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.
He shouldn’t have felt like he’d lost something. Admit it, he could hear Gigi saying cheerfully. We’re friends.
“May I help you?” A bank employee zeroed in on them six steps into the building.
Savannah assessed the man who’d offered assistance with a small, perfunctory smile. “I may need to speak to someone more senior.”
“That won’t be necessary.” The employee looked to be in his midtwenties. “How can I help you?”
Savannah raked her eyes over his face. “I need to access my father’s safe-deposit box.” She arched one delicate brow. “I have the key and his information, as well as my own.”
The employee made an attempt at seeming all business, but Grayson couldn’t help noticing the way his gaze lingered on Savannah. “Right this way.” He led them back to a computer. “Are you an authorized user on the account?”
“Presumably.” Savannah’s reply was virtually arctic. “The box is under the name Tobias Davenport.”
“And you have the key?” the man asked, typing in the name.
Savannah brandished it, holding it between her index finger and her thumb. The man reached for it, and she let it drop into her palm and closed her fingers over it. “I’ll hold on to this until we go back, thank you.”
The man visibly flushed. When he spoke again, his voice was terse. “Your identification, please.”
You’re not making friends here, Savannah, Grayson thought.
“Mine,” Savannah said, sliding two IDs and a piece of paper across the counter. “Along with the box owner’s and a signed and notarized statement granting me access.”
She’d forged a notary’s signature and seal? That was a felony.
“I’m afraid you’re not listed on the account, Ms. Grayson.” There was just the barest hint of satisfaction in the bank employee’s voice. Grayson wasn’t sure when, precisely, the man had tipped from wanting to prove himself to her to wanting to have power over her, but he unquestionably had.
“Hence the signed statement,” Savannah replied calmly. “As I said, I may need to speak to someone more senior.”
Grayson almost intervened. The tension around the man’s mouth was visible now. “I assure you, even the bank’s CEO would tell you the same.”
“I’m afraid you misapprehend the situation.” Savannah was utterly unflappable.
“I apprehend the situation just fine.” The man glared at her. “The only people authorized to access this box are Mr. Davenport himself and Acacia…” The man seemed to realize what he was saying a second too late. “Grayson.”
“Thank you,” Savannah said, her lips tilting slightly upward on the ends. “You’ve been very helpful.”
Grayson waited until they were back outside to speak “You were never trying to get into the box.”
“Unlike my sister, I’m a realist.” Savannah cut Grayson a pointed look. “And my last name isn’t Hawthorne.” Her stride was nearly as long as his own. “I’m surprised you’re not fighting me on this, telling me that you can handle it.”
I could, Grayson thought, but that wasn’t what he said. “I’m not your enemy, Savannah.” Lies.
“Maybe not.” Savannah’s cool agreement felt more like the thrust of a blade. “But you’re also not my keeper—or Gigi’s. We do not need you.” Savannah’s pale blonde hair shone in the sun. “I have everything under control.”
CHAPTER 48
GRAYSON
Back at the Grayson house, Gigi went in search of her mother while Savannah kept an eye on Grayson in the foyer.
“Mom’s in the library,” Gigi reported when she came back, her tone morose.
Savannah reached out and squeezed her twin’s shoulder. “Mom’s fine, Gigi. We’re fine.”
We as in the three of them. Their family.
Gigi turned toward Grayson, her brow furrowed. “We don’t interrupt Mom when she’s reading. It’s been a rule for pretty much forever.”
“You’re welcome to wait out back,” Savannah told him icily.
Not an offer. An order. Grayson watched as Savannah stalked out of the room.
“Mom has her library,” Gigi said quietly. “Savannah has her court.”
In his mind’s eyes, Grayson could see Savannah standing on the free-throw line, shooting baskets the way he swam. “And what about you?” he asked Gigi.
Getting close to them was a mistake. Feeling this way was a mistake.
Gigi shrugged. “I like eating candy on the roof.”