Gigi held up a hand, which was mildly terrifying since she was turning left at the same time. “Okay, you’ve sold me on the existence of the mythical girlfriend. But can you at least admit that you’ve been playing pretend since I met you?”
Grayson felt a twinge in his stomach. What exactly does she know? He didn’t have time to consider that question. “Brake,” he told Gigi. “Brake!”
She braked, and a moment later, pulled into the parking lot of the bank. Screeching to a stop and parking the car, she turned to look at him. “You’re pretending to be Mr. Stoic, but I see straight through you.” She grinned. “You like me. Not that way, obviously—which, same, buddy—but in a friendly kind of way. I’m growing on you. Admit it, we’re friends.”
She opened the door and jumped out of the jeep without waiting for a response. Grayson steeled himself. We’re not friends, Gigi. He got out of the vehicle and walked around to the front, his mind on what had to be done next.
The decoy key was still in his pocket.
“Not a word about the fact that I’m not parked in the lines.” Gigi expelled a breath, then she craned her neck up at the bank. “Let’s do this.”
Grayson stepped into her path. “You can’t go in.”
“You say can’t, I hear definitely going to—”
“They’ll recognize you.” Grayson waited until he had her eyes before continuing. “It will be hard enough getting into the box without authorization. We don’t want them calling the cops again.” He gentled his tone, as much as he could. “You can’t do this, Gigi.”
She looked down. “But you can?”
“I’m a Hawthorne. I can do anything.” Grayson waited, just a beat, timing his next move with precision. “All you have to do is give me the key.”
Gigi pulled her necklace out from underneath her shirt, her eyes round, her fingers handling the necklace like it bore precious stones. “I guess you don’t need the chain.” She unclasped it.
Regret hit him with surprising force. “I’ll take it anyway,” he told her. “For good luck.” She handed over the chain. He slid the key off it.
“And I’ll go with Grayson,” another voice added. “For good luck.” Savannah’s tone was perfectly pleasant on the surface—and absolutely withering underneath.
“Sav!” Gigi was delighted. “You said you weren’t coming.”
“I didn’t, actually. You assumed.”
Grayson recognized himself in the way she said those words: the set of her chin, the even pacing of the words, the absolute control.
“Do you have the ID I gave you?” Savannah asked her twin calmly.
Gigi reached down the front of her shirt, then produced the card. “Here!”
Grayson averted his gaze. “May I see it?”
“No, you may not,” Savannah told him, but by the time the words were out of her mouth, Gigi had already placed Sheffield Grayson’s fake ID in his hands. The first thing he noticed was the picture—and Sheffield Grayson’s eyes.
His eyes.
The second thing Grayson noticed was the name that Sheffield Grayson had chosen for his false identity: DAVENPORT, TOBIAS.
My middle name. And my grandfather’s—and uncle’s—first.
CHAPTER 47
GRAYSON
From the beginning, Grayson’s fear had been that the contents of the safe-deposit box might shed light on what his father had really been up to in the lead-up to his “disappearance.” Financial records of payments Sheffield Grayson made to have Avery watched, to have a bomb planted on her plane. Record of Sheffield’s travel to Texas the days before her kidnapping. Evidence of a long-term grudge against the Hawthorne family. The possibilities pumped through Grayson’s head, rhythmically, incessantly.
The name on the ID in his hands seemed like confirmation.
Which made it all the clearer: Grayson couldn’t allow Gigi or Savannah access to the box. He needed to get in himself, vet the contents, clear the box out before anyone else discovered its existence. But first, he had to switch the keys.
He strode toward the bank, Savannah beside him, and slipped the key into the pocket of his dress pants, then allowed his fingers to make their way inside the envelope in which the decoy key sat.
“I’ll handle this,” Savannah declared icily, her hand locking over the door handle. “Just give me the key. It doesn’t belong to you.”
Grayson withdrew his hand from his pocket. He gave her the decoy key. It’s done. The switch had been smooth. Easy. He shouldn’t have felt sick to his stomach.