you bastard!” he yelled, brushing off his jacket as a news van for a local station pulled up to the front doors.
“Hell,” Zach muttered and clamped his fingers over Adria’s arm. As reporters climbed out of the cab, he spun her around and half ran back to the desk. “We need to leave,” he told the clerk who had witnessed the entire scene. “You must have a back way out so we don’t have a mob scene here in the lobby.”
“I don’t know—”
