Lunch never happened.

We’re in the SUV, Duff at the wheel, as Silas fields what seems like a hundred different phone calls at once. His Bluetooth looks like an extra appendage. He’s mastered the art of low talking, dulcet tones barely concealing a firm anger.

The code for Harry’s private gate was accessed by high-level hackers who broke into the most shrouded of all computer systems for The Grove.

And Silas and Drew are dealing with the fallout.

I’ve spent the last hour munching on hastily grabbed to-go cheese and veggie trays, the SUV stuck in traffic, Silas burning through call after call. Plugging my earbuds into my phone, I decide to screen the sixty-seven voicemails left on my system over the last four days. I know someone–some vague, shadowy “someone,” has pre-screened out the death threats, the rape fantasies, and the plain old weirdos. What’s left are the press requests, personal voicemails, and business issues.

I go by most recent to least recent.

First message: Lindsay.

Hey, Jane. Drew won’t let me out of his sight, but let’s hang out. Call or text me.

Next message:

Harry here. Call me immediately.

Next one:

Hello, Ms. Borokov. This is Lottie Crenshaw from Hedding Stuva, a law firm in Arlington, Virginia with offices in Los Angeles as well. We need to schedule an in-person meeting with you as soon as possible concerning a critical legal matter. Ms. Alice Mogrett requested this specifically. Please call us back at...

At the mention of Alice’s name, my heart speeds up. Alice? A legal matter? What could this be about? Silas’s comment earlier about Hedding Stuva being a “set up” and how he wanted to bring Mark Paulson in on this case makes my ears ring. If he thinks Hedding Stuva is somehow connected to the mess with Stellan, Blaine, and John, and El Brujo... this all just got crazier than I ever imagined.

Add in Alice and we’ve tipped over into bizarro land. I close my eyes and will away the sudden wave of grief that comes.

As we inch our way to the main exit to The Grove, I realize there is no downtime for Silas. Ever. We’ve been up since 4 a.m.–central Texas time–and we’re both starting to droop. You can’t tell in his reflexes, but there’s a shadow on Silas’s face. Maybe it’s grief over his sister. Maybe it’s the stress of making sure Kelly’s okay and his mother’s custody of her is all settled.

Or maybe it’s me.

Can he tell I’m hiding secrets from him?

Paranoia sets in, making me close out my voicemail and stare at the scenery as we drive. I should tell him. I should get it all out. I should confess everything I’ve been hiding so he can trust me. So he knows.

So he doesn’t leave.

Maybe this is too good to be true. Through all the pain, all the death, all the destruction, I’m finally seeing a little ray of light. Silas is making me feel better than I thought possible.

And now I’m risking it all for–what? To keep my secret informant a secret?

Why?

We turn into the driveway at The Grove to find more armed guards than you’d find on a base in the middle of a combat zone. Men in black military gear carry automatic weapons at the gate. My gut tightens and chills run up and down my spine like tiny bugs.

“What’s going on?” I ask, marveling at the sight.

“New reality,” Silas says in his work voice. “We had to up the security level.”

“To this?”

“Are you kidding? An armed intruder made his way onto private grounds using a hacked code. You damn well better bet Drew’s upping security to this. Be prepared to be searched.”

“Searched?” Maybe it’s my tone of voice, but something about me softens him. He reaches for my hand and takes a deep breath, watching me.

“A formality. But one we have to go through, nonetheless.”

“As long as I’m not being searched by that doctor, I’m fine with it.” I look him right in the eyes and lie. “I have nothing to hide.”

“Of course you don’t. I trust you.”

Do you? I want to ask. I bite the words back.

We climb out of the SUV and Duff pulls away, two guys with wands coming over. No one actually touches me. It’s all done electronically. Silas shows them his gun.

Guns.

He’s wearing three.

“Why hasn’t someone given me a gun?” I ask him as we walk to the office wing of the house.

“Why would you need one? You’re sufficiently protected at all times.” He sounds offended.

“Why wouldn’t I need one? If I’m separated from you, or Duff, or that creepy dude Romeo...”

Silas pauses mid-step. “Creepy dude? What’s wrong with Romeo?”

“He’s creepy.”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“He’s super creepy.”

“That makes all the difference, then.” He frowns. “Did–when you say ‘creepy,’ was he...” Silas’s hands curl into fists.

“No! No, nothing untoward. Just condescending.”

“That comes with the job.”

“You’re not condescending.”

“I don’t need to be. Some guys, though, can be.” He shrugs.

“Well, he was.”

“I’ll make sure he’s not assigned to you again. What did he do?”

“Refused to give me information.”

“Jane. Come on. That means he was doing his job.”

“He didn’t have to do it so creepily.”

Silas stifles a laugh as we reach the main door. A gentleman, he opens the door for me. I walk in and run straight into Monica Bosworth.

Whose glare is so icy, she might as well be the air conditioning system for the building.

We don’t say a word to each other. All three of us file into the conference room. Lindsay and Drew are already there, some kind of fruit smoothie in tall, clear glasses in front of them. I look around the room to see an assortment of drinks on a small buffet table. Aside from coffee, I haven’t had much since we flew back this morning.

