Glorious Rivals(49)

Wordlessly, Avery wrapped her arms around Jameson. Grayson’s hand was still on Jameson’s shoulder. For a moment, the three of them just stood there, breathing as one, and then Nash joined them, his hand planted firmly next to Grayson’s on Jameson’s back.

“You told Avery.” Grayson stated the obvious.

“Eventually, but we never pursued it,” Avery said. “We never looked for answers, never looked for her.”

Alice. The big picture here clearly extended past one woman. Grayson didn’t like it. “And the flower?” he asked Jameson. “The calla in the music box?”

“I don’t know,” Jameson said. “I told you—I remember voices. Smoke. The price of wheat. Fire. And being threatened. That’s it, Grayson.”

That clearly wasn’t it. On some level, whether he could access it or not, Jameson knew more.

“You aren’t alone with this now,” Nash told Jameson. He put a hand on Avery’s shoulder, too. “Either of you. And it has to be asked: What about the other calla lily? The one Grayson and Lyra found.”

“Brady seemed to think it might be for him,” Grayson indicated. “He played it off as if he believed it to be Rohan’s doing, but my money is on someone else—most likely his sponsor.”

“I chose Brady,” Avery said, frowning. “I gave him a ticket to the game. Why would he need a sponsor?”

“What do you know about the girl?” Grayson said. “Calla something.”

“Missing,” Avery replied. “Presumed dead.” Realization hit her. “Her name—”

Silence blanketed the room. All of them had a mind for puzzles. All of them were trying to make this one make sense.

“What if Brady’s sponsor is Alice?” Jameson pulled away from the rest of them. “If Alice got to Brady somehow, if she’s here, if she’s watching—we can’t let on that we know. None of the rest of you are supposed to know any of this.”

“We can’t call off the game,” Avery concluded. “We have to proceed like everything is normal. Like everything is fine.”

“Why would our grandmother care about the Grandest Game?” Grayson asked. “Or Brady Daniels?”

“Why would she care about the price of wheat?” Jameson replied.

Grayson rolled that question over in his mind. “They,” he said finally. “Why would they?”

This time, the silence lasted even longer. Finally, Avery turned to Nash. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” she said. “You’re going to Libby.”

“I’m going to Libby,” Nash confirmed. “And I’m dealing Oren in before I do. He needs to know there’s a threat. We can tell him it relates to what happened in Prague without telling him how—should give him an idea of the seriousness of this. His men can search every nook and cranny of Hawthorne Island while the players are here on the yacht. Establish a better perimeter—”

“You can’t tell Oren anything,” Jameson said. “Nothing I’ve said can leave this room.”

“Have you met Avery’s head of security?” Nash asked Jameson. “And related question: How would you like John Oren to kill you when he finds out there was a clear and present threat to all of us—to Avery—and you never said a word?”

Jameson chewed on that for a moment. “You might have a point,” he said grimly. “But Alice’s name is never mentioned—not to Oren, not to anyone else.”

“We don’t know that it’s her,” Avery pointed out. “Not for sure.” Her hazel eyes made their way to Grayson’s. “But either way, you need to do damage control, Gray. With Lyra. You need to keep her out of this.”

Lyra. Grayson pictured her, wearing his jacket.

“Keep her focused on the game,” Jameson told him. “That will buy us some time to figure out how best to handle her.”

It was on the tip of Grayson’s tongue to tell all of them that one did not handle Lyra Kane, but if Alice was that much of a threat, for Lyra’s sake and the sake of his family…

I might have to.

Chapter 42

ROHAN

Rohan had to admit: There were worse ways to spend a late night than exploring a yacht with Savannah Grayson. A movie theater, a spa, multiple lounges, each themed to a different jewel-colored tone—Savannah’s gown outshined them all. Even in the dimmest light, it seemed to emanate an almost supernatural glow, like snowflakes in moonlight, like thousands of pearlescent mirrors, each no bigger than the point of a quill.

And even in the dimmest light, Savannah Grayson had her tells: a certain tension in the long, sinewy muscles of her arms, the length of her stride, the exact set of her pale pink lips.

Every time you see Avery Grambs, you start to grieve all over again, and you shut it down.

Rohan said nothing about the change he’d noticed in her the moment they’d stepped onto the yacht, and in return, Savannah didn’t say a word about what he’d told her, back in his room. Instead, they both zeroed in—absolutely, intensely, mercilessly—on the game.

On the hints, at least two of them, hidden somewhere on this vessel.

Together, Rohan and Savannah stepped out of the interior of the yacht and onto one of the decks.