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“It’s really none of your business.”
Despite the knots in her stomach, she said, “I tried to find out what happened between you and Witt, but couldn’t dig up anything substantial. I thought it was because you were considered a suspect in the kidnapping, that somehow what had happened to you that night was confirmation that you were involved.”
He snorted. “That was probably part of it.”
“And the other?”
Zach’s jaw tightened and for a second she thought he might confide in her. Instead he turned back to the window and continued to glower. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does—”
“Leave it alone, Adria.” She heard the warning in his voice and decided it was better to back off. For now. But she was determined to find out Zach’s secret. More than ever, she wanted to find out what made Witt’s rebellious son tick. Maybe there was some truth to the rumors that he wasn’t really Witt’s boy, that his father was Anthony Polidori. And maybe there was more. The way he had stared at Katherine’s portrait had been chilling. There were far more secrets in this house than she’d guessed. She took another drink and slowly settled back into the cushions of the couch to wait.
Jason Danvers threw caution to the wind as he put his Jaguar through its paces. Speeding up the narrow, rain-slickened streets of the west hills, he tried to think rationally. He’d left the celebration early, after giving his well-rehearsed speech and spending enough time to dance with the mayor, a woman recently elected and surprisingly popular. He’d made small talk, accepted congratulations from the president of the historical society for refurbishing the old building, smiled at the appropriate times, and even managed a clever quote or two for the reporters of the Oregonian and Willamette Week. Finally, after two hours, he managed to stuff Kim into a cab and leave the celebration behind.
He felt sweat beading along his collar line and remembered Adria’s beautiful face, so much like Kat’s. Could she be the real thing—after all these years? Jason’s biggest fear—his worst nightmare—was that someone impersonating his long-lost sister would turn up and look so much like her that people might believe she was truly London. For nearly twenty years he’d sweated it out, suspecting that someday the impostor would waltz into Danvers Manor, calmly say she was the little lost princess, make a statement to the press, and start a legal battle over the fortune that would be tied up in court for decades.
Jason had thought his father, while alive, would be foolish enough to believe any beautiful, black-haired, blue-eyed woman who would smile at him and call him “Daddy.” But Witt had proved to be made of tougher stuff than Jason had given him credit for.
Soon after London’s disappearance, when the police, the FBI, and even Witt’s private eye, Phelps, had given up hope of ever locating the little girl again, Witt had determined he had to find her himself.
He’d bought some airtime on television and offered a million-dollar reward, no questions asked, if anyone could lead him to his little girl.
The television appeal had created chaos. Thousands of phone calls and letters had poured in not only from this country but from as far away as Japan, Germany, and India. All of the would-be heiresses had been fakes, of course, screened by Witt’s team of specialists and defrauded quickly, but the search had
cost millions of dollars, only to turn up fruitless.
Now, this new interloper was here and her resemblance to Kat was so damned creepy. It scared the shit out of him.
What if she’s really London?
That thought settled like lead in his gut, but he knew, damn it, he knew she had to be a phony.
The beams of headlights splashed against the window and Zachary felt a sense of relief knowing that his brother had finally arrived. Good. Jason could deal with Adria and Zach could get the hell out of town. He didn’t want or need to be so close to a woman who reminded him of Kat. “Looks like we’ve got company.”
“About time.” She was seated in a corner of the couch, her shoes kicked off, her knees drawn up beneath the silky folds of her gown.
As if she belonged. As if she were really a Danvers. As if she were London. Shit. He watched his brother’s car screech to a stop near the garage. “He’s not gonna be happy.”
“Neither are you.”
Zach caught the irony in her voice and felt the corners of his lips curve upward. She was something. Trouble was, he didn’t know what. But she’d rattled Jason and that, in and of itself, was a trait Zach respected.
The Jaguar’s powerful engine shut down and a door slammed.
“Still time to back out of this.”
“No way.”
Jason, like many lawyers, was one of the most consummate actors Zachary had ever met. Always aware of presence, drama, and effect, Jason never appeared surprised, unless it was to his advantage. Except tonight, when he’d been forced to face his deepest nightmare—that London, his half-sister, was back and ready to claim her portion of the estate, which just happened to be the lion’s share.
Jason’s expression was grim as he strode into the room, but he seemed composed. Not a hair out of place, his tuxedo as crisp as when he’d taken it from his garment bag, he’d managed to regain control of his emotions. With a smile as cool as November, he walked to the bar and poured himself a drink.
“Let’s just get down to it, shall we?” he said as he recapped a bottle of expensive Scotch.
Zach rested a hip against the fireplace.
“What is it you want, Miss Nash?” Jason asked.
