“Let’s see . . .” There was a sound of papers shuffling. “It says here he was discharged to Senator Llewellyn.”
Bliss felt uneasy. Obviously her father had failed to mention any of this to her. Maybe it was time to confront him about what she knew, but the thought of bringing it up with Forsyth made her stomach feel queasy. Dylan would call her when he got a chance, she was sure that he would. She would just have to wait. Next to her Jordan was huddled underneath an umbrella, covered with towels and layers of sunscreen. Bliss mocked her for it—taking out her unease over Dylan by insulting her sister.
“You don’t tan either,” Jordan retorted.
“Yeah, but I don’t care. I like to burn.”
“B, can I have a coco juice?” Jordan asked, pointing to a seller who was hawking the frosty wares.
“Sure.” Bliss rooted in her bag for her wallet, when everything suddenly went white. She couldn’t see a thing. She was completely blind, even though her eyes were wide open. It was the most unnatural, disturbing feeling—almost as if someone else were seeing through her eyes. As if there were another person inside her head.
When her vision returned, she was shaking.
“What just happened?” she asked Jordan.
Jordan’s face was drained of color.
“Your eyes—they were blue.” Bliss had green eyes, as green as the emerald that glinted around her neck.
“You’re joking.” Bliss laughed.
Jordan looked like she was trying to decide something. Finally she spoke. “Listen, you have to believe that I didn’t have a choice, okay?” She grabbed Bliss’s arm.
“What are you talking about?” Bliss asked, totally confused.
Jordan just shook her head, and Bliss was shocked to see her stoic younger sister so close to tears.
“Nothing, it’s nothing.” Jordan sniffed.
Bliss embraced her. “Take it easy, kid.”
“Remember that you were truly like a sister to me.” Jordan whispered so softly that Bliss wondered if she’d really said it or if she was just hearing things.
“Whatever it is you’re worried about, everything’s going to be okay, okay?” Bliss said, hugging her sister tightly. “Nothing’s going to happen, I promise.”
THIRTY-FIVE
“Oliver, how can I ever thank you,” Schuyler said, buckling her seat belt. She looked at the armed bodyguards. “Don’t you think you’ve overdone it on the muscle?” He shrugged. “One can never be too careful.” Schuyler nodded. “Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?” “Let’s not talk about it right now. We’re here for Lawrence, right?” “Right.” “Did you know the whole Conclave is here?” he asked. “I saw Warden Oelrich on my flight. And the Duponts and the Carondolets are in my hotel.” “I know. Bliss told me Warden Cutler called an emergency session and brought them here. Have they found Lawrence?”
“That’s the thing. No one’s talking about Lawrence at all. They’re all getting ready for a big dinner at some Brazilian Blue Blood’s house tonight,” he said, as the car drove into the downtown proper, and the landscape became even more scenic: lush greenery, gorgeous beaches, and equally gorgeous people sunbathing upon them.
“Where are you staying?” Schuyler asked.
“The Fasano. The new Philippe Starck hotel. Bliss is there too. I would have gotten you your own room, but they didn’t have any more. Do you think you’ll be okay sharing with me?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said, trying not to look uncomfortable. “Listen . . . about what happened the other night.”
“Let’s not talk about it right now,” Oliver said lightly. “I mean, I was being a bit dramatic, wasn’t I? Him or me. Whatever.”
“So you didn’t mean it?” Schuyler asked hopefully.
“I don’t know. Let’s just . . . let’s just deal with Lawrence first and talk about it later. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” Oliver was right. They didn’t have time to dwell on that now. They had to find Lawrence.
Her grandfather’s continued silence worried her. What if he had been trapped, or restrained, or worse? Had it been wise for him to come to Rio alone? Or to meet with Kingsley’s team? Kingsley, who was now unreachable as well, according to Bliss. Schuyler still didn’t understand why Kingsley, who’d been shown to be a Silver Blood—albeit reformed—had been allowed to come back as a Venator. Her grandfather wasn’t a gullible person, and he must have had good reason to trust Kingsley again, especially after what happened in Venice.
But still . . .
She worried.
She closed her eyes and thought of her grandfather. Pictured his leonine hair, his aristocratic bearing.
The sending was returned immediately.
What are you doing here? Lawrence demanded crossly. He was obviously very annoyed, and worse, sounded perfectly fine.
Saving you? Schuyler sent tentatively.
There was a sound like a telepathic snort.