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th a finger and then looked into the child’s smiling face. True, there was a resemblance, though Victor and Sharon Nash had taken very few pictures when she was young.
Were you my mother? she silently asked the woman in the portrait and again she lifted her finger to the glass.
“Touching, wouldn’t you say?”
Startled, she jumped backward. She hadn’t heard Zach approach, didn’t realize he was standing behind her, one shoulder propped on the opposite wall, watching her reaction. Her heart drummed wildly in her chest. “I—I didn’t hear you.”
He lifted his shoulder. “What do you think of the family memorial?” Sipping his drink slowly, he gazed at the wall of pictures. “The Danvers family et al. Kind of reminds you of Ozzie and Harriet, doesn’t it?”
Adria stared at the case. There were diplomas and football trophies, an art school award for Trisha, an “outstanding student” certificate for Nelson, a swimming medal with Jason’s name engraved on it, and a key to the city issued to Witt Danvers. Surrounding the case were the pictures: shots of Witt with dignitaries, Witt with one or more of his children, Witt as a young man with his father, Jason in a football uniform, Nelson in cap and gown, Jason’s wedding, even Trisha dressed in a long formal with a scrawny, longhaired beau.
But there wasn’t one snapshot, not one, single, faded black-and-white Polaroid of Zachary. She couldn’t believe what her eyes told her and she searched again.
“I didn’t win too many popularity contests,” he explained, as if reading her mind. “The old man wasn’t into mounting mug shots.”
“I—uh—I didn’t expect to see this.” She motioned toward the wall.
“Who would?”
He gazed at the framed portrait of Witt and his second wife and daughter and Zach’s eyes seemed to lock with those of Katherine. A muscle worked in his jaw and Adria felt as if she were suddenly intruding, that this place was somehow sacred and intimate and she was, indeed, the interloper. The air seemed suddenly hard to breathe as Zach stared at Katherine.
“I couldn’t find—”
He snapped out of his reverie and the darkness in his eyes disappeared. “Around the corner. Second door on the left.”
She didn’t wait for other directions but hurried down the hall. Her steps were quick, as if she were running from something, something so private and dark that she felt a cold jab of dread.
In the bathroom she splashed cold water over her face. Don’t let them get to you, she told herself as she saw her pale reflection in the mirror. Don’t let him get to you. But she couldn’t shake the sensation that something menacing and evil existed here in this expensive home.
When she returned to the den, he was back at the window, staring out at the gloomy night.
Reminding herself that she needed at least one ally in a family that was certain to try and discredit her, she picked up the drink he’d left for her and took a sip that burned all the way down her throat. “Do you know why I came to you first?” she asked, hoping to break down the barriers that he’d erected around himself.
He didn’t answer, just glared out at the night as if the blackness was hostile.
“I thought you might understand.”
“I don’t understand anything fake.”
She plunged on. “You know what it’s like being on the outside.”
His shoulder muscles bunched and he took another swallow of his Scotch. “Don’t let a few pictures on the wall make you think that you and I have anything in common. So I was on the outside.”
“But you wanted back in.”
His back stiffened. “Get this straight, sister, I never wanted in. It was the old man’s idea.”
“Was it?” she asked, then decided that she wouldn’t learn anything if she didn’t push a little bit. “What did you do to him to have him disown you?’
“Why did it have to be something I did? Why not him?” He slid her a cold glance that cut to her bone, then looked back through the window.
“I’m just guessing,” she admitted, but her hands were shaking a little and she gripped the glass more tightly. Just being around him was unnerving; sitting calmly under his harsh stare was nearly impossible.
“Then figure it out yourself.”
“What happened, Zach?”
He turned on her then and his eyes, once so cold, had shifted subtly and she felt as if the temperature in the room had suddenly elevated. From the fire, the flames reflected on the hard contours of his face, the flickering shadows making the angles and planes appear harsher, rougher, but she felt another sensation as well, one that started deep within her and caused her heart to pound, a sensation she didn’t want to analyze too closely. She licked her lips.
