CHAPTER 47 ROHAN

Chapter 47

ROHAN

R ohan had no intention of losing his wager against Savannah.

88 LOCKS

WAIT, THAT'S NOT RIGHT

AT LEAST THE ANSWER IS BLACK AND WHITE

Assume the second line refers to the first , he thought. The thrum of adrenaline through his veins was as familiar to Rohan as the need to come out on top. That would suggest that either the number or the word on that line is incorrect.

The number eighty-eight had an obvious pattern to it—the same digit, repeated twice. Likely substitutions included ninety-nine, seventy-seven, sixty-six, and so on, all the way down to eleven. Eighty-eight could also conceivably be converted into eight squared—or sixty-four.

It's not the number. Rohan hadn't gotten this far in life by ignoring his instincts. And that leaves only the word.

Lock. Rohan's gaze went, of its own accord, to the platinum lock on the chain that Savannah wore around her waist. As skilled a thief as Rohan was, he deeply suspected the only way he'd be able to get that chain off Savannah Grayson was by invitation.

Not—at this point—likely.

Rohan turned his attention instead to the blade of the sword. He hadn't—and wouldn't—set it down. From every trap be free, for every lock a key.

Another lock. Rohan came out of himself for a moment. It was a thing that happened to him on occasion, most often when he prepared to cross a line that, in the world of decent people, should not be crossed. But this time, in the split second that Rohan felt as if he were viewing his own body from a distance, clarity washed over him.

Wait, that's not right.

Lock.

Key. Rohan snapped back to reality. Eighty-eight keys. The fire-hot thrill of victory would have been difficult enough to contain even if Savannah Grayson had not been looking right at him.

At the sword.

She lunged for the rotary phone, and Rohan remembered her promise in the previous room, with the sword: This was the last time you will ever beat me to anything.

Fortunately, in Rohan's world, promises were made to be broken.

He swept Savannah's legs out from underneath her. No warning. No mercy. She landed in push-up position, biceps flexed, then threw herself back up as Rohan cut past her.

Savannah went for his knees. No hesitation.

Rohan twisted, taking the brunt of her attack with his shinbone and staying on his feet. He locked an arm around her body, and she bit him, hard enough that he felt it through his tuxedo jacket—hard enough that, without that jacket, she would have drawn blood. Vicious, winter girl.

She damn near dislocated her own shoulder to grab him by the hair, fisting it. Rohan let loose of her body to return the favor with the long, pale braid of hers.

A stalemate of sorts.

"A piano," Savannah said, pulling Rohan's head back, just a little, and he responded by doing the same to hers, angling her face upward toward his now-raised jaw. "Eighty-eight keys," she continued as calmly as if they didn't have each other in painful holds. "Black and white."

"Indeed," Rohan said. "But it appears that you and I are at an impasse." His mind was already calculating the next move.

"What impasse?" Savannah said. "Our wager was about solving the riddle, not making the call. By those rules, by stating the answer first, I won."

Sweet hell, she was something . "But did you really solve it first?" Rohan countered. "After all, the wording of our wager said nothing about speaking the answer out loud. Is it your claim that you didn't see me solve it, track my gaze to the sword, and then realize what I had just realized?"

Savannah pulled his head back farther still, her own expression sharp as glass. "Prove it."

With a smile, Rohan threw his head back into her hand. Hard. He grabbed her arm above the elbow, forcing her body to turn, then pulling it flush with his own, and bowed his head, bringing his lips to her ear.

"I work for a secret society of sorts." Some whispers were weapons. "One that caters to the very powerful and very wealthy. My job is information, leverage, and control."

Without warning, he let go of her and made it to the phone. He picked it up.

"Xander Hawthorne's House of Riddles, Xander speaking. Answer correctly and move on. Answer incorrectly, and I can only hope that you appreciate the truly undervalued art of yodeling."

Rohan gave their answer—his and Savannah's. "A piano."

Almost immediately, the walls of the chamber began to whir. When a new opening was revealed, Rohan fully expected Savannah to stride past him and through it, but she did not.

"Perhaps you did solve the riddle first." Her voice was cool, but her eyes were hungry.

Someone liked fighting dirty.

"I pay my debts, love." Rohan allowed his gaze to lock on to hers. "Do you?"

He'd given her an answer, the one she most wanted, the one it cost him the most to give. Tit for tat, Savvy.

"Always." Savannah strode past him into the unknown. "And if you must know, I am doing this—playing the Hawthorne heiress's game, winning it at all costs—for my father."