Wicked Games (Fallen Royals Book 2)

“We’re here!” Riley yells, sprinting across the parking garage. She knocks into me, her arms squeezing around my back for a quick second. And then she jumps back, bouncing up and down. “This is a lot more imminent for you, Margo, but I’m so excited! If we like it, we can both go here, and I’ll only be a year behind, but I think I could probably graduate in three years if I take extra classes, then we can graduate together and⁠—”

“Whoa,” I mumble. “I have to get in first.”

Sometimes I forget that Riley is a year younger. Besides the fact that we share no classes together, she doesn’t act like a junior. I’ve been pushing off the fact that she still has a full year left at Emery-Rose.

“It’s going to be so lonely next year.” She sighs. “I don’t suppose you want to get held back?”

I snort.

We link arms and head toward the elevators. Her dad follows behind us with Len and Robert.

Another new development: Lenora asked me to call her Len. Less formal, and apparently her friends and family call her that, too.

“Did you tell Caleb you were coming?” Riley asks.

“He was glad.”

“Because he wants you to go to college.”

I shrug. This last week has been… interesting, to say the least. Caleb finally told me why he was worried about the mermaid figurine. The fact that someone—Unknown—was spying on me creeps me out. Either he or I have done sweeps with this device he got that alerts you to transmitting devices. Like cameras or bugs… the audio kind.

He says he disposed of it, and I didn’t need to worry. Ha. Of course I’m worried. Someone got it into my room. It’s already too easy for him to scale the house and get in, so how hard would it be for someone else?

The suspect list is long.

And the scarier question: Why didn’t I notice it? It was so small, but it was obviously out of place. I pay more attention now, cataloging everything on my bookshelves and desk, but it’s getting overwhelming.

The rabbit hole I fell down…

People can hide cameras in pens.

Needless to say, I haven’t got much sleep this week.

But today… today, we’re in New York City, and we’re going to take a tour of the NYU campus. Riley and I are going to sit in on a class while the adults go to a seminar on financial aid. And after that, we get to meet some professors, talk to current students, and then we need to pull off the ultimate trick: convince our parents to let us take off by ourselves for an hour.

It’s better than sneaking away, we reasoned. Less risk.

We locate the admissions office, where a bunch of other high school students are gathered.

Lenora—Len—squeezes my shoulder. “Excited?”

“Terrified,” I whisper.

After a tour that leaves me awestruck—the campus is huge—and an international law class, Riley and I find our families to get lunch.

On the quad, the Bryans are chatting with a man with an NYU lanyard around his neck.

Len grins at us. “Margo, this is one of my old college professors, Eric Marks.”

“Old,” Professor Marks says, shaking his head and trying not to smile. “You always knew how to make a guy feel good, Len. Pleasure to meet you, Margo.”

I shake his hand, suddenly shy. “Hi.”

“Your parents have been raving about you,” he continues. “Grades are good. You’re going to get involved in an extracurricular activity?”

“Yes,” I agree, although I’m still stuck on parents and not foster parents.

“And the school newspaper,” Riley inserts. “To cover the hockey team.”

I bite my lip, but the professor just smiles.

“Riley Appleton,” she introduces herself. “Currently a junior but eager to join your university, sir.”

They shake hands.

He dips his head. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, young lady.”

Riley’s dad joins us. We finally break away from the professor, who wishes Riley and me good luck with our applications, and load plates at the outdoor buffet. There are clusters of chairs and tables scattered around, and we end up at a freshly vacant one.

“There’s another seminar about housing,” Riley’s dad says. “We were hoping to attend that. While the school has some housing for freshmen, we’d like to be prepared in case there’s a more reasonable option.”

Riley turns to me. “Imagine, we could live together!”

Oh my God.

I offer her a weak smile. “Sounds great.”

She doesn’t notice any hesitancy, and the conversation sweeps away.

“You guys should go,” I say to Robert. “Riley and I can keep busy for an hour. Maybe get a little taste for the city?”

Len and Robert exchange a glance.

“You want to go wander?” Robert confirms.

I nod.

“I rented an apartment for grad school,” Len says. “But you’re a lot younger, and we’d worry if you were completely on your own. So maybe we should check it out…”

I’ll be honest—time moves slowly until the three of them depart for the housing seminar.

“We’ll meet you here when you’re done!” Riley calls after them. To me, she says, “I pulled up his office on my phone. It’s only ten minutes from here.”

My stomach erupts with butterflies. “What if he isn’t there?”

“He will be. I made an appointment under a fake name.”

Oh my God. I’m pretty sure that’s against some law… or maybe it’s an ethics thing.

We head down the street, following the map on Riley’s phone.

This part of the city is different from Times Square. Less busy, more trees spaced evenly down the sidewalks. No glaring screens over our heads. Just regular storefronts and tall office buildings once we get out of the residential section.

