“Your son hated him.” I tried again, with a different type of attack. “And he was desperate to prove himself to you.”
Blake didn’t deny it. Instead, he brought the bowie knife away from the wood and tested its sharpness against the pad of his thumb. “Tobias should have let me handle Will. He knew the kind of hell there would be to pay for bringing harm to my son. Choices, young lady, have consequences.”
“And how would you have handled what your son did to Mallory Laughlin?”
“That’s neither here nor there.”
“And boys will be boys,” I shot back. “Right?”
Blake studied me for a moment, then laid the knife on his leg. “I understand you have some friends at the gate.”
“The entire world knows I’m here,” I said. “They know what happened to your son.”
“Do they?” Eve said, a challenge in her tone. The story I was telling—she must have heard enough from Mallory to question it.
“That’s enough, Eve.” Blake’s voice was clipped, and Eve swallowed as her great-grandfather looked between the two of us. “I shouldn’t have sent a little girl to do a man’s job.”
Little girl. On the phone earlier, he’d referred to me that way, too. Tobias Hawthorne had been right. I was young. I was female. And this man would underestimate me.
“If I’d brought you your son’s remains,” I said, “you would have blackmailed me for breaking the law.”
“Blackmailed you into what, I wonder?” Blake meant that I should wonder.
I knew that it was to my advantage for him to think he had the upper hand, so I had to tread carefully now. “If Grayson and Toby don’t leave here with me, I’ll give another interview on the way out.”
It was dangerous to threaten a man like Vincent Blake. I knew that. I also knew that I needed him to believe that this was my play. My only play.
“An interview?” That got me another little hum. “Will you tell them about Sheffield Grayson?”
I’d anticipated that he would counter my move, but I hadn’t foreseen how, and suddenly, I couldn’t hold my pulse steady anymore. I couldn’t keep my face completely blank.
“Eve may have failed at her primary task,” Blake said, “but she’s a Blake—and we play to win. I’m still considering whether she’s earned this.” He brandished a golden disk identical to the one I’d placed on the wall. “But the information she brought me when she returned was… quite impressive.”
Information. About what happened to Grayson’s father. I thought about the file, the pictures on Eve’s phone.
“I read between the lines,” Eve said, her lips curving up. “Grayson’s father is missing, and based on what I was able to put together, he went missing shortly after someone orchestrated an attempt on your life. Sheffield Grayson had motive to be that someone. I didn’t have proof, of course, but then…” Eve gave a little shrug. “I called Mellie.”
Eve’s sister was the one who had shot Sheffield Grayson. She’d killed him to save Toby and me. “The sister who never did a damn thing for you?” I asked, my throat bone-dry.
“Half sister.” The correction told me that Eve hadn’t lied about her feelings for her siblings. “It was a very touching reunion, especially when I told her that I forgive her.” Eve’s lips twisted. “That I was there for her. Mellie is wracked with guilt, you know. About what she did. About what you covered up.”
I’d been ushered out of the storage facility when Sheffield Grayson’s blood was still fresh on the ground. “I didn’t cover up anything.”
Blake brought his blade back to the wood and began carving again—slow, smooth motions. “John Oren did.”
I’d come here with a plan, but I hadn’t planned for this. I’d thought that by calling the police about Will Blake’s remains, I would sap his father of much-needed leverage. I hadn’t foreseen that Vincent Blake had leverage in reserve.
“It seems,” the man commented mildly, “that I have the advantage on you once again.”
He’d never doubted it.
“What do you want?” I asked. I let him see my very real distress, but inside, the logical part of my brain took over. The part that liked puzzles. The part that saw the world in layers.
The part that had come here with a plan.
“Anything I want from you,” Blake said simply, “I’ll take.”
“I’ll play you for it,” I told him, improvising and letting my brain adjust, adding a new layer, one more thing that had to go right. “Chess. If I win, you forget about Sheffield Grayson and see to it that Eve and Mellie do the same.”
Blake seemed amused, but I could see something much darker than amusement glinting in his eyes. “And if you lose?”
I had a trump card, but I couldn’t play it—not yet. Not if I wanted even a sliver of a chance that I’d walk away today with the kind of win I needed.
“A favor,” I said, my heart brutalizing my rib cage. “Very soon, I’ll have control of the Hawthorne fortune. Billions. A favor from someone in my position has to be worth something.”
Vincent Blake didn’t seem overly tempted by my offer. Of course he didn’t, because he already had a plan to come for Tobias Hawthorne’s fortune on his own.
After a moment, however, amusement won out. “A game seems fitting, but I’m not going to play you, little girl. I will, however, let her play you.” He jerked his head toward Eve, then tilted his head to the side, considering. “And Toby.”
“Toby?” I croaked. I hated the way I sounded—the way I felt. I couldn’t let my emotions take control. I had to think. I had to modify my plan—again.
“My grandson has asked about you,” Blake told me. “You could say I have a knack for recognizing pressure points.”
Vincent Blake had kidnapped Toby to get at me, to win Eve entrance to Hawthorne House. I realized, in that moment, that Blake had also doubtlessly leveraged me against Toby.
“Eve,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of an order that no living person would dare disobey, “why don’t you fetch your father?”
CHAPTER 79
Toby’s bruises were healing, and he needed to shave. Those were my first two thoughts, followed immediately by a dozen others about him and my mom and the last time I’d seen him, each thought accompanied by a wave of emotion that threatened to take me down.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Toby kept a handle on whatever emotions he was feeling, but the intensity in his eyes told me he was holding on to that composure by a thread.
“I know,” I replied, and I hoped my tone made him realize that I wasn’t just saying I knew I shouldn’t be here. I know who Blake is. I know what he’s capable of. I know what I’m doing.
For this to work, Toby didn’t have to trust me, but I did need him to stay out of my way.
“You’re going to play a game,” Vincent Blake told Toby. “All three of you—a tournament of sorts, consisting of three matches.” Blake lifted a single finger and gestured from Toby to Eve. “My grandson and his daughter.” A second finger came up. “My grandson and the girl who is not his daughter.”