Glorious Rivals(29)

And a third.

And a fourth.

Rohan had always done his best thinking in places he wasn’t meant to be.

“Who says this is supposed to be fun?” Savannah stayed right where she was. Don’t trust yourself to come any closer to this bed, do you, love?

Rohan gingerly opened his music box. Individual notes cut through the air, one at a time. A waltz. The inside of the silver box was lined with deep purple velvet. Where some music boxes might have displayed a ballerina twirling to the music, there was a flower made of white-and-gold marble.

The music the box was playing changed—no longer a waltz but a tango.

“You can pretend you’re not enjoying this,” Rohan told Savannah. “But you have your tells.” Rohan refrained from letting his gaze slide to hers. Instead, he retrieved his silver chain bracelet and both charms he’d obtained thus far and affixed the charms to the chain, one after another. The sword. The clock.

The music coming from the box shifted once more, the marble flower turning and turning.

“You must get some pleasure in beating Grayson at a Hawthorne game,” Rohan said. Thus far, he and Savannah had signed two ledgers, and they’d been the first to do so both times.

“In basketball,” Savannah said, “there are two kinds of players on the court: the type who feels a thrill with every basket they sink and the type who cares only about the win.”

“The lady makes a fair point,” Rohan murmured.

Savannah’s long legs took a single step away from the door—and toward the bed. “The lady is about to make another one.” She nodded toward the music box in Rohan’s lap. “This song—it’s the same one from before. From phase one.”

Rohan listened. She was right. “‘Clair de lune,’” he said. After another ten or fifteen seconds, the music shifted again—back to the waltz.

Taking that as her cue, Savannah opened the lid to her box, identical to Rohan’s in every way. It went through the same sequence, song after song.

“The flower.” Savannah was all concentration. “The box. The songs.” She glanced down at the bracelet on her wrist. “Perhaps the charms are meant only to mark our victories. Perhaps they’ll have a use later in the game, but I would wager a good deal of money they aren’t our clue right now.”

Rohan did not disagree. As the music looped back to the beginning once more, he rolled off the bed and to the balls of his feet.

“What are you doing?” Savannah asked.

“Listening,” Rohan replied. He’d always listened best when his hands were occupied. Since he doubted Savannah would welcome his touch at the moment, Rohan did a sweep of Brady’s room.

The waltzed played. Then the tango. “Clair de lune.”

Rohan stepped into Brady’s bathroom. He checked the drawers, the shower, the tiles on the floor—and then he saw the barest hint of something tucked behind the mirror. The moment Rohan went still, Savannah crossed to stand directly behind him. Her gaze caught on the mirror. By the time she’d registered what he had seen, Rohan had claimed it for his own.

A photograph. In fact… It was the same picture that Rohan had stolen earlier. Calla Thorp with her bow.

“He stole it back?” Savannah said archly. “Touché.”

“No.” Rohan unzipped his jacket and retrieved the photo of Calla Thorp that he’d stolen at the bonfire. It was worn, like Brady Daniels had been carrying it around for years.

The one from behind the mirror looked much newer. It was creased only once.

Savannah held out a hand. “May I see them?”

Rohan acceded, allowing her a moment with both photographs. Savannah stared at the twin pictures of Calla Thorp, and Rohan could not help but note that, in comparison to Savannah Grayson, Calla had been quite plain—except for those eyes.

“There is just something about tragic love stories, is there not?” Rohan said, reclaiming the photographs.

For a moment, Savannah looked like she might fight him for the photos, but to Rohan’s ultimate disappointment, she did not. “All love stories are tragic,” she said.

Then she turned, her music box still in hand, and stalked back into the bedroom. Rohan tucked the photographs away and tailed Savannah through Brady’s room and into the hall. The corridor was empty, the clock reset.

“Grayson and Lyra found the clue,” Rohan informed Savannah. She didn’t ask how he knew that, and Rohan didn’t tell her. He merely watched as she stalked toward the window at the end of the hall.

The moment she opened it, Rohan knew why. “‘Clair de lune,’” he said, sidling up beside her. “Moonlight.”

A partial moon shone down from the night sky—and that was when Rohan saw it, down below on the beach, just barely lit. Something that had not been there before…

A piano.

Chapter 27

GIGI

Silk. That villainous, kidnapping cad-face had bound Gigi with silk. Scarves? Pieces of bedsheets? Gigi wasn’t sure. Did Slate just always carry silk around with him? Who knew! All Gigi knew was that the fabric was soft against her wrists, which that highly vexing bicep-monster had tied behind her back.

He’d tied her ankles, too.

“How incredibly, utterly, absolutely dare you!” Gigi’s voice echoed in the darkness. Slate was long gone. Without the candle’s light, it was pitch black, and Gigi was alone.