That’s what the last three days had been: pure hell.
So far the police hadn’t located the perpetrator who had terrorized Adria. The crime scene at the Orion Hotel had given up no fingerprints nor any other substantial evidence. Zach had spent most or his time with Adria, either dealing with the media circus that her announcement had created or camped out on her doorstep at the run-down hotel in Estacada, miles away from the city. He’d taken the room next to hers and insisted they keep the connecting door unlocked should she need help. Every night since then he’d spent hours looking at the unlocked door and thinking about her—how warm and innocent she would look with her hair fanned around her face, her dark lashes curled over her rosy cheeks, and her breasts visible over the edge of the sheets. The image had nearly driven him out of his mind.
He’d even given in once, opened the door and looked in, watching as she lay sleeping. Moonlight had spilled through the window and she’d sighed, her lips parting gently as she rolled over. Her eyelids had fluttered for a second and he’d stood still as death, but she hadn’t awakened and he’d somehow found the strength to turn away from her. He’d gritted his teeth, slept little, and spent more time taking cold showers than he wanted to admit.
So far, it seemed, no one knew where she was staying. He hadn’t told a soul and unless she opened her gorgeous mouth, she should be safe. She had talked about more permanent quarters, but he’d managed to convince her that mobility was important should her personal nutcase find her and force her to leave in a hurry.
Now, as he stared across the table of the little out-of-the-way tavern where he hoped neither of them would be recognized, she was smiling up at him with a wicked little glint in her eye.
“You’re paranoid,” she accused over clam chowder.
Men in work clothes bellied up to the bar, where peanuts, pretzels, and popcorn were offered for free and the television was tuned in to a basketball game. From the sounds of the crowd, the Portland Trail Blazers were ahead.
“Family trait.” He pushed his platter aside. “Guess you can’t be part of the Danvers clan if you don’t have it.”
“Guess not,” she said with a teasing smile that caught on the strings of his heart. Hell, but he was becoming a fool over her.
She looked suddenly guilty, as if she’d been keeping something from him. “I got a phone call,” she admitted. He waited for the rest of it and guessed that she’d spent hours, maybe days, deliberating on whether or not she should confide in him.
“Who called?” he asked as his patience gave out. He felt the brackets near the corners of his mouth deepening.
“Mario Polidori.”
“He knows you’re here?” Zach’s smile faded and his entire countenance turned to stone.
“Probably a lot of people do,” she pointed out as she waved the end of her spoon at him. “Your family’s having me followed, I’m sure of it. And they’re probably not the only ones. With all the interest in the media…”
“Christ!” He rubbed the back of his neck in agitation and his gut wrenched—a sure sign that he expected trouble. He didn’t often foresee it and find out that somehow trouble had managed to slip him by. Why hadn’t she told him earlier? They could have moved to another spot somewhere farther up in the hills—or toward the beach. Somewhere safe. “Anyone else call?”
She shook her head and her wild hair brushed across her shoulders. “Just Polidori.”
“What does he want?”
“To talk to me, obviously.” She let her spoon clatter back in her empty bowl. Should she tell Zach about the Polidoris’s offer? She considered it, but decided to hold her tongue. What good would it do? Knowing that the Italian family was looking for ways to buy chunks of Danvers International would only serve to make him more angry and suspicious than he already was. And she didn’t need to be on the receiving end of his particularly bad temper. Since she, if she did prove to be London, had no intention of selling the hotel or any part of the vast businesses to Polidori or anyone else, it seemed a moot point.
“Stay away from him,” Zach advised.
“Why?”
“There’s bad blood.”
“Oh, don’t give me that old feud thing.” Someone turned on the jukebox and the notes of a country ballad drifted through a cloud of smoke.
“It exists, Adria. I’ve got the scars to prove it.” Her gaze shifted to the fine line cleaving along the side of his face. It was barely visible, but seemed to serve as a constant reminder to him. No doubt he was still convinced that his attack at the Orion had been orchestrated by the Polidori family.
Near the bar, there was a roar of approval from the patrons watching the basketball game. Hoots and hollers filled the room, obscuring the announcer’s voice and drowning out the music. The Blazers must have found the bucket again.
“Why don’t you fill me in on the details of the feud,” she suggested once the din died down and some drunk offered to buy the house a round. “Then I’ll decide if I want to meet Mario.”
“The feud,” he said, obviously reluctant to talk about it.
“I know some of the story already.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Come on, Zach. Tell me about it.”
Gazing at her thoughtfully, he rolled his long-necked bottle of Henry’s between his palms. He frowned silently, then shrugged.
“Okay, why not? You probably know most of the gory details anyway. It’s always been there—ever since I was a kid—This…intense hatred of a family I’d never even met. You’ve probably read about most of it,” he said, and she nodded, deciding it best not to mention talking to Maria Santiago.
The waitress came with a fresh bottle of beer for Zach and after she’d swept away the empty bottle and glasses, cleared the platters and bowls, slapped a bill on the table, and left balancing her precarious load, Zach told the story of the Polidoris and Danverses. His version was about the same as she’d heard before.
Zach scowled. “It’s all such a waste.” He downed part of his beer, left the rest and paid the bill. They walked outside. The night was cool but clear and a million stars glittered in a soft ebony sky. Fir trees loomed like ancient sentinels around the old tavern and the sounds of a creek splashing over smooth stones cut through the still night.
Her defenses were down as she climbed into the Jeep. It seemed right to be with Zach and she wondered at the fact that she’d met him only a short while ago—or had she? A part of her felt as if she’d known him all her life.
He drove her into the foothills of the mountains on a zigzagging course that followed the Clackamas River. At a wide spot in the road he parked and helped her down a seldom-used trail that led to the water’s edge. Even in the darkness, she smelled the clear water mixed with the scents of damp earth and fir trees, and felt the force of the river as it roared and surged through the cliffs.
A cool breeze sped down the canyon as if riding on the back of the river and Adria felt its breath upon her face. She shivered, rubbed her arms, and Zach slipped out of his denim jacket, then tossed it over her shoulders, his fingers never touching her. “I thought you might like to see this,” he said, as if he needed a reason to explain himself. “Whenever things are cloudy or unfocused for me, I usually spend some time where the power of nature is the strongest. Sometimes it clears things up. If I’m near the coast, I walk on the beach and stare at the breakers. If I’m on the ranch, I ride into the mountains to the creeks that feed into the Deschutes River, and if I’m in the city, well, I usually drive up here.”
“Alone?” she asked and his smile slashed in the night.
“Always.”