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So far, it seemed, no one knew where she was staying. He hadn’t told a soul and unless she opened her gorgeous mouth, she should be safe. She had talked about more permanent quarters, but he’d managed to convince her that mobility was important should her personal nutcase find her and force her to leave in a hurry.
Now, as he stared across the table of the little out-of-the-way tavern where he hoped neither of them would be recognized, she was smiling up at him with a wicked little glint in her eye.
“You’re paranoid,” she accused over clam chowder.
Men in work clothes bellied up to the bar, where peanuts, pretzels, and popcorn were offered for free and the television was tuned in to a basketball game. From the sounds of the crowd, the Portland Trail Blazers were ahead.
“Family trait.” He pushed his platter aside. “Guess you can’t be part of the Danvers clan if you don’t have it.”
“Guess not,” she said with a teasing smile that caught on the strings of his heart. Hell, but he was becoming a fool over her.
She looked suddenly guilty, as if she’d been keeping something from him. “I got a phone call,” she admitted. He waited for the rest of it and guessed that she’d spent hours, maybe days, deliberating on whether or not she should confide in him.
“Who called?” he asked as his patience gave out. He felt the brackets near the corners of his mouth deepening.
“Mario Polidori.”
“He knows you’re here?” Zach’s smile faded and his entire countenance turned to stone.
“Probably a lot of people do,” she pointed out as she waved the end of her spoon at him. “Your family’s having me followed, I’m sure of it. And they’re probably not the only ones. With all the interest in the media…”
“Christ!” He rubbed the back of his neck in agitation and his gut wrenched—a sure sign that he expected trouble. He didn’t often foresee it and find out that somehow trouble had managed to slip him by. Why hadn’t she told him earlier? They could have moved to another spot somewhere farther up in the hills—or toward the beach. Somewhere safe. “Anyone else call?”
She shook her head and her wild hair brushed across her shoulders. “Just Polidori.”
“What does he want?”
“To talk to me, obviously.” She let her spoon clatter back in her empty bowl. Should she tell Zach about the Polidoris’s offer? She considered it, but decided to hold her tongue. What good would it do? Knowing that the Italian family was looking for ways to buy chunks of Danvers International would only serve to make him more angry and suspicious than he already was. And she didn’t need to be on the receiving end of his particularly bad temper. Since she, if she did prove to be London, had no intention of selling the hotel or any part of the vast businesses to Polidori or anyone else, it seemed a moot point.
“Stay away from him,” Zach advised.
“Why?”
“There’s bad blood.”
“Oh, don’t give me that old feud thing.” Someone turned on the jukebox and the notes of a country ballad drifted through a cloud of smoke.
“It exists, Adria. I’ve got the scars to prove it.” Her gaze shifted to the fine line cleaving along the side of his face. It was barely visible, but seemed to serve as a constant reminder to him. No doubt he was still convinced that his attack at the Orion had been orchestrated by the Polidori family.
Near the bar, there was a roar of approval from the patrons watching the basketball game. Hoots and hollers filled the room, obscuring the announcer’s voice and drowning out the music. The Blazers must have f
ound the bucket again.
“Why don’t you fill me in on the details of the feud,” she suggested once the din died down and some drunk offered to buy the house a round. “Then I’ll decide if I want to meet Mario.”
“The feud,” he said, obviously reluctant to talk about it.
“I know some of the story already.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Come on, Zach. Tell me about it.”
Gazing at her thoughtfully, he rolled his long-necked bottle of Henry’s between his palms. He frowned silently, then shrugged.
“Okay, why not? You probably know most of the gory details anyway. It’s always been there—ever since I was a kid—This…intense hatred of a family I’d never even met. You’ve probably read about most of it,” he said, and she nodded, deciding it best not to mention talking to Maria Santiago.
The waitress came with a fresh bottle of beer for Zach and after she’d swept away the empty bottle and glasses, cleared the platters and bowls, slapped a bill on the table, and left balancing her precarious load, Zach told the story of the Polidoris and Danverses. His version was about the same as she’d heard before.
