Code(13)

Which made the situation . . . awkward.

I shouldn’t complain—for most girls, Jason’s attention would’ve been all that mattered. And I treasured him as a friend. He looked out for me at school, keeping the nastier trust-fund brats off my back.

“Hi, Jason,” I said awkwardly. “My weekend was fine. You?”

“Me? Oh, great. Took the boat out, played golf. Nice weather, um, right?”

“Definitely.” I shifted, needlessly adjusting my book bag straps. “Sunny.”

Uneasiness around Jason was collateral damage from my reckless display. Flustered by my blunder with Madison, I’d been totally unprepared when Jason offered to escort me to the debutante ball. Angry with myself, I’d lashed out at him, too.

We didn’t speak again until school started, and even then we’d carefully avoided that topic. The eggshell dance was moving into its second month, with no end in sight.

It didn’t help that Madison had eyes for Jason, and viewed me as a rival.

And Ben seriously disliked him.

Nothing is ever simple.

The bell spared us further discomfort.

“Gotta run,” I said, thankful for the reprieve. “See you later!”

“Later.” Jason tossed a head-nod to Shelton and Hi as he passed them. The Two Stooges clumsily returned the gesture.

Shelton drifted back to my side wearing a sly grin. “That was smooth, player.”

“Shut it.”

The awkward conversation had reminded me of Whitney’s instructions. I needed guys for my stupid debut, and didn’t have a plan.

Jason had volunteered, but that was months ago, and I’d rejected his offer. Rudely. Did it still stand? Choosing an A-lister might be a good move. Jason had always defended me when he could.

But I totally embarrassed him. Why would he say yes now?

Shelton tapped his watch. “Today, Brennan.”

Just then, Hi scurried across the hallway in a rush. “Did you guys hear the news?”

“What news?” Shelton tugged his earlobe, a nervous habit. “I already know I’m not going to like it.”

“It’s all over Twitter. He’s out! They released him last weekend.”

“Who?” But I knew.

Had no doubt.

“Chance Claybourne.” Hi shook his head in disbelief. “He’s coming back to Bolton.”





CHAPTER 7





Tiny droplets splashed my arms.

Tom Blue’s shuttle, Hugo, was kicking spray up into a fine mist. I stood alone in the stern, watching downtown recede as we churned home across the harbor.

My thoughts were of Broad Street, and a pricey piece of real estate known as Claybourne Manor.

I bet he’s alone in that gigantic mansion. Right now.

I’d been unable to concentrate in class.

Chance Claybourne.

Out of the hospital.

Returning to Bolton Prep.

Guilt shrouded me like a cold, wet blanket. The awful thing I’d done. How I’d played with Chance’s mind to protect our secrets.

And now he’s back.

Ben’s voice floated from behind me. “It’s not like you had a choice.”

“I know.” I sighed, turned. Ben often knew what I was thinking. “But messing with his head. Making him think he was crazy. I’ve felt terrible ever since.”

If not the richest man in Charleston, Chance was certainly high on the list. Son of former state senator Hollis Claybourne, and heir to an enormous family fortune, Chance’s mental breakdown had been the scandal of the decade.

Chance had suffered a total nervous collapse, with every salacious detail reported in the press. He’d been hospitalized for five months—leaving only once, to help us search for a lost pirate treasure.

Twice Chance had witnessed our flare powers unleashed. He’d seen our canine speed. Our strength. Our glowing eyes.

After the second incident, Chance had approached me, confused and vulnerable. Needing answers.

Instead of helping him, I’d twisted the knife. Betrayed his trust.

To protect the Virals, I’d convinced Chance that he’d imagined the whole thing. That the images he described were unreal. Figments of a distressed mind. Frightened, and in shock, he’d returned to the psych ward for further treatment.

Your revenge.

I sat up straight. Where had that thought come from?

A fresh wave of guilt crashed over me. My own hurt feelings hadn’t factored into deceiving Chance . . . had they?

At Bolton, Chance had been a different story from Jason. I’d definitely had R-rated thoughts about Charleston’s richest son. Chance was gorgeous, refined, and genteel. Sculpted like a gladiator, with the manner of a prince. Like every other girl in school, I’d dreamed of watching the sunrise while wrapped in his arms.

Fool. That was all out the window now.

At the end of freshman year Chance had manipulated me, using my crush against me in an attempt to hide his dark family secrets. It had almost worked, too.

I’d long since squashed any attraction I might’ve had for young Master Claybourne. I thought. Hoped.

“Hey, they let him out, right?” Hi plopped down on the bench beside me, tie askew, navy blazer folded across his knees. “So he must be cured. No harm, no foul.”