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“Oh, God!” Adria threw herself at Jason, but it was too late. Jason tackled his brother and hit him squarely in the back of his head with the butt of his gun.
Adria screamed.
Zach’s legs buckled.
“You bastard!” Adria lunged, grabbing at Jason’s arm, and he flung her off to slam against the railing. Crack! Pain splintered through her brain. Her head bounced against the hardwood and she staggered, her feet slipping on the slick deck, her gaze fastened on the brothers.
Zach reeled forward and kicked upward, catching Jason in the groin.
With a roar of sheer agony, Jason doubled over.
Staggering, Zach tried to kick his brother again.
Jason was quick. He caught Zach’s boot in his hands and jammed Zach back against the rail.
No! Oh, no! Adria staggered forward as Jason twisted Zach’s ankle. Zach roared in pain and Adria propelled herself forward, her feet slipping as she launched herself onto Jason’s back.
He still held the gun in one hand, but she didn’t care as she tore into him, kicking and clawing, fighting with every ounce of strength in her body as the boat rocked and the rain came down in sheets.
Jason wrenched Zach’s ankle again and Zach howled at the sickening sound of tendons ripping from bone. Adria felt all the muscles in Jason’s back bunch as he shoved hard, hurtling his brother into the frigid inky waters of the Columbia.
“Oh, God, no! No!” Adria cried, kicking harder. She couldn’t lose Zach this way. Wouldn’t!
Jason flung her off. “You’re been a pain in the ass from the second you showed up in town.” His gun was aimed right at her heart, but she didn’t care, not when Zach was drowning.
“And you’re a murdering bastard,” she said, fury surging through her veins. “Rot in hell!” She ran to the railing and vaulted over, certain she would hear the sound of a pistol cracking as it was fired.
But there was only silence as she plunged downward into the icy water and she prayed that she’d be able to find Zach. Before it was too late.
Jason watched her fling herself into the river and he lowered his weapon. She wouldn’t last two minutes in the river. The water temperature was near freezing and if the current got to her, it would carry her downstream in a torrent. He wouldn’t have to take the rap for either of their deaths and with the right seeds planted, the press and police would probably believe they had a suicide pact, that they were doomed lovers who had found out they were brother and sister and had decided to end it all.
Yeah, that would work, he thought, shivering and wet. He thought of Zach and felt nothing but disgust. Years ago, on the night of the kidnapping, Jason had set Zach up, killing two birds with one stone. He’d known Polidori’s toughs would come looking for him at the Orion. Sophia, the hooker, had been bait and Zach had been an innocent. That he’d taken the fall for London’s kidnapping had been a stroke of luck. At least for Eunice. The police had bought her alibi and Zach’s was so paper-thin, he’d become the number one suspect. Jason considered his mother, lying in the hospital. Possibly dying. Was there a way he could somehow blame her for this mess with Zach and Adria? Of course not. She was being watched around the clock by the police. Even Jack Logan couldn’t get near her.
Wiping the rain from his face, Jason scanned the stygian waters of the Columbia for any sign of life.
There was none.
Maybe they were dead already. Which would make things easier. When Adria had shown up in Portland, Jason had panicked. Sweeny’s news that she was really London had been a hard blow, but he’d known instinctively what had to be done. Surprisingly, he’d found it easier to kill than he’d first thought. Once he’d paid for an alibi, he’d beat Adria and Zach to San Francisco, hoping to kill Ginny before they’d called the police or spoken with her. That, of course, hadn’t happened. But he’d managed to sneak out of the house before getting caught.
He’d learned well from his mother.
Eunice would never realize what she’d taught him. He’d watched her over the years and recently seen what she’d been capable of. He’d always thought his ability to do anything necessary to preserve the Danvers name and fortune had come from his father. Of course, he’d been wrong. Eunice was the strong one in the family.
He checked his watch and scanned the waters one last time. It had been nearly half an hour since Zach and London had gone overboard. Long enough for the river to do its job.
It was show time.
“Help!” he yelled, cupping his hands in the direction of the gatehouse. “Man overboard! Can anyone hear me? For God’s sake, I need some help down here! Slip eighteen! Help!” He raced downstairs, found the phone, and punched out 911. He gave himself time until the first person on a neighboring boat appeared and the sound of sirens screamed in the distance. Then he kicked off his shoes, tossed off his jacket, and dove into the water to wait. By the time the police arrived, the current would have swept the remains of the newly found London Danvers and her lover—her half-brother—out to sea. The police might suspect him, but it would never be proven…two more lives claimed by the power of the river.
Zach coughed and drew in water, then coughed again. God, he was cold. So damned cold. His head felt as if it had been hit by a two-by-four. Instinctively, he struggled upward, feeling the current pull him downstream. He surfaced, gasped deep lungfuls of air, and was swept under again.
All of his muscles were sluggish and one leg barely moved, but he forced himself to the surface and drew in another deep breath. Something was wrong—horribly wrong, but he couldn’t remember what. He breathed in air and water and saw lights, not that far away. With effort he began to swim, still coughing, dragging his body through the water, feeling the icy fingers of the river try to pull him under yet again.
Slowly his memory returned. As he stroked laboriously, pieces of the night came together. He pushed himself harder, plowing through the water, wishing the dead weight in his right leg would fall off, fighting the current.
Adria! She was with Jason on the yacht. Oh, God, if she wasn’t already dead. Adrenaline surged through his blood and he swam faster, ignoring the frigid cold, refusing to give in to the cramping in his muscles and driving himself through the water. He only hoped it wasn’t too late. God! Please, let me get to her!
He was nearly a quarter of a mile downstream when he finally grabbed hold of a piling, and coughing and shivering, dragged himself out of the water, threw himself on the rocky shore and retched, spewing water, feeling as if he would die. He’d lost a boot during the ordeal and he kicked off the other. Pain screamed up his leg. Gritting his teeth, he scrambled up the bank as best he could. Hopping on one leg, he pulled himself forward, over a concrete embankment, fell onto the puddle-strewn pavement of an all-night service station. Hobbling, he made his way past the islands to the small office.
