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Savage frowns. “You think your mother gave it to Jax’s father? Were they doing some sort of couple’s swap thing? Swingers maybe?”
“I don’t—no.” I grimace with the horrid idea. “I don’t think that at all. I mean, God, maybe. The images in my mind need to be scrubbed immediately.”
He laughs. “It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
I grimace. “I guess I’m more PG than you. I was thinking my father gave it to them as a couple, but wrote her a note in the bottom.”
“You might be more PG than me, but that’s a fucked-up idea. Let’s go find out which fucked-up idea is right. Your bodyguard approves of this plan.” He motions to the door. “Let’s go.”
My bodyguard.
How did I get to a place where I started needing a bodyguard?
I didn’t, I think. Whoever killed Hunter got me here. “Let’s go,” I say, more motivated than ever to get to Jax’s office.
We make our way to a private hallway, minus the guests, just me and this jolly green giant of a man guarding me. A path that has us fading into the quieter portion of the castle. “I swear I need a drink,” I murmur, just thinking about his swingers comment. “But then I might not have been smart enough to accept an escort. Booze does that. It makes me stupid.”
“I’ve done some stupid shit while drinking,” he says. “I’m sure that’s hard to believe.” He winks. “But I have. And for the record, I would have followed you if you didn’t accept the escort, so you still would have been safe.”
I swallow hard. “Right. Of course, you would.”
“That doesn’t please you?” he says, as we turn and start up the stairs leading to Jax’s office.
“Oh, I’m all kinds of pleased to have you look out for me,” I say. “I’m just not pleased that I need you to look out for me.” My lips thin. “Jax asked me to move in with him here. How do either of us live here together if I need a bodyguard all the time? That’s not living.”
“We’ll make sure that the only thing you have to worry about is the ghost of the castle.” We reach the upper level where Jax’s office is located.
I step to Jax’s door and face Savage. “Brody isn’t going to stop hating me, and hate isn’t a crime.”
“Holding you over a ledge damn sure is,” he says. “We’ll handle Brody.” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a set of keys, freeing one of them to offer it to me. “The office is locked.”
“I just realized I’m kind of invading Jax’s privacy.”
“Better than walking in on him scratching his ass or some shit like that. He wants this over. The faster the better. So, hurry up. Go in. Find what we came to find.”
I nod and unlock the door, pushing it open to enter the office. Once I’m inside, I quickly walk to the bookshelf, grab the hourglass and sit down on the couch. Turning it over, I find the small compartment, much like the back of a photo frame. I flip the tiny lever, holding it down to the left, and sure enough, there is a small notecard inside. It reads: They’ll never know, but we do.
And the handwriting isn’t my mother’s. I shiver at the sight of my father’s script. The same script in the journal and on so many company documents. I could assume it’s an inside joke between my father and Jax’s father, but my father wouldn’t give a man a gift like this. No. This wasn’t a gift to Jax’s father. It was a gift to his mother, from my father.
Our families are wrapped up in a connected scandal, and I think about where that has led us:
Jax’s mother is missing.
My mother is hiding in Europe.
Hunter is dead.
Echo is now missing, too.
“Well?” Savage prods.
I open my eyes. “We don’t need to find the DNA test. This is my father’s version of a love note to Jax’s mother. Hunter was my father’s son. My half-brother. Jax and I shared a half-brother. That feels very weird.”
“There’s no blood between you,” Savage says, sitting down next to me to shoot a picture of the note. “You want to do the same?”
“Yes. Please. I should have taken a picture of the DNA test, too.” He holds the hourglass, and I pull out my phone that I shoved in my pocket and take a quick photo. “Any luck on the DNA test?” I ask, sealing the note back underneath the metal plate.
“Not yet.”
“I hate that I threw it away,” I say, standing and walking to the bookshelf, returning the hourglass to its original location. For a moment, I wonder who placed it here the first time. Jax’s mother? Or was it his father, who had no idea about the note hidden in the bottom of the beautiful design?
