Zachary had been reluctant, but finally capitulated. The old man and his rebellious middle son had struck a deal of sorts, something no one ever brought into conversation. There were no signed papers and yet somehow Zach had ended up doing Witt’s bidding and refurbishing the Hotel Danvers. In return, Zach would inherit the ranch in Bend—acres and acres of rich farmland, a drop in the bucket as far as the family fortune was concerned, but worth something nonetheless. The fact that Zach wanted it gave Jason a bargaining point with his headstrong younger brother. Jason suspected that deep down, Zach was just as greedy as the rest of the clan.
If London suddenly were to appear, Zach’s share of the estate wouldn’t alter too much. He had no percentage of the assets, just the damned ranch, which would shrink by a few hundred acres if he had to pay off London for her share. But Jason, Trisha, and Nelson would suffer seriously because Witt, damn him, had talked his lawyers into leaving fifty percent of his holdings, including the value of the ranch, to his youngest daughter. Fifty goddamned percent. There was no provision for the fact that she couldn’t be found. Only after fifty years—fifty years—would the assets revert back to the rest of the estate. By that time, Jason would have one foot planted firmly in the grave.
Hell, what a mess!
Fortunately, most people didn’t know the terms of the will, or there would be London Danvers after London Danvers crawling out of the woodwork trying to get their hands on the fortune.
And this one was glaring defiantly up at him, and looking so much like Kat that he felt the same hot urges he had when he was in his early twenties and his stepmother had been the most gorgeous and sexy woman on this earth. He’d had dreams about her, fantasized about making love to her, but she’d had the hots for Zachary, who had only been a boy at the time.
Zach, for God’s sake!
Zach’s attitude reeked of insolence and he had no respect for the good things in life, yet women seemed to flock to him. Kat had been the first in a long succession of women who would have given their eye teeth, or their diamond earrings, just to get him into their beds. The fact that Zach had always appeared uninterested had seemed to drive them into wild and hot pursuit.
Jason didn’t understand it, never would. All he knew was that Zach had always been more trouble than he was worth.
“Look,” Adria was saying, her chin lifted several notches. “Why don’t you just play the tape?”
“I will,” Jason assured her as he glanced at his watch. “But we can wait a few more minutes, until Nelson and Trisha get here.”
“So it’s a family party after all,” Zach said, cynicism edging his words. “Should be a barrel of laughs.”
“I tell you, Trisha, it was downright eerie,” Nelson said as he braked in front of the garage. Zach’s old Jeep and Jason’s Jag were already parked in the drive. “I mean, I felt like I’d traveled back in time about twenty years. She looks just like Kat.”
Trisha wasn’t impressed. She’d been through this routine too many times before. Nelson was quick to jump off the deep end. “So what does she want?”
“No one knows. Money, I imagine.”
“Where does she come from?”
“I’m telling you no one knows a damned thing about her.”
“Don’t you think it would have been smarter to check her out before we confront her?”
“Jason didn’t want her to cause a scene at the party. Too many reporters were there.”
“So he hustled her out here. Great.” Trisha climbed out of Nelson’s Cadillac and slammed the door shut. She didn’t have time for these kinds of games. There had always been women who claimed they were London Danvers, and there always would be. Why was this one any different? Either intimidate the bitch into leaving the family alone, or buy her off. The imposters could usually be purchased cheaply. Offer them a check for twenty-five or thirty thousand and a promise not to prosecute them for fraud, and they were only too happy to do anything anyone asked. They all signed sworn statements that they would never pretend to be London Danvers or bother the family again and in some cases, Trisha suspected, they’d slept with Jason. He seemed to get off on bedding any woman who remotely resembled Kat. Some sort of weird Oedipal thing. Trisha didn’t care, just as long as the women took off. Paying off the little fakes saved a whole lot of time and lawyers’ fees and everyone was happy. So why not do the same with this one?
Nelson was babbling. “Right now we can’t afford any adverse publicity. My job—”
“Isn’t worth diddly squat. You work for the public defender’s office,” she reminded him. “If you didn’t get checks from the trust fund, you’d be scrounging every month to pay the rent.”
Nelson’s eyes thinned on his sister. “You know why I work where I do. It’s a stepping-stone, Trisha.”
“Politics,” she said with a sneer. “You’re as bad as Dad was. Delusions of grandeur.”
“Politics is power, Trisha, and we both know how you feel about powerful men.”
“Kind of the same way you do,” she cooed, though she felt like slapping him. He’d hit a raw nerve, but then Nelson had the uncanny ability to find a person’s weak spot and expose it. Sometimes Trisha wondered if there were any secrets in the family that Nelson didn’t know and wouldn’t use for his own personal gain. Well, he had a few skeletons in his closet as well.
As they walked through the front door, she checked her watch. It was after midnight and she was tired. The hotel opening had been a success and she would much rather have bathed in the accolades of the guests than return here, to the house where she’d been raised, a house filled with ghosts and bad blood, treachery and lies. There had been little laughter echoing through the hallways of the Danvers Manor. In truth, she remembered nothing but the continual arguments and explosive outbursts as Witt Danvers tried to force his five bullheaded children into becoming exactly what he wanted them to be.
Trisha reached into her purse and found her cigarette case. Pausing in the foyer, she lit up. She needed something stronger. A drink or a hit of cocaine would help, but she settled for nicotine and ambled farther down the hall, trying not to remember the emotional fights, the hate that had filled this house when her father had found out that she’d been seeing Mario Polidori.
“You did this to spite me!” Witt had screamed, his face flushed scarlet, the veins in his temples throbbing.
“No, Daddy, I love him—”
“Love?” Witt had cried, his blue eyes electrified with disgust. “Love?”
“I want to marry him.”
“For the love of Jesus! You’re not going to marry him. Don’t you know what the Polidoris are? What they’ve done to this family?”
“I love him,” she said firmly, tears standing in her eyes.
“Then you’re a fool, Trisha, and of all the things I’ve ever thought about you, I’ve never thought you were stupid.”
She began to shake inside, but she squared her shoulders. “You hate Mario because of Mom. Because she slept with Anthony—”
The slap sent her reeling backward and she fell against the wall of Witt’s den, her head bouncing off the corner of the mantel. “Don’t you ever speak of that woman again, do you hear me? She left me as well as every one of you kids so she could carry on her affair with Polidori. So don’t you be lecturing me about how you’re in love with that bastard’s son!”
“You don’t understand—”
“No, Trisha, you don’t understand! You’re never to see him again! Got it?”