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Dread settled in the back of her throat.
Hands shaking, she snatched up the note and opened it. DIE BITCH.
A chill slithered down her spine. Her skin crawled in apprehension. Her lungs were suddenly tight and she nearly dropped the paper onto the floor.
Pull yourself together!
Taking in a deep breath, she decided that the message didn’t bother her as much as the frightening fact that someone had delivered the simple piece of paper to her locked room. The same person who had let himself into her room at the Hotel Danvers, the same creep who had left the dead rat and locket downstairs. Her stomach turned at the thought. He knew where she was staying and worse yet, could come and go as he pleased, while she was away or while she was sleeping.
Panic tore through her but she tamped it down. Yes, she would have to go to the authorities and soon, but for now she couldn’t let some chickenshit letter-writer get to her. She reminded herself that she didn’t scare easily. She’d grown up on the farm and her father had taken her hunting, fishing, and even rock climbing in the Bitterroots. She’d skinny-dipped in Flathead Lake and branded cattle, smelling the searing flesh, hearing the cows bawl, as she learned to be tough. She’d shot the rapids as well as her .22 and she’d watched as her favorite horse had to be destroyed after shattering his leg. She’d faced the threat of losing her home and the death of all her loved ones and, by God, she wasn’t going to let anyone get the better of her. Not by writing silly little notes. Damned coward. She folded the stupid threat and tucked it into her purse with the other one that she’d crumpled, then smoothed flat and decided to keep. Maybe she’d show them both to Nelson and see what he had to say.
Within ten minutes, she was downstairs in the bar, at a private table near windows that looked onto the street. She watched the steady stream of traffic moving slowly between red lights. Pedestrians carrying umbrellas and wrapped in winter coats with the collars turned against the wind dashed along the sidewalks. Always in a hurry.
She hadn’t planned to order a drink, but receiving the package and note had definitely changed her mind. She was sipping a rum and Coke when Nelson appeared. She almost didn’t recognize him, as she’d always seen him impeccably dressed in expensive suits. Tonight his hair was uncombed, windblown and damp from the rain, and he wore a wool sweater, black jeans, and a black leather jacket that looked brand new, as if he’d bought it for the occasion.
Whereas Zachary was rough-and-tumble and wore his I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude comfortably, Nelson seemed out of place in clothes a little too fashionable to be casual. An enigma.
Nelson glanced nervously around the room before he spied her. Relief crossed his face as he threaded his way quickly through the tables. He seemed paler than she remembered, less self-assured, and there was a little-boy quality to him that she hadn’t noticed before.
“Adria!” His face broke into a warm smile as he dropped into the chair opposite her. The waiter was there immediately and he ordered a Scotch on the rocks. “You must think it’s strange that I called you,” he said, wiping a few drops of rain from his jacket.
“I expected it.”
“Did you?”
“You’re just the first. I’d guess that everybody in the family will want to have his or her say. You know, try and convince me that it’s in my best interests to leave town.”
His smile didn’t even falter, though she thought she saw a flicker of ice in his warm blue eyes. “Well, I hate to say it, but it would make it a helluva lot easier on you.”
“Mmm. So I should just turn tail and run?”
“Not exactly.”
“And then I’d be back to square one.”
“Is that so bad?”
“I think so, yes,” she said, her temper frazzling. “Do you know, have you any idea, how many years I’ve been trying to find out who I am? Where I came from?”
The waiter brought his drink and Nelson fingered the glass. “So it doesn’t matter if you’re London, as long as you find out who you are.”
“I am London.”
He eyed her speculatively. “Okay, London,” he said with just a hint of sarcasm, “what is it you want from us?”
“I already told you—recognition.”
“And, with the recognition, your inheritance.”
“Look, Nelson, I don’t expect you or the rest of your family to roll over and take me in with no questions asked. That wouldn’t make sense.”
“No…”
“And I realize I’m not the first one to make the claim that I’m your half-sister.”
“Not by a long shot.”
Adria spread her hands over the table, as if in supplication. “All I want is a chance. I don’t know what your family’s doing, but I imagine everyone is trying his damnedest to prove me a fake. I figure you’ve got a team of lawyers and investigators working on this day and night.” His eyes shifted away from hers and she knew she’d been right about one thing. She was being followed, by some detective hired by the family. A knot tightened in her stomach, but she managed to appear calm. “So if you get any information that conclusively says I’m not London Danvers, just let me know and I’ll back off. I’ll take blood tests, lie detector tests, DNA tests, anything, to help sort this out. Give me a call when your PI reports back to you.”
