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“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.”
