The Inheritances Game (Jameson Hawthorne)

Starting the Game

The sound of church bells broke through the air. Branford made it to the door first.

It was unlocked.

Jameson let the others clear out, then turned to Cal and softly murmured directly into her ear. "We're looking for smugglers' caves. They'll be ocean-side, obviously. We'll make sense of the rest of it once we find the caves."

But first, they had to find their way out of the massive not-quite-a-castle that Ian had said was more of a home to him and his brothers growing up than any of his father's properties ever were.

His brothers, Simon and Bowen. Jameson shoved the thought out of his brain as he snaked through a corridor, Catalina on his heels.

At the end of the corridor, they found a banquet hall. Wallpaper adorned the top half of all four walls; the bottom half was covered with wood paneling, the carvings on the panels geometric. The ceiling was stark white, with dozens of moldings that hung down like icicles, each ending in a sharp, triangular point.

On the far side, the hall opened to another large room, and that room—all white, bare of furniture, marked only with an elaborate wooden staircase that looked like it belonged in a cathedral—opened to a foyer, which led to a door.

The front door.

Jameson threw it open and stepped onto stone. The manor loomed behind him, but his gaze was focused ahead. An expanse of green stretched out around him. Close to the house, there were gardens. But in the distance?

Rocks. Cliffs, presumably. And down below—and out as far as the eye could see—the ocean.

"This way." Jameson didn't glance back to see if she had heard him. He knew she'd follow either way. Without even thinking about it, he stripped off his tuxedo jacket as he ran. She was probably wishing she could ditch the ballgown.

A paved path cut through what might have once been a manicured garden but was now overgrown. Trees and flowers, two small koi pools—one rectangular, one circular, surrounded by a circular hedge. Jameson clocked his surroundings but kept his eyes on the prize.

The horizon.

The ocean.

The cliffs.

They were getting closer now. Jameson paused, ignoring his screaming ribs, assessing his options, and then he pushed forward under a brick archway and into a stone garden. Tens of thousands of stones paved the uneven ground, moss and grass growing up between them.

"Don't trip," Jameson called back.

"I'm not the one who leaps without looking," she responded. "There's a gate up ahead. It's closed."

Jameson saw the gate, saw the wall surrounding the stone garden at that end. What if we're locked in? He pushed past a series of statues, a sundial, plants grown too large and wild for their planters.

He broke into a run and didn't stop until he got to the gate. 

There was a large cast-iron lock. Jameson pulled on it, and the lock gave. He tried the gate. "It's stuck," he gritted out.

Cal's right hand latched around one of the bars on the gate, followed by her left. "We'll pull together," she told him.

One, two, three.

Neither one of them counted out loud. They didn't have to. And as the gate gave and the two of them stepped past the stone wall and out onto wild green grass, the rocks less than a hundred yards away, Jameson thought about the fact that the key they were racing to find might well open a box containing his secret.

Not now. That thought pounded through his brain, blocking out even the agony in his side. Figure that part out later. For now, just play.

Jameson ran, and Cal ran beside him. They made it to the edge, where the grass turned to rocks and the land dropped off.

Jameson looked down. He hadn't realized how high up they were. No wonder they call this place Vantage. The drop to the ocean below was steep—and at least three hundred feet.

"We'll need a way down," Jameson murmured. He turned and looked in either direction. The drop was just as steep all the way around. He couldn't tell exactly how much beach—if any—there was below.

But when her hand made its way to the small of his back, he followed her gaze to a part of the cliffs dotted with wild poppies.

Just like the one he'd found in the book.

Near the poppies, the two of them found a staircase carved into the side of the cliffs, nearly completely camouflaged from view. There was no railing, no safeguard.

No margin for error.

"You should stay here." Jameson knew better than to tell Catalina that. He really did. "That dress wasn't made for climbing."

 She contorted her arms, and the next thing Jameson heard was a zipper being undone.

"The dress won't be a problem." And just like that, she let it drop. She wore a small black slip underneath that covered her from hip to upper thigh and a black bra, and he deserved a medal for staying focused on anything other than the way she looked, her hair blown back from her face and all that skin on display.

"When we find the key," Jameson said, his voice coming out thick, "we'll celebrate."

"We'll celebrate," she told him, well aware of her effect on him, "when we find all three."

Every step down seemed a little steeper than the last. Jameson's battered body screamed its objections, but he ignored it. Luckily, balance and ignoring pain were almost as much Jameson's specialty as taking risks, and Cal was made for this.

Made for him.

He leapt over the last few steps, landing on the beach. She did the same. From where they stood now, several things were clear. The beach was narrow, more gravel than sand. The tide was currently low. A handful of caves were visible from where they stood, but there were almost certainly more—potentially dozens.

"Where to now?" she asked, and Jameson knew she was thinking aloud more than asking, that her mind was working through this as quickly and methodically as any Hawthorne's.

This time, he happened to get to the answer first. "There." Jameson's eyes locked on to a stone statue in the distance. It stood near the edge of the beach, and he knew that in higher tide, it would be partially—but not fully—submerged.

They ran toward it, because running seemed like the only option. Wind whipped at them. Catalina's hair went wild, but it didn't slow her down. Neither of them slowed at all until they made it to the base of the statue.

Jameson took one look at it and registered one thing: the statue depicted a woman. He turned to Cal. "Ladies first."