“Can I see it?” I asked. Xander reluctantly handed me the compass. I opened it and stared at the face. The design was simple; it didn’t look expensive.
A phone buzzed—not Rebecca’s this time. Mine. Looking down, I realized that Jameson had finally texted back.
His text was exactly three words long: Meet you there.
CHAPTER 39
I stared out the window as the jet began its descent. From a distance, all I could see was mountains and clouds and snow, but soon I could make out the tree line. A month ago, I’d never even been on a plane. Now I was flying private. No matter how focused I tried to stay on the task at hand, I couldn’t help wanting to lose myself in the vastness of the sight out that window.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that this life was never meant for me.
We landed at a private airstrip. It took half an hour—and three enormous SUVs—to make the drive to True North, which was nestled higher up on the mountain, far away from the resort town below.
“The house has ski-in/ski-out access,” Alisa informed Max and me on the drive. “It’s private, but there’s a trail that will take you to the lodge below.”
As True North came into view, it hit me that the photos hadn’t done it justice. The A-line roof was white with snow. The house was massive but somehow still looked like an extension of the mountain.
“I called ahead to have the caretaker open up the house,” Alisa said as she, Oren, Max, and I stepped out onto the snow. “We should be stocked with food. I took the liberty of having appropriate attire delivered for you girls.”
“Fox me,” Max whispered, awed, as she took in the sight in front of us.
“It’s beautiful,” I told Alisa.
A soft smile crossed my lawyer’s lips, and her eyes crinkled at the edges. “This property was one of Mr. Hawthorne’s favorites,” Alisa told me. “He always seemed different up here.”
A second, identical SUV parked next to ours, and Libby stepped out, followed by Nash and more of Oren’s men. A half dozen strands of Libby’s hair had fought their way free of her French braid and blew wildly in the mountain wind.
“I understand that Grayson and Jameson will be joining us,” Alisa said, deliberately turning away from Nash and my sister. “Whatever you do,” she cautioned, “do not let any of the Hawthornes challenge you to a Drop.”
CHAPTER 40
The inside of the house matched the outside perfectly. The living room ceiling stretched up two stories, with giant beams visible in the rafters. The floors were wood, the walls wood-paneled, and everything—the furniture, the rugs, the light fixtures—was oversized. Fur throws draped the enormous leather sofa—softer than anything I’d ever felt.
A fire crackled in a stone fireplace, and I walked toward it, mesmerized.
“There are four bedrooms on this floor, two at basement level, and two up.” Alisa paused. “I’ve put you in the biggest bedroom on this floor.”
I turned away from the fire and tried to make my next question sound natural. “Actually… which bedroom was Skye’s?”
The stairway to the third floor was lined with family photographs. It looked almost… normal. The frames weren’t expensive. The photos were snapshots. There was one of a much younger Grayson, Jameson, and Xander with their heads sticking out of a tent. Another of what appeared to be a chicken fight between all four brothers. One of Nash with his arms around Alisa. And farther up the wall there were photos of Tobias Hawthorne’s children.
Including Toby.
I tried not to stare at pictures of Toby Hawthorne at twelve and fourteen and sixteen, searching for some kind of resemblance to myself. I failed. There was one photo in particular—it was impossible for me to look away. Toby was standing between teenage girls I assumed to be Zara and Skye. It had obviously been taken at True North. All three of them were on skis. All three were smiling.
And I thought that maybe Toby’s smile looked a bit like mine.
At the top of the stairs, Max and I deposited our bags in the room that we’d been told was once Skye’s. With a glance back over my shoulder, I closed the door.
“Look for hidden compartments,” I told Max as I examined a wooden chest. “Secret drawers, loose floor panels, false backs to the furniture—that kind of thing.”
“Sure,” Max said, drawing out the word as she watched me making quick work of the wooden chest. “Absolutely. That is a thing I know how to do.”
It wasn’t that I expected to hit payload immediately, but after searching Toby’s wing, I knew how to look. I didn’t find anything of note until I ventured into the closet. There were clothes hanging on the racks and sweaters folded on the shelves. None of them looked like things I would expect Skye to wear now. I went through the items one by one and eventually came to the ski jacket that Skye had been wearing in the picture on the stairs. How old had she been when she wore this? Fifteen? Sixteen?