Seizure(68)

My pulse quickened. Too late for second thoughts now.

We entered a bright, airy room with pastel walls. Art supplies filled one corner. Easels. Paints. Stacks of blank canvas. Circular tables sat in casual disarray beneath a row of large bay windows. The space had a happy, optimistic feel.

“This is our artist’s retreat,” Guzman said. “Mr. Claybourne spends a great deal of his time here, so I thought it would be a comfortable meeting place.”

“Sounds perfect.”

I began to sweat. Awesome.

“I can only allow two of you to meet with the patient.” Guzman wore a pained expression. “I’m terribly sorry, but he’s not ready for a larger group at this time. There’s a bench in the hallway where the others can wait.”

“We understand completely.” Shelton.

“I wouldn’t dream of endangering a patient’s recovery.” Hi.

The two beelined back out of the room.

I glanced at Ben, who nodded.

“Ben and I will handle the presentation.”

“Wonderful.” Guzman gestured to one of the tables. “Please have a seat. Mr. Claybourne will arrive in a moment.”

“You’re not staying?”

Though it caught me off guard, this was a lucky break. I hadn’t worked out how to question Chance in front of his doctor.

“I think it best if you talk unaccompanied by medical staff.” Guzman’s face went serious. “Mr. Claybourne is highly suspicious. I’m hoping time alone with friends will be beneficial.”

Friends. That word again. I swallowed hard.

“I hope so, too.”

“I’ll return in five minutes.” Guzman’s heels clicked sharply as he strode from the room and down the main hallway.

Seconds later, Chance ambled in through a rear door. He was wearing navy sweatpants and a gray Bolton lacrosse tee. Dark crescents hung below his piercing, deep brown eyes. A scraggily beard clung to his chin.

No matter. Even in nuthouse garb, the guy was freaking gorgeous.

Chance was grinning as if remembering a joke and trying not to laugh. He made it two steps before seeing me.

He froze. His eyes locked on mine. Then his head moved slowly from side to side.

Chance’s gaze flicked to Ben. Returned. Crossing to the table, he sat, leaned back in his chair, and regarded me.

An awkward silence ensued.

Eventually, I had to break it.

“On behalf of the students of Bolton Academy,” I began, “we are honored to present you with this year’s—”

“Stop.” Never taking his eyes from me, Chance pointed at Ben. “Leave.”

Ben snorted. “Piss off, Claybourne.”

Chance’s jaw tightened. “Leave. Now.”

“Go, Ben,” I whispered. “We don’t have much time.”

Ben hesitated, then stood and strode from the room. Chance never glanced in his direction.

I started again. “On behalf of the students—”

“Give it a rest,” Chance said. “The Human Spirit Award? I only agreed to this farce because I wanted to see who was yanking Guzman’s chain. I’ll admit, you surprised me.”

“I needed to talk. It worked.”

“Like my new home?” Chance waved an arm. “I always wanted to live in a castle. Does it count if I’m a prisoner?”

“You’re not a prisoner,” I said. “You’re a patient.”

“I can’t leave, so what’s the difference?” He winked. “But at least I dodged jail.”

“Don’t worry, charges will be waiting when you’re deemed mentally fit.”

“You think so? I doubt the DA will bother pursuing a few petty misdemeanors. They already got the big fish.” Chance smirked. “Otherwise, I could be looking at six whole months of probation. Not sure I could bear it.”

“So this is all a big act? You’ve got them all fooled?”

“Of course.” The dark eyes narrowed. “I’m not crazy. I was stressed for a bit, I admit, but I’m much better now. Sound as a pound.”

Despite the bravado, Chance seemed edgy. His hands darted from place to place. One foot tapped incessantly, as if on its own accord.

“Take advantage of the rest,” I said diplomatically. “I remember that night. After what Hannah—”

Chance slammed the table with both fists.

“Do NOT mention that name!”

I jumped back, astonished by the outburst. Ben charged back into the room.

“It’s okay!” I waved Ben away. “Watch the hall.”

Ben looked hard at Chance, withdrew.

“Why are you here, anyway?” Chance was examining his nails. I noticed the cuticles were red and raw.

“Fifteen years ago, Hollis Claybourne bought an artifact at auction.” I chose my words carefully. “I thought you might know something about it.”

“My father buys lots of artifacts. I can’t possibly recall every one.”

“He purchased a rare Celtic cross. It’s distinctive. The top portion curves to the right.”

Chance paused, as if weighing possible answers. “Why do you want it?”


“So you do remember the cross?” I pressed.