Glorious Rivals (The Grandest Game, #2) (46)

The pieces of the puzzle shifted in Grayson’s mind, and he thought about Brady Daniels and his Calla. About Jameson’s insistence that the name Alice Hawthorne not even be spoken. About the marble calla lily in the music box.

“We’ll figure this out,” Grayson told Lyra.

“I’ll search the yacht for hints—and lemniscates.” Lyra tossed her dark hair over her shoulders. “You go talk to your brothers and Avery.”

“Was that a suggestion,” Grayson said, “or an order?”

Lyra arched a brow. “Do you take orders?”

“From you?” Grayson gave her a look. “Absolutely.”





Chapter 41





GRAYSON


A spiraling black and silver staircase took Grayson from the third floor of the yacht to the fourth. The uppermost level was nothing but a deck, as close to a roof as one could get on a ship.

Jameson was exactly where Grayson had expected to find him: standing at the edge, leaning on the railing but not standing on top of it anymore.

“We need to talk,” Grayson said.

“Ominous,” Jameson replied without turning around, his nothing-risked-nothing-gained, push-the-limits tone one that Grayson recognized all too well. “Planning to explain why you requested a perimeter run of the island?”

“That,” Grayson said. “And I have questions.”

“No, Gray. You don’t.”

Those words served as a reminder for Grayson that Jameson wasn’t pushing limits right now. He was running scared, and Grayson needed to know why. He couldn’t protect Lyra, let alone give her what she needed, without information, so he said the one thing guaranteed to get his brother’s full and undivided attention. “I know who put Lyra in the game.”

Jameson whirled to face Grayson.

“Don’t mind me, boys.” Nash made an entrance, sauntered past Grayson, and took up position a ways away from them both. “I’m just here in case someone needs their ass kicked.”

Grayson couldn’t help himself. “How’s handling Nash going?” he asked Jameson.

Jameson didn’t take the bait. “What do you know, Gray?”

Grayson did not beat around the bush. “Eve.”

Jameson blinked.

“Eve?” Nash echoed. Apparently, he wasn’t just there for ass-kicking purposes.

“She made it onto the island,” Grayson said. “Your current security measures leave much to be desired, by the way. Fire whoever Oren tasked with maintaining a decent perimeter.”

Grayson knew without asking that Oren wasn’t personally keeping an eye on the ocean around Hawthorne Island, 24-7. Avery’s head of security would never divert his attention away from his charge for that long. And Grayson deeply suspected that Jameson hadn’t told anyone in security that there was a threat.

Which raises the question of why.

“Why would Eve go to the trouble of finding a wild card ticket, just to send it to Lyra and put her in the Grandest Game?” Jameson pressed.

You thought it was someone else. Grayson didn’t say that out loud—not yet. “It seems Eve’s great-grandfather also kept files, including some focused on our grandfather’s enemies. One guess as to who has those files now.”

Jameson didn’t bother guessing. “What exactly does Eve know?”

“About whatever you’re hiding?” Grayson replied. “Nothing. From what Lyra was able to tell, Eve is in the dark about…” Grayson came very close to saying Alice but held back. “Matters you refuse to discuss.”

Grayson recognized the glint in Jameson’s eyes. That was the look of a Hawthorne, sifting through possibilities, updating any and all relevant calculations.

“We will be discussing those matters now,” Grayson said.

“No.” Jameson turned back toward the railing. “We won’t.”

“Jamie?” Nash called, his voice deceptively mild. “Climb that thing again and see what happens.”

A single glance at Nash was enough to tell Grayson that Jameson had spent the duration of phase two on the edge in more ways than one. Grayson eyed his barely younger brother and made an executive decision. Turnabout was, after all, fair play. “Jamie? On Spake.”

Jameson didn’t climb the rail then. He jumped it.

By the time Grayson and Nash made it to the railing, Jameson had already swung himself down and into a dead drop.

“Son of a—” Nash cut himself off as Jameson stuck the landing on the deck below.

“After you,” Grayson told Nash.

The chase was on. It became apparent quickly enough that Jameson wasn’t avoiding them so much as leading them into the depths of the yacht and down, level after level, through room after room until he opened a door to a stateroom.

His suite, Grayson registered. And Avery’s. It looked like something that one would find in a Hawthorne-owned luxury hotel. Panoramic windows would have delivered quite a view in the day, but at night, the ocean was nothing but darkness. Regardless, Jameson hit a button on the wall, and screens descended, covering the windows.

Privacy.

Almost immediately, the door to the suite flew inward. “What did I miss?” Xander asked.

Grayson didn’t even have to look at Jameson to know that he definitely didn’t want their youngest brother present for this.