Silas moves to Drew, their heads close as they whisper. Lindsay pats the seat next to her and smiles at me. I get a fruit drink and sit down, achingly aware of Monica’s eyes on me as she texts someone on her phone.

And then she looks right at me and grins.

You ever see the Cheshire Cat in the old animated Alice in Wonderland movie?

I’m staring at the human version right now.

I shift in my seat as I take a sip of the cold fruit concoction. It settles in my mouth like a lump. Forcing myself to swallow, I inhale, then exhale, acutely aware of every microsecond I’m existing. As my skin crawls, it feels like my organs are moving of their own volition under my skin.

I can’t name it. Can’t place it. Can’t describe it, but something is changing as I sit here. Lindsay gives me an expectant look.

“We seriously need to go out for coffee,” she whispers as I try to manage the deep sense of unreality that is invading me. It’s not Monica’s weird smile. It’s not Alice’s death. It’s not one simple thing I can point to.

Or maybe it is.

I give her a weak smile and say, “Yes, definitely. How about after the meeting?” as I cast my glance toward Silas and Drew.

Their faces are drawn into deep, wretched frowns.

Silas looks up and catches my eye for a split second, looking away as fast as he can. He turns his head, chin dipping down, words whispered furiously with Drew in a verbal tennis game, the tight, clipped way they are speaking filling me with a growing sense of horror.

Something is wrong.

Everything is about to change.

“Harry will be here shortly,” Marshall announces as he arrives and takes a seat near the projector screen. “We can begin to cover some of the topics before he arrives.”

“Topics?” Monica scoffs. “There aren’t topics. There is only one topic. Her.”

No one asks who she’s talking about.

“What are the topics?” I ask Marshall, ignoring Monica. I expect Drew and Silas to join us, but they stand near the door, continuing to talk quietly. Lindsay looks back at them, a small frown folding the skin at the bridge of her nose.

I follow her gaze and work to quell the growing panic in me.

Did Silas figure out the sweepstakes text? Does he know I’m hiding that from him? Instant regret washes over me. I should stand up and walk over there to tell him. I should spill it all, right now.

“Alice Mogrett’s death is turning into a scandal of its own,” Marshall starts, snapping me back to attention.

Silas and Drew stop talking.

“Jane,” he says, leafing through a folder of documents. “Have you talked to Hedding Stuva yet?”

“No. They’ve been leaving messages, but Silas said–”

“You’ll need to take care of the paperwork, and Harry wants you to move all estate work out of their firm. The Mogretts kept their connection to Hedding Stuva for far too long after that mess with El Brujo.”

“Could you explain that in plain English, please?” Lindsay asks, glaring at Drew as if it’s his fault she doesn’t understand it.

“Alice Mogrett died. So far, it looks like simple old age. Natural causes. Jane and Silas were present when it happened. Not the actual death, but they were house guests. Alice Mogrett left her entire estate to Jane.”

I hear the words. I do. But I feel Silas’s eyes on me from behind.

They burn.

“What?” I squeak. “Alice what?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” Monica says in a scathing voice. “You know damn well you helped her to die so you could get her money.”

“WHAT?” I stand, then sit quickly, my legs unstable. “Alice left me what?”

“She made you the sole beneficiary of her family’s money,” Harry says from behind me. All eyes turn to him.

“Nearly nine figures,” Monica adds in a catty tone. “Nice payday for whatever you did to her.”

I spin around to find Silas, to connect to him, eyes grabbing like he’s a lifesaver.

Instead, I find him turned toward Drew, face in profile, jaw tight.

“Alice. Oh, no,” I moan, sitting down hard, my head in my hands. Lindsay presses a flat palm between my shoulder blades, sitting quietly with me, the only person in the room who seems to care about my grief.

“As you can see, it makes for a PR mess,” Harry intones, with Marshall making a small, coarse sound of agreement.

“Alice’s death is more than your public relations snafu, Daddy,” Lindsay chides. “Can’t you see Jane’s in pain? Don’t you care?”

Monica makes a dismissive noise. “We care about the fact that she’s got an even worse tornado of complication around her.”

“I’m sorry,” Lindsay whispers, but her voice turns urgent. Excited even, as she leans in and says, “Think about what this means, Jane. You’re free. It’s your money. You have all the power now.”

You have all the power.

Alice. Oh, Alice. You clever, wonderful, inspiring, devious woman.

I stand, my skin like iron shavings in a dusty wind, the boundaries of my body no longer distinct. “I’m her heir?” I ask no one, everyone.

“Yes,” Marshall says. “It doesn’t look good, but–”

Ignoring him, I pick up my broken phone and slide out of the way, walking behind Lindsay’s chair, leaving the room. Monica makes a sound of outrage, but I don’t care. I pull up the voicemail from Hedding Stuva and as the phone rings, I wait.

I wait.

I wait until eternity passes by and laps itself.

“Hedding Stuva,” the voice says.

“I’m Jane Borokov, returning–”

“Just a moment, Ms. Borokov. I’m patching you straight through to Ms. Stuva. Mr. Stuva is not here, but Helen will take your call.”

