See How She Dies Read Free Page A

narrowed his eyes at the kitchen. “Damn that Casey.”
    â€œIs she a reporter?”
    â€œThe woman?” Frank fumbled in his pocket for his cigarettes. “Hell if I know. As I said, I’m not a Danvers, so she wouldn’t talk to me. Not that I wouldn’t mind spending a little time with her.”
    â€œGood-looking?”
    Frank said, “Beyond a ten.”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œLook, all I know is that short of bodily hauling her out of here, we got a problem. No one’s supposed to be on the premises. If she slips and falls and breaks her neck and OSHA finds out—”
    â€œYou worry to much.”
    â€œYou pay me to worry.” Frank found his crumpled pack of Camels and shook out a cigarette.
    â€œJust finish the job. I’ll deal with the insurance people and the woman.”
    â€œGood.” Smiling as he clicked his lighter, Frank inhaled deeply. “Now, let’s see if this mother works. Hey, Roy, turn on the juice.” Reaching around the desk, he flipped a switch and stared at the chandelier. Lights shaped like candles blazed for a second before flickering and dying. “Fuckin’ wiring,” Frank growled, his face turning red, his cigarette bobbing between his lips. “I told that half-wit Jerry to use…oh, hell!” Exasperated, he shot out a stream of smoke. “Roy, turn it off again!” he roared.
    â€œI’ll go talk to the mystery lady.”
    â€œDo that,” Frank growled as he finished his smoke, then started back up the scaffolding. Zach didn’t doubt that by the grand opening, everything would work perfectly. Frank would see to it, if he had to hold two wires together himself.
    From the stairs, Zach glanced around the lobby and thought of his father. Witt Danvers. A royal pain in the ass.
    Right now, Witt would have been proud of the son he’d disowned half a dozen times. Not that it mattered. Witt Danvers was dead and cremated, his ashes spread across the rolling forests of the Oregon hills two years ago. A just end to a timber baron who had spent all his years raping the land.
    Through the leather of his jacket, Zach rubbed the scar in his shoulder, the result of being the son of Witt Danvers. His jaw tightened. It had taken him years to come to terms with the old man, and now it was too late to make amends.
    â€œRest in peace, you miserable bastard,” Zachary said, his lips flattening as he opened the doors. His father had always treated Zach differently from the rest of his children. Not that he cared now. Zach had his own business, his own identity. The noose of being the son of one of Portland’s wealthiest men didn’t seem quite so tight.
    He took two long strides into the ballroom, then stopped dead in his tracks. The woman was there, dressed in a black long coat and matching knee-length boots. She turned at the sound of his entrance, and before she could say a word he knew why she was waiting for him.
    Glossy black curls swirled away from a flawless face. Round blue eyes fringed by lacy black lashes stared straight at him. Thin black brows arched inquisitively. He felt as if his heart had stopped for a second as she smiled, showing off beautiful teeth, finely carved cheekbones, and a strong, slightly stubborn chin.
    His breath seemed to stop somewhere in his lungs.
    â€œYou’re Zachary,” she said, as if she had every right to stand in the middle of the ballroom— as if she belonged .
    Zach’s throat was suddenly dry and hot and forbidden memories struggled to the surface of his mind. “Right.”
    â€œDanvers,” she supplied, her voice low, her lips tightening just a fraction. She smiled slightly, and with her hand extended, walked slowly toward him. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time,” she said, forcing a smile. “My name is—”
    â€œLondon,” he supplied as every muscle in his body grew taut with the pain of