The Inheritance Games (The Inheritance Games #1)(69)

If Libby noticed how close he was sticking to us, she gave no indication of it. “How in the world are we supposed to find one little desk?” she asked.

I turned back to Oren. If he was here, he might as well be useful. “I’ve seen the office in our wing. Did Tobias Hawthorne have any others?”





The desk in Tobias Hawthorne’s other office wasn’t a Davenport, either. There were three rooms off the office. The Cigar Room. The Billiards Room. Oren provided explanations as needed. The third room was small, with no windows. In the middle of it, there was what appeared to be a giant white pod.

“Sensory deprivation chamber,” Oren told me. “Every once in a while, Mr. Hawthorne liked to cut off the world.”





Eventually, Libby and I resorted to searching on a grid, the same way Jameson and I had searched the Black Wood. Wing by wing and room by room, we made our way through the halls of Hawthorne House. Oren was never more than a few feet behind.

“And now… the spa.” Libby flung the door open. She seemed upbeat. Either that, or she was covering for something.

Pushing that thought down, I looked around the spa. We clearly weren’t going to find the desk here, but that didn’t stop me from taking it all in. The room was L-shaped. In the long part of the L, the floor was wooden; in the short part, it was made of stone. In the middle of the stone section, there was a small square pool built into the ground. Steam rose from its surface. Behind it, there was a glass shower as big as a small bedroom, with faucets attached to the ceiling instead of the wall.

“Hot tub. Steam room.” Someone spoke up behind us. I turned to see Skye Hawthorne. She was wearing a floor-length robe, a black one this time. She strode to the larger section of the room, dropped the robe, and lay down on a gray velvet cot. “Massage table,” she said, yawning, barely covering herself with a sheet. “I ordered a masseuse.”

“Hawthorne House is closed to visitors for the moment,” Oren said flatly, completely unimpressed with her display.

“Well, then.” Skye closed her eyes. “You’ll need to buzz Magnus past the gates.”

Magnus. I wondered if he was the one who’d been here yesterday. If he was the one who’d shot at me—at her request.

“Hawthorne House is closed to visitors,” Oren repeated. “It’s a matter of security. Until further notice, my men have instructions to allow only essential personnel past the gates.”

Skye yawned like a cat. “I assure you, John Oren, this massage is essential.”

On a nearby shelf, a row of candles was burning. Light shone through sheer curtains, and low and pleasant music played.

“What matter of security?” Libby asked suddenly. “Did something happen?”

I gave Oren a look that I hoped would keep him from answering that question, but it turned out that I was aiming that request in the wrong direction.

“According to my Grayson,” Skye told Libby, “there was some nasty business in the Black Wood.”





CHAPTER 62


Libby waited until we were back in the hallway to ask, “What happened in the woods?”

I cursed Grayson for telling his mother—and myself for telling Grayson.

“Why do you need extra security?” Libby demanded. After a second and a half, she turned to Oren. “Why does she need extra security?”

“There was an incident yesterday,” Oren said, “with a bullet and a tree.”

“A bullet?” Libby repeated. “Like, from a gun?”

“I’m fine,” I told her.

Libby ignored me. “What kind of incident with a bullet and a tree?” she asked Oren, her blue ponytail bouncing with righteous indignation.

My head of security couldn’t—or wouldn’t—obfuscate more than he already had. “It’s unclear if the shots were meant to scare Avery, or if she was a genuine target. The shooter missed, but she was injured by debris.”

“Libby,” I said emphatically, “I’m fine.”

“Shots, plural?” Libby didn’t even seem like she’d heard me.

Oren cleared his throat. “I’ll give you two a moment.” He retreated down the hall—still in sight, still close enough to hear but far enough away to pretend he couldn’t.

Coward.

“Someone shot at you, and you didn’t tell me?” Libby didn’t get mad often, but when she did, it was epic. “Maybe Nash is right. Damn him! I said you pretty much took care of yourself. He said he’d never met a billionaire teenager who didn’t need the occasional kick in the pants.”

“Oren and Alisa are taking care of the situation,” I told Libby. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

Libby lifted her hand to my cheek, her eyes falling on the scratch I’d covered up. “And who’s taking care of you?”

I couldn’t help thinking about Max saying and you needed me again and again. I looked down. “You have enough on your plate right now.”

“What are you talking about?” Libby asked. I heard her suck in a quick breath, then exhale. “Is this about Drake?”

She’d said his name. The floodgates were officially open, and there was no holding it back now. “He’s been texting you.”