The Hawthorne Legacy (The Inheritance Games #2)(67)

“Two,” I said now, just as I had then, but this time I couldn’t help wondering if Jameson was talking about a different kind of triangle—about him and Grayson and me.

“A girl named Elle finds a card on her doorstep. The front of the envelope says To, the back says Elle. Between them, inside the envelope, she finds two identical letters, then spends the rest of the day underground. Why?”

I wanted to tell him to stop playing games, but I couldn’t. He’d thrown out a riddle. I had to solve it. “The front of the card says To, the back says Elle.” I thought as I spoke. “She spends the whole day underground.”

There was a gleam in Jameson’s eyes, one that reminded me of the time we had spent underground. I could practically see him, torch-lit and pacing. And just like that, I saw the method in Jameson’s particular brand of madness. “The two letters inside the envelope were N,” I said softly.

There were probably a thousand adjectives to describe Jameson Hawthorne’s smile, but the one that felt truest to me was devastating. Jameson Winchester Hawthorne had a devastating smile.

I kept going. “The front of the envelope said ‘to’—spelled t-u,” I continued, resisting the urge to step forward. “The back said ‘Elle,’ spelled—”

“E-l,” Jameson finished my sentence. Then he took a step forward. “Two n’s make tunnel, which is why she spent the day underground. You win, Heiress.”

We were standing too close now, and a warning siren went off in the back of my head, because if Jameson had seen Grayson kiss me on air, if he was here now, moving toward me—then what were the chances that this wasn’t about me?

What were the chances that I was just another prize to be won? Territory to be marked.

“Why are you here?” I asked Jameson, even though I knew the answer, had just thought the answer.

“I’m here,” he said with another devastating smile, “because I’d be willing to wager five dollars that you aren’t checking the messages on your phone.”

He was right. “I turned it off,” I replied. “I’m thinking of chucking it out that window.”

“I’ll bet you another five dollars that you can’t hit the statue in the courtyard.”

“Make it ten,” I told him, “and you have a deal.”

“Sadly,” he replied, “if you did throw your phone out the window, you wouldn’t get the message from Libby and Nash.”

I stared at him. “Libby and Nash—”

“They found something,” Jameson told me. “And they’re on their way home.”





CHAPTER 66


I woke at dawn the next morning and found Oren standing directly outside my door. “Have you been out here all night?” I asked him.

He gave me a look. “What do you think?”

He’d warned me that if the news about Toby got out, it would be a security liability. I had no idea how the news had gotten out, but here we were.

“Right,” I said.

“Consider yourself on a six-foot leash,” Oren told me. “You’re not leaving my side until this dies down. If it dies down.”

I winced. “How bad is it?”

Oren’s reply was matter-of-fact. “I have Carlos and Heinrich posted at the entrance to your wing. They’ve already had to turn away Zara, Constantine, and both Laughlins, in some cases forcibly. And that’s not even touching what Skye tried at the gates, in full view of the paparazzi.”

“How many paparazzi?” I asked tentatively.

“Double what we’ve seen before.”

“How is that even possible?” I’d already been front-page news before last night’s interview had aired.

“If there’s one thing the world loves more than an accidental heiress,” Oren replied, “it’s a lost heir.” He very deliberately did not say, I told you so, but I knew he was thinking it.

“I am sorry about this,” I said.

“So am I.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?” I asked flippantly.

Oren’s answer wasn’t flippant at all. “When I said that I would be within six feet of you at all times, I meant me, personally. I never should have delegated that responsibility, under any circumstance.”

“You’re human,” I said. “You have to sleep.” He didn’t reply, and I crossed my arms over my chest. “Where’s Eli?”

“Eli has been removed from the premises.”

“Why?” I demanded, but my brain was already whirring. Oren had apologized to me. He blamed himself for allowing someone else in on my immediate protection detail, and that someone else had been barred from Hawthorne House.

Eli had been the one guarding me when I’d gone to talk to Mrs. Laughlin about Toby.

“He leaked the pictures.” I answered my own question. Eli had been on my protection detail for over a week. He’d been in a position to overhear… a lot.

“Eli isn’t as good at hiding his digital footprint as my man is at uncovering digital ghosts,” Oren told me, his voice like steel. “He leaked the photos. In all likelihood, he’s also the one who’s responsible for the heart and the snake.”