“Oh, yeah. Rock skipping is a noble art.” He skips another just as gracefully as the one before it. “Very old world. Very elite.”
I laugh, then try it myself.
My rock hits the water with a pathetickerplunk.
“That was tragic,” he says.
“Show me how it’s done then, Captain Skipper.”
His smile widens, bringing out a pair of dimples so deep they should be illegal. “The key is finding the right stone. You want one that’s smoothand flat.” He toes the ground, finds one worth inspecting, then hands it to me.
Our fingers brush, and I’m impossibly aware of the space between us. Or rather, lack of space between us. I peek up at him, and it’s as if the night itself has pulled tightly around us. The air is electric, a live wire about to snap. And I think this is it. He’s finally going to make a move.
Laughter douses the moment.
Lainey Sikes stumbles through the fog, held upright by Rafe. My already racing heart thuds all the more aggressively as I behold the pair of them—proof that he’s her college boy.
“Don’t stop on our account,” Rafe says, leading Lainey closer. “We love a good slow-burn romance, don’t we, Lain?”
My muscles tighten.
Lainey laughs some more, the sound cut short by an inebriated hiccup. “No slow burn for us, thank you. Have you seen this guy, Selah? Could there be a more gorgeous specimen? And he goes to Yale.”
Rafe smirks. “She really likes that I go to Yale.”
Can blood be evil?
The question echoes in my mind.
I want to tell Lainey to run. Far and fast away. Griffin Tate might be a bit of a tool, but he’s an absolute catch compared to Rafe Vandenberg.
Beside me, Jude has closed up shop, his shutters drawn. The only sign of life is the muscle ticking in his jaw … where a bruise once was.
I narrow my eyes at Rafe. “Is your grandfather named Frank?”
He cocks his head. “All that alone time the two of you have been spending in the family archives, and it turns out, you really are just doing research.”
“Did you know that Jude’s grandfather thought Frank and your father might have something to do with the disappearance of John, Maureen, and their children?”
“Selah.” Jude says my name low, like a warning.
Rafe waves him off. “Let the lady speak, Jude. I’m fascinated to hear what she’s thinking. In fact, I’m fascinated to hear what the two of you have learned in all this research you’re doing.”
“Your lineage isn’t great,” I say.
“Ah, my lineage. The black sheep of the Vandenbergs. Every family needs a villain, don’t they? It’s so much easier than looking in a mirror.” He dusts a speck of lint off his coat sleeve, like he’s bored by the subject. “Tell me, have you learned anything more about the portrait?”
I glare at him.
“It’s odd, don’t you think? Painting someone over and over again, decade after decade. Surely he would have written about such an obsession. And yet, there’s nothing in his journals. One might think those particular volumes have been hidden.”
“Are you looking for them?” I ask.
“Are you hiding them?”
“Why would we hide them?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps you came across some valuable information and you want it for yourself.”
