Rebound (Boomerang #2)(46)

But I just smile and say, “tomorrow.”

Inside, my father fixes himself a bourbon and ice then sits in our formal dining room, looking strange and shrunken at the head of a table that can be set for twenty.

“Nightcap?”

“No thanks,” I say.

“Well, sit with me, anyway.”

I pull out a chair and sink into it. Suddenly, I’m exhausted. I just want to crawl up to bed and relive every moment with Adam, and then wake up to a new day where I get to see him again.

“Already had yours?”

“Yes,” I say, because there’s no point lying about it. “I had a few. That’s why Adam drove me home.”

“Did you make any inroads with Blackwood?”

The air seems loaded with double meanings, and I feel a sudden tension, like I’m about to walk into a trap. “Not so much,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “He doesn’t open up about much.” And as I say it, I realize how true it is. For both of us. Our bodies are way more honest with each other than our words seem to be.

“No, I imagine he wouldn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s just say I found out something interesting today. Or at least the first part of something interesting. I’m not sure what to do with it, but I think that’s where you come in. If I can trust you to stay the course.”

“Of course you can.”

“I don’t mind you getting close to him. In fact, I applaud the strategy. But you can’t lose your head. You have to stay in control. On top. You understand?”

I don’t know what to say to any of that. Everything that’s happened between Adam and me is the furthest thing in the world from a strategy. Or control. But if I explain that to my father, he’ll question my loyalty.

“Okay, Dad,” I say. “Yes, I understand. What did you find out?”

My father takes a long swallow of his drink. He sets the mug down with a thud and says, “Adam Blackwood’s been married.”

The words crash around in my head for a second but don’t line up in a way that makes sense. “What?”

“Married. He was married. When he was just a kid. But there’s something more there. I know it.” His eyes glimmer in a way that bothers me.

I can’t understand why this is important. Or how I’m supposed to feel about it. I know it must mean something—but I can’t imagine what. Only that Adam loved someone deeply enough to marry her, to feel sure he’d spend the rest of his life with her.

“When?” I ask. “To who?”

“A girl named Chloe Randall. She died.” He shakes his head. “Twenty years old.”

“How?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. That’s where you come in.”

“But, I mean, when was this?”

“About three years ago. They were only married for a few months. Information is locked down tighter than Fort Knox, and I need to know why. I think we’re onto something here.”

“But how does any of this really matter?” I ask. “I mean . . . whatever the reasons, why do we even have to know?”

“Because I’m giving this guy twenty million dollars. And he’s keeping secrets. Expensive secrets. However this girl died, it should be public knowledge, but there’s nothing. Not a newspaper article or police report. At least none that we can find—yet. He covered it up for some reason, and that doesn’t look good.”

“Then how did you find out?”

He waves a hand. “Don’t worry about that. I need to know what this is about though. You’ve got four days with him now. Work on him.”

I feel queasy, imagining that. Imagining trying to “work” Adam for answers. But my dad’s right. I don’t want to admit it, but that’s a lot of money. Family money. And Adam’s hiding something. From the world, not just us. For three years, he’s built his life on a secret and seemed to go about it so coolly, with such ease. It makes me feel like I can’t trust anything at all.

“All right, Dad,” I say and get up from the table. “I’ll get answers. I promise.”





Chapter 26



Adam


I’m sweating in my ski jacket as I reach the cornice I spotted from the chair lift. Sliding my skis and poles off my shoulder, I stake them into the snow.

Casper Bowl, my favorite run here in Jackson, dips and turns below me, coated with more than a foot of pristine powder from yesterday’s storm. It’s more work to hike to the runs that aren’t accessible by ski lift, but blazing a trail over a white blanket that hasn’t been touched by anyone is my style. The trek is more than worth it.

After I catch my breath, I snap into my skis. Then I adjust my goggles, firm my grip on my poles, and push.

The initial five-foot drop gives me the acceleration I wanted, and I’m off, slicing back and forth, just the mountain and me. Usually there’s no room for thought once I’m carving down a mountain, but this time is different. Ali is in my thoughts. She has been all week, and flying on a pair of skis doesn’t change that.

I see her face just before I kissed her in the stable—an image that’s been sustaining me for days—for the week that’s passed since that night. A meeting with some potential co-producers cropped up and took Brooks and me to New York. Promising leads, but I spent too many days without Alison.