See How She Dies by Lisa Jackson Page B

the old man. He was smart enough to know the ranch had a price—a high one. “What do I have to do?”
    â€œNothing all that hard. Restore the old hotel.”
    â€œDo what?”
    â€œDon’t act like I’ve asked you to fly, damn it. You have your own construction crew in Bend. Move them over here or hire new people. Money’s no object. I just want the hotel to look as good as it did when it was built.”
    â€œYou’re out of your mind. It would cost a fortune to—”
    â€œIndulge me. It’s all I’m asking,” Witt said, his voice low. “You love the ranch, I’m fond of the hotel. The logging operations, the investments, they don’t mean much, not to me. But that hotel has class. It was the best of its kind in its day. I’d like to see that again.”
    â€œHire someone else.”
    Witt’s eyes narrowed on his son and he swallowed the last of his whiskey. “I want you to do it, boy. And I want you to do it for me.”
    â€œGo to hell.”
    â€œAlready been there. Seems as if you had something to do with that.”
    Zach’s throat tightened. He’d never seen eye-to-eye with the old man, but knew an olive branch when it was thrust under his nose. And this particular branch was attached by a silver chain to the deed to the ranch.
    â€œDon’t let your pride stand in the way of what you want.”
    â€œIt won’t,” he lied.
    Witt extended his big hand. “What d’ya say?”
    Zach hesitated just a fraction of a second. “It’s a deal,” he’d finally said and the two men had clasped hands.
    Zach had started to work on the hotel and Witt had changed his will. The project to reclaim the Hotel Danvers and refurbish the old building to its earlier grandeur had lasted over two years, and Witt had died long before it was finished, never realizing his dream. Zach had been able to spend most of his time at the ranch, until a year ago. Then the job had become so involved that he’d been forced to move to Portland to ensure that all the finishing touches were just right.
    Now, he tightened the knot of his tie around his throat. He had to get through the grand opening, check a few last bugs, and then get the hell out of Dodge.
    What about Adria?
    Christ, why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? It seemed that she was always there, close to the surface of his thoughts, just as Kat had been. A curse, that’s what it was. For, like it or not, she did resemble his deceased stepmother. That black hair, her clear blue eyes, her pointy chin and high cheekbones, replicas of Katherine LaRouche Danvers. Adria wasn’t quite as small as his stepmother had been, but she was every bit as beautiful and had the same special grace that he hadn’t seen in a woman since Kat.
    His gut twisted as he remembered his ill-fated, one-night affair with his stepmother. The passion, the danger, the thrill that he’d never found with another woman. At the memory of his stepmother, a forbidden heat curled through his blood. She’d seduced him, taken his virginity, showed him a glimpse of heaven, then heaved him through the gates of a hell that was to be the remainder of his life. Not that he would’ve changed a thing.
    So why did his one meeting with Adria Nash conjure up such vivid memories of what he’d tried to hide for so long?
    He hadn’t seen Adria since she’d appeared in the ballroom, all starry-eyed as she’d tried to convince him that she was his long-lost half-sister, but he knew she’d turn up again. Like the proverbial bad penny. They always did. She’d tried phoning him and he hadn’t bothered returning her calls. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction or the false hope. She wasn’t the first impostor trying to claim to be darling little London and she sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.
    Sticking two fingers under the stiff collar of his tuxedo,