He was nearly a quarter of a mile downstream when he finally grabbed hold of a piling, and coughing and shivering, dragged himself out of the water, threw himself on the rocky shore and retched, spewing water, feeling as if he would die. He’d lost a boot during the ordeal and he kicked off the other. Pain screamed up his leg. Gritting his teeth, he scrambled up the bank as best he could. Hopping on one leg, he pulled himself forward, over a concrete embankment, fell onto the puddle-strewn pavement of an all-night service station. Hobbling, he made his way past the islands to the small office.
Under flickering fluorescent lights, an attendant with a butt of a cigarette burning on his lips took one look at Zach and reached under the counter for his gun. “Jesus H. Christ, would you look at that?” he said to the empty room.
“Call the police,” Zach ordered, bracing himself on the door frame.
“No shit, I’ll call the police…” With the gun aimed at Zach’s midsection, the attendant reached for the phone and dialed with trembling fingers. “Hey, this is Louie at the Texaco just off Marine Drive. We got ourselves a little problem here…”
“…I told you I don’t know what happened. I was downstairs in the salon and all of a sudden I heard something go overboard. I ran upstairs and both Adria Nash and Zach were nowhere to be seen. That’s when I called for help and jumped into the water,” Jason said convincingly. His teeth were chattering, his body shaking, his clothes wet and dripping as they clung to his body.
The police had arrived and a patrol boat was on the river, while other officers were in the yacht, questioning him and searching the boat. Divers had already jumped into the near-freezing water and broad searchlights skimmed the river’s dark, murky surface.
Another squad car, lights flashing, arrived. More cops. Jason steeled himself for another barrage of questions, only to watch as the cruiser parked near the others and two officers emerged. But they weren’t alone. They took the time to help a third man from the backseat.
He squinted into the darkness and as the officers and their passenger walked under the security lights, he thought he might be sick. The third man was Zach. Very much alive. Hobbling on his bad leg and angry enough to spit nails. Dread, hot as acid, burned its way through Jason’s stomach. Somehow he had to turn this around.
Zach knew too much.
There had to be a way to stop him from spilling his guts. But he wasn’t the kind of man who could be bought off. Money wouldn’t do it. No, his weakness was women, and the one woman who could persuade him to keep quiet was gone, her body no doubt floating out to sea.
For the first time in his life, staring at the furious face of his brother, Jason Danvers knew fear. Real, bone-chilling fear.
Using crutches, a slicker tossed over his shoulders, Zach hitched his way up the gangway and onto the yacht. He was pale, wet, bedraggled, and mad as hell. His chin jutted at a merciless angle and his gray eyes were murderous as they focused on his older brother.
“Zachary!” Jason forced himself to sound relieved when he thought he might piss himself. “Jesus, I was afraid you’d been lost when you fell over-”
“Where’s Adria?” Zach demanded.
“Not here. She dived in after you, I think.”
“You think? You think? Where the hell is she, you lying piece of shit?” Zach lunged at Jason, dropping his crutches and nearly falling as his ankle gave out. His fists closed around his brother’s wet shirt and he rammed his face up to Jason’s. “If anything’s happened to her, I swear to God, you’ll pay.”
“Hey! That’s enough! Take it easy,” one cop yelled, hurrying forward.
Zach didn’t listen. He swung hard, a fist crashing into Jason’s nose.
Crunch!
Cartilage shattered. Blood sprayed.
Pain burst through Jason’s face.
He tried to protect himself, to throw a punch, but it was too late.
Frenzied with fear, Zach landed a jab to Jason’s ribs that nearly doubled him over.
“You bastard. You goddamned murdering bastard,” Zach yelled as a cop peeled him off his brother. “You killed her.”
“Whoa, slow down,” one of the cops advised, but Zach found his crutch and swung it hard.
Jason ducked and the bigger cop grabbed Zach. “Mr. Danvers reported that the two of you fell or jumped into the river-”
“Fell? Jumped? No way. He goddamned pushed me in.” Zach whirled on his brother. “So where the hell is she? In the river? Oh, God, you’d better pray that she’s all right!”
“Zach,” Jason said, his voice full of reproach. “I’m sorry-”
“The hell you are. You’re hoping I’ll cover for you, aren’t you? Well, no way. No damned way! You tried to kill me,” he said through gritted teeth. “For all I know, you tried to kill her, too.”
“We’ll sort this out downtown,” one of the officers said.
“No! You’ve got to find her!” Zach insisted, trying to reach the rail. Desperately, he searched the black waters. “You’ve got to!”
“It’s been over half an hour, Mr. Danvers-”
Zach flung himself to the rail, his eyes squinting against the darkness. He started to climb over but felt one hand being yanked behind his back, then the second wrenched behind him as handcuffs clicked into place.
“You can’t-”
“Come on, Mr. Danvers.”
He tried to struggle but his ankle gave out, sending pain jarring up his leg. The officers shoved him into a waiting car and Zach was certain he’d never see her again. Never be able to admit that he loved her, never for the rest of his life feel the way he did when he was with her. No doubt Adria Nash or London Danvers, whatever she wanted to be called, was gone forever.
Zach hadn’t slept in days. One twenty-four-hour period seemed to bleed into the next and he had no idea of the time, or the date, just lived with the sickening knowledge that Jason was behind bars and his mother, once she recovered from her wounds and was released from the hospital, would face prosecution. Jason’s accomplice, a burly man on parole, had been shooting his mouth off in a bar near Fisherman’s Wharf and a police informant had nailed him. It hadn’t taken much persuasion to get him to talk and Jason’s name had come up.
Nicole, already having packed Shelly off to Santa Fe, was clamoring for a divorce and Kim had made a quick disappearance. No one had seen her, though many suspected it had been she who first told the press about Adria being London Danvers. As far as Zach was concerned, his older brother and his mistress deserved everything they got and more.
Trisha had sworn off Mario Polidori for good, telling him bluntly to get out of her life when he’d asked her to marry him. Zach didn’t believe it would last. Trisha was and always had been a fool where Mario was concerned.
As for Nelson, he finally seemed to get some backbone and was actually trying to help Eunice. For years he’d been a lost soul, trying to balance who he was with who he thought he should be, still trying to please his father.
Most people thought that Adria was dead.
Pain cut through his heart and spread through his body.
The police and volunteers had searched the river, dredged where they could, but the news reporters and the police speculated that her body had been washed out to sea, claimed by the giant Pacific. He closed his eyes and felt the hot pressure of tears against his eyelids. He hadn’t cried for years and yet now he felt reduced to bawling like a baby.
In his mind’s eye he saw her, a little wicked, a little innocent, her eyes round and blue and filled with desire as she’d lain beneath him, begging him to love her. She’d sacrificed herself for him, flinging her body into that ugly river when it should have been the other way around. He should have been the one trying to save her. He should be dead and she should be alive and vibrant and starting life as London Danvers.