Code(77)

“Something about you and Ben, sneaking around in Building Six?”

Whitney adopted a posture of extreme disapproval.

“There was nothing funny going on—” I shot a look at Whitney, who dropped her eyes, “—so don’t even ask. We were using a computer terminal when that creep Iglehart busted through the door and started chewing us out.”


“So I heard.” Was Kit suppressing a smile? No. Of course not. “Why didn’t you sign in with security like you’re supposed to? Or ask me for network access? And, while we’re at it, why’d you need a LIRI workstation in the first place?”

“Same project.” I was mildly disturbed at how easily the lies came. “We needed to search a few online journals, and you know LIRI has free access to a kajillion of them. Check the logs if you don’t believe me.”

Please don’t. Please please don’t.

“Fine, fine.” Kit began spooning green beans onto his plate. “But you have to sign the log, if only to spare me from more meetings with Hudson.”

“Will do. Sorry.” I was relieved Kit hadn’t probed further, or thought to ask how we gained access to the system. “Hudson’s the main reason we don’t bother.”

“A young lady shouldn’t place herself alone with a boy.” Whitney put a hand to her breast. “Innocent though it may be, such behavior can lead to unseemly rumors.”

Having dodged a sticky issue, I chose not to engage.

I felt guilty about lying. After all, LIRI was Kit’s domain. He might even know who’d registered the snare guns. But I couldn’t see a way to bring it up without revealing our struggle against the Gamemaster.

Too much was at stake. There might be people at LIRI we couldn’t trust. For all I knew, the Gamemaster worked there. Until we knew more, it was best to play it safe.

Plus, being honest, Kit isn’t great with secrets. He’s the trusting sort, while I’m far from it. Bottom line: I trust my instincts over his.

“Time for the main course.” Whitney doled out thick slices of lasagna to herself and Kit. My portion was noticeably smaller. “Can’t have you overfilling your gown.” She actually winked.

I considered running away. Joining a traveling circus. I had a savings account, and a tiny trust fund courtesy of Aunt Tempe. I could probably get as far as Singapore before anyone noticed. I’m very resourceful.

But then the Gamemaster would win, and the price of failure might be too terrible to contemplate. My own family had been threatened.

I had no choice but to keep playing. Hope my instincts were correct.

Hope I could locate the threat in time.

Hope I didn’t humiliate myself in the process. Or murder Whitney.

Suppressing a sigh, I shoved my plate aside. “All right. Let’s try this thing on.”

Whitney’s squeal grated like a skinned knee.





CHAPTER 41





The next twenty-four hours zoomed by in a flash.

Sleep. Wake. School. Home. Shower. Dinner. Deodorant. Dress. More deodorant. Avoid Whitney’s hair and makeup assaults. Then we were off—six bodies packed into a 4Runner.

I’d obsessed over The Game all day. The boys and I had met for lunch, then once more after school. Neither gathering had yielded a breakthrough. The boys were still dubious of my castle theory.

But one thing was certain: Tonight was the night. We had to beat the Gamemaster or live with the consequences. The thought left me a jangling ball of nerves.

Kit and Whitney rode up front. Ben and Hi sandwiched me in the backseat. Shelton, being smallest, had been relegated to the rear. He didn’t seem to mind.

The boys looked good. Uncomfortable, but good.

Ben and Shelton sported the classic “James Bond” look—straight-cut black tuxedos with black bow ties and cummerbunds. Ben looked particularly handsome—despite his obvious discomfort, the formal wear complemented his copper skin, black hair, and dark eyes. One hand drummed his leg as we rode side by side in the car.

Hi, naturally, had opted for flair. His tux was crushed purple velvet with tails, accented by all white silk—tie, vest, gloves, and suspenders. He completed the outfit with a freaking top hat and cane. Whitney had nearly fainted on seeing him.

The trip to The Citadel took thirty minutes. Kit entered through Hagood Gate and eased onto the Avenue of Remembrance. A row of imposing stone halls appeared on our right, forming one side of a rectangle that boxed in the expansive marshaling ground at the center of campus.

“Where’s Jason meeting us?” Kit asked.

“Outside Mark Clark Hall,” I replied. “Near visitor parking.”

“This might be the place for me.” Hi was peering at the stark three-story barracks lining the field’s opposite side. “I like uniforms. And marching.”

Shelton chuckled. “Man, this school would eat you alive. These folks are all about hard-core discipline. Toeing the line. You wouldn’t last five minutes.”

“Nonsense.” Hi wrist-tugged a velvet sleeve. “Honor. Duty. Respect. Those are classic Stolowitski values. I could be a leader here.”


“My dear boy.” Whitney turned in her seat as Kit searched for parking. “The Citadel is the finest military academy in the South. The Corps of Cadets is nothing to mock. Those who enlist complete a rigorous program combining academics, physical fitness, and military discipline. It’s a fabulous honor to be allowed to hold the debutante ball on these grounds.”