“Ms. Borokov,” says a sophisticated older woman. “Thank you so much for returning our call. I’m Helen Stuva, one of the senior partners here. First, I am so sorry about your loss. Ms. Mogrett was a fine woman of character and strength.”

“Thank you.”

“We have a matter of legal importance to–”

“Is it true I’m her heir?”

A pregnant silence fills the air. “It would be best if you came to our office and–”

“I will. Trust me, I will. I just need to know if it’s true.”

“I can verify it’s true, yes.”

“Can you see me later today? You’re in Los Angeles?”

“My day is free for you, Ms. Borokov. And yes, I am here.”

“Fine. 1 p.m.? Thank you.”

I hang up. I grab the wall for support. It’s not strong enough to hold me. Sinking to the ground, I sit on the carpeted floor. Duff is suddenly at my side, leaning down.

“Jane?”

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“No. Stop asking me that. I’m never okay.”

“Fine. You need help?”

“Another stupid question, Duff.”

“The senator wants you back in the conference room.”

“The senator can go screw himself, Duff.”

“The senator,” says the man himself, “does not think the laws of physics would allow that.” I look up to find Harry standing there, hands in his pockets, an exasperated look on his face.

“Why am I here?” I ask Harry as Duff helps me up. I look behind him, toward the open meeting room door.

No Silas.

“Because we need to make sure we have a plan for–”

“No.”

“No?” Harry acts as if he’s never heard the word before.

“No.”

“No to what, Jane?”

“No to everything. I’m a pawn. You controlled me because I needed help. I don’t need help any longer.”

“What do you mean? Of course you need help. You–”

“You heard Marshall,” I say as we stand in the hallway, Silas finally poking his head out, Drew and Lindsay’s faces visible next to him. “I’m Alice’s heir. Hedding Stuva confirmed it.” I wiggle my phone.

Harry’s expression hardens. “Hedding Stuva isn’t the most reputable of law firms,” he begins.

I interrupt him. “But it’s true. I’m her heir.”

“Yes,” he concedes.

“Which means I have all the money I could possibly need to hire my own protection.”

The reality of what I’m saying sinks in slowly, his face morphing into incredulity as the implication hits him.

“Oh, Jesus, that’s not–”

Silas and Drew walk up behind him, Drew’s demeanor more closed off than usual. He looks at me as if I’m a piece of dog poop on the bottom of his shoe.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Jane’s exercising some control,” Harry starts to say.

“I’m ready to fire all of you,” I say flatly.

Four men look at me, agog. Even Duff’s jaw drops, and I get the sense he’s not easy to shock.

And with that, I spin on my heel and walk outside.

To come face-to-face with a guy in black, wearing a machine gun, peering at me.

“Hold on,” Silas calls out, jogging after me. “It’s not that easy.”

“Oh, yes, it is. I have my own money now. I am independent. Alice wanted this.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“Drew gave me a briefing. A bunch of new information came in over the last hour. Information about you.”

Oh, no.

“Like what? I’m sure the media are swimming in ‘news’ about me, Alice’s death, the inheritance, the–”

“We have credible tips that you were part of my sister’s death.”

“WHAT?”

“And the people you’re working with were part of the plots to kill Drew’s parents and Mark Paulson’s mother and stepfather, too.”

“You’re not making any sense, Silas.”

“I’m making plenty of sense.” Silence hangs between us after his words, like an all-too-patient vulture.

“You can’t be–you can’t really think–what?”

“Give me a reason not to believe it all, Jane.” His voice is so, so hard.

“Why on earth would I want to kill your sister? A sister I didn’t even know existed until you told me? Do you really think I’m capable of that? How? You’ve been watching me every single day for the last two weeks!”

“The source is credible.”

“I don’t care! I’m more credible!”

“Are you?”

I blink. I hold my breath. My heart stops.

There it is.

How he really feels about me.

My reply comes out as a shaky whisper, anger driving my voice to highs and lows. “I am. I know that. You obviously don’t. And it’s not my job to convince you anymore. I’m done doing that. I shared my body with you, Silas. I don’t regret that. But the part I do regret is sharing my heart. You told me to trust you. I took you at your word, Mr. Honor. Mr. Dignity. Mr. Remorse. And this is what you do to me the second someone spoon feeds you a bunch of fake evidence against me? Really?” My voice is thin and filled with an anguish that is a thousand times stronger than my body.

He says nothing. Just captures my eyes with a long, excruciating look of indifference.

Which is so much worse than anger.

“Go to hell, Silas. You don’t deserve another second of my time.”

I march across the courtyard, straight for Duff. “I want Gentian off my case. Effective immediately.”

Duff’s expression doesn’t change as he looks at me, then Silas, reaching for his earpiece. “I thought you were firing us all, Jane.”

“Not yet. Just Silas. I’ll figure the rest out after I’ve met with my lawyers and sort all this out.”

Silas turns away, hiding his face, his shoulders tense, his body rigid. All I can see is his back, a wall of denial.

An impenetrable wall.

My God, I realize. I’ve been a fool.

This is all nothing but a lie.

A shameless little lie.