Page 121 of Under Arthur’s Protection

“What symbol?” His voice was so deadpan. Did I have it all wrong? Was he not involved in this? Or was he smart enough to try and trick me into revealing gaps in my knowledge?

“It was at least fifty feet high. You have to be in exactly the right spot, about halfway through the tunnel.”

The corners of his eyes twitched. Recognition. He did know about it. Whoever Rick worked for, they knew about the carving, and they’d been keeping people away from it. Hopkins, the rebuttals, the misdirection to Champagne—all of it to stop me from standing in the right place inside that cave tunnel.

I shut my mouth. If I’d misread any of this, he’d stop believing me. And stop believing in the email.

“When?”

“Forty-eight hours.”

Rick’s lip curled, sending goosebumps over my skin. He leaned closer, one hand drifting toward me as though it were headed for my throat. “This email—was it Arthur’s idea?”

“Yes.”

The back of his hand cracked across my cheek so hard that my face almost hit the side of the boat. Black spots crowded my vision as he snarled, “Of course it fucking was.”

Big Hands sprang to Rick’s side before I managed to sit up straight. To catch me if I tried to escape? To help Rick beat me? To hold him back?

“Arthur always has a plan.” Rick dropped onto the bench and flexed his fingers, as though readying his hand for another strike. “Normally, his daddy’s the one ensuring it happens. But now it’s his girlfriend.”

Too many retorts flipped through my brain: Arthur’s a better man than you, you’re jealous, leave us alone, and I wasn’t Arthur’s girlfriend anyway. But his stare dared me to say more, dared me to earn a slap, so I stayed quiet.

If I said too much, he might find a weakness in my research. Maybe I was missing the most important parts. Maybe my proofs weren’t enough to keep me alive. He could decide to toss me over the side with the cinder block, and no one would ever know.

Don’t look away from him, Gwen.

“Fuck!” Rick stood abruptly.

Big Hands said, “So we’re not heading to open water?”

Every muscle in my body seized.

Please. Please say no.

Rick raised his hand again, and I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for another hit. Instead, he shouted, “Turn us around. Head back to the estate. We need to figure this out.”

Chapter 37

Arthur

“Looks empty.” Lance tried the front door. Locked. He cupped his hands to the window and peered inside. “No alarm system, either.”

“I don’t know if that makes me happy or sad.” I tightened my jacket sleeve and rammed my elbow through the small glass panel beside the handle. It was louder than I’d intended, but brief. I reached through, turned the deadbolt, and we were in.

Breaking the window didn’t upset me. It was a thing. Money could replace it. A hundred dollars or so, and the problem was over with.

If Theo Hopkins had been in his office, I would have offered him money—for Gwen’s release or her location. The price didn’t matter. It was just fucking money. If he’d said no, I would have threatened him. Fear was a currency I understood almost as well as cash.

I had millions upon millions to offer before I had to stop and count.

The human body, however? It had over two hundred bones. That meant I had over two hundred threats to offer before I needed to mention soft tissue.

Was I happy or sad he wasn’t there?

No fucking clue.

The office hadn’t changed since my visit with Gwen, but everything in it had taken on a different meaning. The crammed bookshelves were no longer a sign of an academic’s curious mind—they were a sign of the places where he might have hidden his lies. The journals stacked on the windowsill became rebuttals to keep people away from Tintagel. The display cases with their little gold and silver pieces were nothing more than curated symbols to misdirect people searching for his secrets.