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“Why? To follow her, of course.”
“Of course,” Zach mouthed. “Why didn’t I think of it?”
“She r
epresents a threat, Zach.”
“I don’t think so.” Flopping back on the bed, he wondered why he was even bothering with the conversation. “Look, it’s late, I’m taking off—”
“Now? You’re leaving now?”
“Soon.”
“When we’re in the middle of a fucking family crisis?”
“I don’t give a shit.”
“Sure you do,” Jason said, and Zach stared up at the ceiling.
He was lying a little. He did care. About the ranch. And he was curious about Adria. Just what was her game?
Jason wasn’t giving up. “You think your ranch is protected, right? Because it was a specific bequest? Well, things change if this woman proves she’s London. A lot of the extra acres were bought after the will was originally signed and all those wouldn’t be considered part of the ranch, per see. And if everyone else has to cough up to make sure she gets her fifty percent, you will, too.”
Zach frowned into the receiver. “You’ve been busy.”
“Now, listen. Adria seems to trust you. She came to you first. Get close to her. Find out what makes her tick—What?” His voice faded as he turned his head and the words were muffled, but Zach heard them all. “I knew it! Okay, so start calling cab companies…I don’t know. Just do it. The police do it all the time—right, call Logan—he’s still on our payroll and he has connections even though he’s retired. Oh, for Christ’s sake, don’t give me that conflict-of-interest crap.” There was further argument and Zach was about to hang up, but Jason turned back to the receiver. “Big fucking surprise. No Adria Nash or London Danvers, or London Nash or Adria Danvers at the Benson. She probably just ducked into the ladies’ room and, satisfied that you were gone, took a cab to God-only-knows-where.”
“She’ll show up. Her kind always does.”
“You’re forgetting something, Zach. She’s different. She’s not here claiming she’s London, screaming that she’s our darling long-lost sister; no, she’s got a different story and one the press would love. ‘Is she or isn’t she?’ And she looks so much like Kat, there’s bound to be speculation. We’ve got to keep her mouth closed.”
“How?”
“First, you’ve got to follow her—”
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
“I’m not.”
Zach’s jaw was so tight it ached. He didn’t like being manipulated, and for as long as he could remember, someone in his family—Witt, or Kat, or Jason—was trying to pull his strings.
“My guess is that she’s working with an accomplice.”
“Come on—”
“Why not? We’re talking a lot of money here. A lot. People would do just about anything to get their hands on it—even impersonate a dead girl. Think about it, Zach—our biggest worry has been that someone would show up now, after Witt and Kat are both dead, claiming to be an heir, and there’s no way to take DNA tests or anything of the sort.”
“I’m not worried about it.”
“You should be—whether you like it or not, you’re a member of this family and…hang on a minute.” His voice was muffled for a second, then clear again. “Look, Logan’s checking with the cab companies. I’ll call you when we hear something.”
“Don’t bother.” Zach slammed the phone back in its cradle. He was tired of Portland, tired of his family, tired of all the mess. He stripped out of his tuxedo—a rental—stuffed it back in its bag, and left it hanging in the closet. By the time he’d changed into jeans and a sweater, the phone was ringing insistently. He wanted to ignore it, but snapped up the receiver again. He didn’t have to guess who was calling.
“She’s at the Riverview Inn on Eighty-second, somewhere near Flavel,” Jason said, pleased with himself. “Seems our little gold digger isn’t so well off, is she?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does. She can’t afford the best lawyers if she can’t even pay for a decent room. Why don’t you go out there, Zach, check out what the situation is? If she’s working alone, take her to the ranch with you.”
