She couldn’t do a damn thinghere.
“That’s it.” Lyra said the words out loud, because the alternative was to scream.If there was room in here, I would dance.That thought, vehement and restless, took Lyra by surprise. It had been so long since she’d been the Lyra who felt everything and could dance like she had nothing to lose. She’d thought that Lyra was gone.
Regardless, there was no room to dance in here, so she resorted to pacing the room instead, stopping in front of Toby’s bookshelf. Of the five books it held, Lyra recognized three:A Little Princess,The Secret Garden, andCarrie. The fourth book appeared to be about a girl and a horse. The fifth wasThe Westing Game. Lyra reached for that one, but a knock at the door froze her in her tracks.
Grayson had made her promise to keep the door locked.
If that was him, Lyra realized, survival instincts unfurling inside her,he wouldn’t just knock. He’d say something to let me know it was safe to open the door. Lyra crept toward the kitchen counter and silently opened drawer after drawer until she found a knife.
Another knock—and then: “We come in peace.” The voice that issued those words was male and unfamiliar, the speaker’s utter lack of intonation unnerving.
Lyra tightened her grip on the knife. “Who’swe?”
“Me, my associate, and your boyfriend.” That voice, Lyra recognized.Eve.The sound of a key being inserted into the lock told Lyra:Eve has a key to Toby’s place.
“I wouldn’t sayboyfriend.” Lyra shoved the knife behind her back just as the door swung inward.
“I would,” Grayson murmured. His voice was oddly liquid, his Armani suit rumpled, his blond hair mussed in a distinctly un-Grayson kind of way. “I would sayboyfriend.” Grayson arched a most dignified brow. “Boyfriend, Latin, meaning more than a friend who’s more than a boy.”
“Not Latin,” Lyra told him. She narrowed her eyes at Eve and her muscle, Mr. We Come in Peace. “What the hell did you two do to him?”
“Drink or Dare,” drunk Grayson replied archly. “I did not much care for Eve’s dares. Her scotch, however, was of an acceptable vintage.”
“Pour him onto the mattress,” Eve told her companion, who slipped his shoulder under Grayson’s arm and did exactly that. Lyra didn’t trust the way the guy moved, like Grayson’s weight was nothing, like there was no order this guy could not carry out. Blond hair hung in his face, but that did nothing to mask charcoal eyes that narrowed at Lyra as he straightened.
“Give me the knife,” he ordered.
Lyra did not give him the knife. He must have decided against trying to take it from her, because he just stood there, staring holes in her instead.
“So,” Eve mused, “this is the place my father built for himself—away from me. It’s telling. He’s clearly trying to re-create another time, mattress on the floor and all.” Eve’s gaze fell on the chess table. “Exceptthat. This place is practically a shrine to Toby’s preciousHannah, but the chess table has Avery’s name written all over it.”
Jealous, Eve?Lyra’s hand tightened around the hilt of the knife. “And the books?” she said. “Whose name is written all over those?”
Eve turned toward the shelf—and froze. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet. “It hardly matters.” After another second or two, Eve managed to shift her gaze back toward Lyra. “Grayson gave me what I wanted, so you get what you want. Lucky girl. Slate?”
The dangerous, dark-eyed boy produced a file folder with one hand and held out the other hand, staring Lyra down. “The knife,” he said flatly.
Lyra glanced at Grayson, who inclined his head subtly—so subtly that Lyra suddenly doubted he was actually drunk at all.
Taking quite-possibly-not-drunk Grayson’s cue, Lyra exchanged her knife for the file.
“I hope Grayson’s efforts were worth it,” Eve told Lyra. “I hopeyouare worth it. I hope you’re ready.”
“I usually am.” Lyra didn’t give Eve the satisfaction of asking:Ready for what?
“Good,” Eve replied sweetly. “Because I give it a matter of days before the press discovers that Grayson Hawthorne has agirlfriend. I could tip the paparazzi off myself, but I won’t, just like I won’t say a word to anyone about our missing heiress.”
Grayson told her Avery’s gone?That seemed risky to Lyra, but Grayson knew Eve better than she did. “Why hold your tongue?” Lyra asked.
“She’s going to try to make you feel sorry for her,” Grayson warned, and then he felldrunkenlyoff the mattress.
Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?Lyra thought, but Eve didn’t seem to notice.
“When I was a kid,” Eve said softly, “there were four children’s books I read over and over.” Eve looked back to Toby’s bookshelf. “I got lost in them every chance I could, dreaming that someday I would matter the way the girls in those books did, that I wouldbelong.” After a long moment, Eve reached up and pulled the only non-children’s book off the shelf.Carrie.“I was older when I read this one, older and angry anddesperate for adult attention. My English teacher gave it to me—a copy ofCarrieandhisattention. I was sixteen. The man groomed me, used me, branded me a liar, and threw me away.”
Eve stared atCarriea moment longer, then slid it back on the shelf. “So in answer to your question, I’m holding my tongue about Avery’s disappearance because it suitsmeto do so. I’m done waiting to matter, done being thrown away or overlooked. I have plans of my own.” Eve made her way to the door and cast one last look back at Grayson. “I was made for grander things,” she said, “than Hawthorne boys or a self-important billionaire’s little games. Grander things than any of you.”
An instant later, she was gone. Slate went to follow, pausing in the doorway. “Whatever’s going down, I’ve got Eve’s back,” he said, “but someone needs to have Gigi’s.”
