The Inheritance Games (The Inheritance Games #1)(74)

The keychain was plastic, in the shape of the number one.





CHAPTER 66


Eight. One. One.

I slept in Libby’s room again that night. She didn’t. I asked Oren to confirm with her security team that she was okay and on the premises.

She was—but he didn’t tell me where.

No Libby. No Max. I was alone—more alone than I’d been since I got here. No Jameson. I hadn’t seen him since he’d left that morning. No Grayson. He hadn’t lingered with me for long after we’d discovered the clue.

One. One. Eight. That was all I had to concentrate on. Three numbers, which confirmed for me that Toby’s tree in the Black Wood had just been a tree. If there was a fourth number, it was still out there. Based on the keychain, the clue in the Black Wood could appear in any format, not just a carving.

Late into the night and nearly asleep, I heard something like footsteps. Behind me? Below? The wind whistled outside my window. Gunshots lurked in my memory. I had no idea what was lurking in the walls.

I didn’t fall asleep until dawn. When I did, I dreamed about sleeping.

“I have a secret,” my mom says, cheerfully bouncing onto my bed, jarring me awake. “Care to make a guess, my newly fifteen-year-old daughter?”

“I’m not playing,” I grumble, pulling the covers back over my head. “I never guess right.”

“I’ll give you a hint,” my mom wheedles. “For your birthday.” She pulls the covers back and flops down beside me on my pillow. Her smile is contagious.

I finally break and smile back. “Fine. Give me a hint.”

“I have a secret… about the day you were born.”

I woke with a headache to my lawyer throwing open the plantation shutters. “Rise and shine,” Alisa said, with the force and surety of a person making an argument in court.

“Go away.” Channeling my younger self, I pulled the covers over my head.

“My apologies,” Alisa said, not sounding apologetic in the least. “But you really do have to get up now.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” I muttered. “I’m a billionaire.”

That worked about as well as I expected it to. “If you’ll recall,” Alisa replied pleasantly, “in an attempt to do damage control after your impromptu press conference earlier this week, I arranged for your debut in Texas society to take place this weekend. There is a charity benefit that you will be attending this evening.”

“I barely slept last night.” I tried for pity. “Someone tried to shoot me!”

“We’ll get you some vitamin C and a pain pill.” Alisa was without mercy. “I’m taking you dress shopping in half an hour. You have media training at one, hair and makeup at four.”

“Maybe we should reschedule,” I said. “Due to someone wanting to kill me.”

“Oren signed off on us leaving the estate.” Alisa gave me a look. “You have twenty-nine minutes.” She eyed my hair. “Make sure you’re looking your best. I’ll meet you at the car.”





CHAPTER 67


Oren escorted me to the SUV. Alisa and two of his men were waiting inside it—and they weren’t the only ones.

“I know you weren’t planning on going shopping without me,” Thea said, by way of greeting. “Where there are high-fashion boutiques, so there is Thea.”

I looked toward Oren, hoping he’d kick her out of the car. He didn’t.

“Besides,” Thea told me in a haughty little whisper as she buckled her seat belt, “we need to talk about Rebecca.”





The SUV had three rows of seats. Oren and a second bodyguard sat in the front. Alisa and the third sat in the back. Thea and I were in the middle.

“What did you do to Rebecca?” Thea waited until she was satisfied that the other occupants of the car weren’t listening too closely before she asked the question, low and under her breath.

“I didn’t do anything to Rebecca.”

“I will accept that you didn’t fall into the Jameson Hawthorne trap for the purpose of dredging up memories of Jameson and Emily.” Thea clearly thought she was being magnanimous. “But that’s where my generosity ends. Rebecca’s painfully beautiful, but the girl cries ugly. I know what she looks like when she’s spent all night crying. Whatever her deal is—this isn’t just about Jameson. What happened at the cottage?”

Rebecca knows about the shooting. She was forbidden from telling anyone. I tried to wrap my mind around the implications. Why was she crying?

“Speaking of Jameson,” Thea changed tactics. “He is oh so clearly miserable, and I can only assume that I owe that to you.”

He’s miserable? I felt something flicker in my chest—a what-if—but quelled it. “Why do you hate him so much?” I asked Thea.

“Why don’t you?”

“Why are you even here?” I narrowed my eyes. “Not in this car,” I amended, before she could mention high-fashion boutiques, “at Hawthorne House. What did Zara and your uncle ask you to come here to do?”

Why stick so close to me? What did they want?

“What makes you think they asked me to do anything?” It was obvious in Thea’s tone and in her manner that she was a person who’d been born with the upper hand and never lost it.