The Inheritance Games (The Inheritance Games #1)(67)

I felt movement behind me and whirled.

“Somebody’s jumpy this morning,” Thea declared, hooking an arm through mine and leading me toward the sideboard. Oren followed, like a shadow. “You’ve been a busy girl,” Thea murmured, directly into my ear.

I knew that she had been watching me, that she’d probably been ordered to stick close and report back. How close was she last night? What does she know? Based on what Oren had said, Thea hadn’t shot me herself, but the timing of her move into Hawthorne House didn’t seem like a coincidence.

Zara had brought her niece here for a reason.

“Don’t play the innocent,” Thea advised, picking up a croissant and bringing it to her lips. “Rebecca called me.”

I fought the urge to glance back at Oren. He’d indicated that Rebecca would keep her mouth shut about the shooting. What else was he wrong about?

“You and Jameson,” Thea continued, like she was chiding a child. “In Emily’s old room, no less. A bit uncouth, don’t you think?”

She doesn’t know about the attack. The realization shot through me. Rebecca must have seen Jameson come out of the bathroom. She must have heard us. Must have realized that we…

“Are people being uncouth without me again?” Xander asked, popping up between Thea and me and breaking Thea’s hold. “How rude.”

I didn’t want to suspect him of anything, but at this rate, the stress of suspecting and not-suspecting was going to kill me before anyone else could do me in.

“Rebecca stayed the night in the cottage,” Thea told Xander, relishing the words. “She finally broke her yearlong silence and texted me all about it.” Thea acted like a person playing a trump card—but I wasn’t sure what, exactly, that card was.

Rebecca?

“Bex texted me, too,” Xander told Thea. Then he glanced apologetically at me. “Word of Hawthorne hookups travels fast.”

Rebecca might have kept her mouth shut about the shooting, but she might as well have taken out a billboard about that kiss.

The kiss meant nothing. The kiss isn’t the problem here.

“You, there. Girl!” Nan jabbed her cane imperiously at me and then at the tray of pastries. “Don’t make an old woman get up.”

If anyone else had spoken to me like that, I would have ignored them, but Nan was both ancient and terrifying, so I went to pick up the tray. I remembered too late that I was injured. Pain flashed like a lightning bolt through my flesh, and I sucked a breath in through my teeth.

Nan stared, just for a moment, then prodded Xander with her cane. “Help her, you lout.”

Xander took the tray. I let my arm drop back to my side. Who saw me flinch? I tried not to stare at any of them. Who already knew I was injured?

“You’re hurt.” Xander angled his body between mine and Thea’s.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“You most decidedly are not.”

I hadn’t realized Grayson had slipped into the banquet hall, but now he was standing directly beside me.

“A moment, Ms. Grambs?” His stare was intense. “In the hall.”





CHAPTER 60


I probably shouldn’t have gone anywhere with Grayson Hawthorne, but I knew that Oren would follow, and I wanted something from Grayson. I wanted to look him in the eye. I wanted to know if he’d done this to me—or had any idea who had.

“You’re injured.” Grayson didn’t phrase that as a question. “You will tell me what happened.”

“Oh, I will, will I?” I gave him a look.

“Please.” Grayson seemed to find the word painful or distasteful—or both.

I owed him nothing. Oren had asked me not to mention the shooting. The last time I’d talked to Grayson, he’d issued a terse warning. He stood to gain the foundation if I died.

“I was shot.” I let the truth out because for reasons I couldn’t even explain, I needed to see how he would react. “Shot at,” I clarified after a beat.

Every muscle in Grayson’s jawline went taut. He didn’t know. Before I could summon up even an ounce of relief, Grayson turned from me to my guard. “When?” he spat out.

“Last night,” Oren replied curtly.

“And where,” Grayson demanded of my bodyguard, “were you?”

“Not nearly as close as I’ll be from now on,” Oren promised, staring him down.

“Remember me?” I raised a hand, then paid for it. “Subject of your conversation and capable individual in her own right?”

Grayson must have seen the pain the movement caused me, because he turned and used his hands to gently lower mine. “You’ll let Oren do his job,” he ordered softly.

I didn’t dwell on his tone—or his touch. “And who do you think he’s protecting me from?” I glanced pointedly toward the banquet hall. I waited for Grayson to snap at me for daring to suspect anyone he loved, to reiterate again that he would choose each and every one of them over me.

Instead, Grayson turned back to Oren. “If anything happens to her, I will hold you personally responsible.”

“Mr. Personal Responsibility.” Jameson announced his presence and ambled toward his brother. “Charming.”