Glorious Rivals(73)

The scholar was just standing there, waiting for Rohan to attack.

You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I did Savannah’s dirty work for her?

“I’m curious,” Rohan said. “How exactly did I end up in your sights—or your sponsor’s?” Rohan put no heat in that question. He and Brady Daniels were just two fine and civilized men, having a little chat.

“Kind of egocentric,” Brady commented, “to assume that I’m targeting only you.” His grip on the golden dart never loosened. Rohan briefly wondered where Brady’s jacket was.

And then his gaze settled on the lines and exact fit of the lower half of his target’s armor.

“It’s not a crime to be an egotist,” Rohan declared. “More of a badge of honor, really, and let’s face it: You always know exactly where you stand with a person who cares first and foremost about themselves. It’s the ones who give away their hearts to this person or that whom you really have to watch out for. Love breeds desperation, and desperation is such a dangerous bedfellow, don’t you think, Mr. Daniels?”

Rohan could practically see Brady assessing the meaning beneath those words—and this entire exchange. Yes, I know you made Savannah an offer. And yes, I know about the messages from your sponsor.

“My thoughts are my own.” Brady did not rise to the bait. “And so is your dart.”

With that, Brady went to walk past Rohan, and Rohan side-stepped just enough to ensure that Brady’s shoulder hit his—solid contact, in a move so smooth that to any outside observer, it would have painted Brady as the aggressor.

Rohan feinted like he might defend himself, but he did not. He was too busy helping himself to something that Brady had been keeping tucked into his pants—the item that Rohan had seen, in the lines and fit of Brady’s remaining armor.

Another photograph.

Rohan waited until Brady was gone to make his way into the bathroom—and up onto the bathroom counter. He rose to his full height and lifted the photograph to a light overhead. It took longer for this one to heat up than the others had, with the fire, but eventually, the words—the message—became clear.

One of three. It’s time.

Chapter 62

GIGI

Let’s play a game,” Gigi said. “It’s called True or False.”

Eve considered Gigi for a moment. “I’m in.”

“No,” Slate grumbled. “You’re not.”

“You’re just cranky that you’re still taped to a chair,” Gigi told him. “You heard the ominous lady in the red cloak: It’s for your own protection.” Gigi set aside any and all trepidation she felt about being bait and managed a smile. “My, my, my…”

“How the tables have turned,” Slate finished. “Are you done yet, sunshine? Because I am your best defense against whatever walks through that door next. Both of you.”

“So now you want to protect me?” Eve asked. “Or, excuse me, both of us.”

Gigi got the distinct feeling that Eve didn’t like to share. “True or false,” she said. “The two of you are the kind of employee and employer who make out sometimes.”

Silence. Complete and utter silence. And then came the sound of the wall parting.

Gigi whirled and saw a figure in red. The woman. She was back. Cloak billowing, she crossed the room, her red boots making not a single sound as she did. “Juliet Grayson. Evelyn Blake. Mattias Slater.”

Her voice. That voice. It sounds…

Their captor came to a stop in front of Slate and lifted a red gloved hand to the side of his face. Slate didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink as she trailed gloved fingers over his skin.

Without warning, Slate slumped.

“Slate!” Eve lunged toward him, putting herself in front of him, cupping his head and feeling for a pulse on his neck.

Gigi just stood there, frozen. Taking in the details. Silent footsteps—but before, they were audible. And her voice…

“Who are you?” Gigi asked. Not the same voice as before. Not the same woman.

“I am no one,” came the reply, “by design.”

Gigi finally got her legs to work. She scurried to stand next to Eve. “She’s not the one who brought us here,” Gigi whispered.

“No,” Eve said, not bothering to mute her tone. “She’s not.”

She’s the one who took the bait. Gigi’s eyes darted toward Slate. “Is he—”

“Unharmed.” That came from the woman in red—but this time, Gigi couldn’t help thinking of her differently. The Woman in Red. Not just a descriptor. A title. A name. No one by design.

“Who are you?” Eve turned Gigi’s question into an accusation.

“So demanding. So sure of yourself.” There was a frightful neutrality to the Woman in Red’s voice, and Gigi thought about the way she’d rendered Slate unconscious with a single touch.

“And who are you again?” Gigi was perfectly capable of being a broken record.

“I am the one who has the right to wear this cloak,” the Woman in Red said. “Unlike the impostor who took you, I am not playacting. I am not a pretender. I am the Lily. I am the Watcher.” She lifted a hand to the red veil over her face, and with a single movement, she peeled back the fabric over her eyes—and only her eyes. “And I have questions for the two of you.”