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Mario lifted a shoulder. “I’ve seen them around. Some of the guys who work for me know ’em, but Rudy and Joey stay clear and I like it that way.”
“You know Zach Danvers claimed they attacked him?”
Mario’s shoulders bunched. “Zach Danvers lies.”
“Not this time.” Logan pretended interest in his empty glass. “Rumor had it that you and Trisha Danvers were…well, involved.”
Almost imperceptibly, the corners around the younger Polidori’s mouth tightened. “I know her.”
“The way I heard it, you knocked her up.”
“What’s your point, Logan?” Mario’s eyes snapped with an inner fury as dark as hell. Despite all his wealth, the boy carried one helluva chip on his muscular shoulders.
“Somehow Danvers put a stop to it. Wouldn’t let his daughter be seen with a Polidori. Made sure she never had the kid.” Logan set his empty glass on the desk.
“Is that so?”
“I don’t know all the details, but I’m looking into them. My guess is you’ve got plenty of motive to get back at Witt Danvers.”
“Lots of people in this town would like to see Danvers go down,” Anthony said from his position behind the desk.
Logan lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Some more than others.”
“I was in Hawaii. On business. At the time of the attack on Zach Danvers. I was—”
“I know, sipping Mai Tais on the beach in Waikiki.” Logan set his glass on the desk. “But somehow Joey and Rudy messed up Zach Danvers and at the same time his kid sister and nanny were abducted.”
“My money’s still on Zachary.” Mario’s smile had turned cold. He shifted on the desk. “It’s no secret that Zach hates Witt. If you ask me, he staged the whole thing about the attack against him to get back at his father. If you want to find out what happened to London, talk to Zach.”
“You think Dad would go to this much trouble if anyone else had been abducted?” Trisha demanded, her blue eyes cloudy with anger. “No way. He’s in a state because it’s London!”
Zach didn’t want to hear it. Stretched out on a chaise near the pool, he closed his eyes behind the lenses of his sunglasses and wished Trisha would just go away. No such luck. She set up her easel in the shade from the old-growth fir trees that towered along the brick wall rimming the grounds. Sunlight dappled the grass and reflected off the water as Trisha adjusted a three-legged stool, trying to catch the right light.
The day was sweltering. Heat rose in waves that shimmered off the concrete near the pool house. Zach’s head throbbed and his shoulder ached. He was recovering, but slowly. He grabbed his can of Coke and smiled to himself because he’d had the foresight to pour “the real thing” out of the can and fill it with Colt 45 malt liquor from a bottle he’d taken from the refrigerator. He’d probably get caught, but he really didn’t care. He took a long swallow of the ale and felt it cool against the back of his throat. In a few minutes, he’d relax. In the meantime he’d ignore his sister.
“Dad’s fit to be tied because the police and the FBI can’t find out who’s behind it,” she said, smudging her charcoal drawing with the tip of her finger. “He wants to blame the Polidoris just because those two guys who attacked you worked for them once.”
Why was she bothering him? Zach had only been home from the hospital for four days and this was the first time he’d ventured out of his room. He’d decided to rest by the pool because the four walls were closing in on him and he was going out of his mind staring at posters of Jimi Hendrix and Ali McGraw.
“Mom called the other day to see how you were doing…but you were sleeping or something.”
He didn’t want to think about his mother. Eunice. Some mother she’d turned out to be. A mother shouldn’t admit this, Zach, but you’ve always been my favorite. Her words still echoed in his mind. His chest was suddenly tight and he had trouble saying, “She stopped by the hospital.”
“And you wouldn’t talk to her.”
“Nothin’ to say.”
“Christ, Zach, you can be such a prick,?
? Trisha said, frowning at the image on her easel.
“Family trait.”
“Be serious.”
“I am.” If she only knew. He reached onto the table and flipped on his transistor radio, hoping that music, hard rock, would drive her away. The radio crackled with static before he found a station blasting an old Rolling Stones hit. The throbbing beat of “Satisfaction” echoed over the aquamarine water.
“I can’t get no…no, no, no, no…”