Finally, we round a corner and stop in front of a large building. It’s noisier here. Cabs and cars rush by on the street. Businessmen and women flood the streets. There’s a smell of burning coming from the grates beneath our feet.

“Tenth floor,” Riley says.

We go in. Unlike the office building Caleb and I went to, this one doesn’t have much in the way of a lobby. Just a few rows of metal benches facing glass walls. No receptionist desk. We go to the elevators, then up.

Tobias Hutchins. I don’t know if he’s going to be the same man Caleb and I ran into, or if he’ll recognize me. Maybe I can lie about who I am, get him to open up before I ask him about a seven-year-old case.

“Good afternoon,” the receptionist greets us once we push through the frosted-glass doors to the law office. “Are you here for an appointment?”

“Yes. Under Amy Lawson.”

I snort and quickly cover it with a cough. Lawson? Really?

The receptionist eyes me with disdain.

“Margo?”

I spin toward the voice.

The lawyer.

Tobias.

Oh, shit. He’s the right one. And he recognizes me. Again.

“Mr. Hutchins⁠—”

“It’s okay, Sandy. I’ve been expecting Ms. Wolfe.” He looks… defeated. Maybe he was hoping I wasn’t me. Wouldn’t be the first time someone wished that. “Follow me, girls. It’s best if we talk in private.”

The receptionist makes a vague noise in the back of her throat.

Riley and I trail him down the hall. There are private offices and conference rooms, and then the hall opens into a bullpen. Some are empty, but the greater majority are occupied. On a weekend.

That’s dedication.

He stops in front of an open door and waves us in. He has a view of the city. Not a corner office, but nothing to sneeze at. I figured he would be one of the ones in the center, fighting with his colleagues for elbow room. His name is on the glass door in gold lettering, the word partner just under it.

“The couch?” he directs, closing the door behind us. He busies himself with drawing a shade down over the door, giving us another layer of privacy—or secrecy.

There’s a framed newspaper article on the wall from five years ago about Tobias’s promotion to partner. It’s surrounded by other accolades and family pictures. A bookshelf on one wall holds law books and plants. In the corner by the floor-to-ceiling window—one of them anyway—there’s a cozy setup of two couches and two armchairs, a glass coffee table between them.

We take a seat on one of the couches, and Tobias relaxes into the armchair next to me. He crosses his legs. He seems the picture of ease, and it irks me.

“You know who I am,” I say.

“You resemble your dad a bit.” He nods. “And I figured you would track me down after I ran into you and Mr. Asher.”

“How do you know Caleb?”

Now he fidgets. “Through the trial, of course. He was present, even if you weren’t.”

I sit up straighter. “I was kept away. But… He was at my dad’s trial? Why?”

Tobias pauses. “Why wouldn’t he? It involved his family⁠—”

“Because my dad was dealing drugs while living there?”

He stares at me, his expression contemplative. “Right. What did they tell you?”

“He went away on drug charges. My social worker wouldn’t let me go to the trial. I didn’t get to see him again after he was arrested.”

“I’m afraid that was your father’s doing.” Tobias’s expression morphs into practiced sympathy. “He was adamant that you not see him like that.”

I exchange a look with Riley. Would he have done that? Our last interaction was horrific. Wouldn’t he have wanted to reassure his terrified daughter that everything was going to be okay?

“Can you walk us through the case?” Riley asks.

“It was a long time ago.” He sounds apologetic, but he doesn’t seem it. The sympathy is glued on his face like a mask. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“It was a long time ago,” I echo. “But you know Caleb—and you keep calling him Mr. Asher. That’s a lot of respect for someone you’ve known since he was ten.”

He shakes his head. “Listen, Margo. These things happened in the past. It’s best to just leave them buried.”

“I refuse to accept that.” There has to be more here.

He stands. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I can give any suitable answers. Attorney-client privilege is a tricky thing to navigate.”

“One last question.” It’s weird to be open about the desperation clawing at me. I need answers—I’ll do anything to get answers. And Tobias Hutchins is my last hope.

He waves for me to continue.

“You were a public defender. And soon after that case, you left that office to come here.” I point to the framed newspaper clipping on the wall. “And you were made a partner in just two years? That’s a little fast, isn’t it?”

His face slowly turns red. “It’s time for you to leave.”

Riley takes my hand and squeezes. “We’re going. Thanks for speaking with us.”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes follow us to the door, which Riley yanks open. We get the hell out of dodge and don’t speak until we’re on the street.

“That didn’t answer anything.” I groan. “He didn’t give up any information about how he knew Caleb, or why he was afraid, or what happened with Dad’s case.”

“Except maybe…” Riley bites her lip. “I think it does prove something. It proves that he’s involved. And not in a good way. Did you see the way he started fidgeting when you brought up Caleb? And he seemed surprised about your dad’s charges.”

She still hasn’t been able to find anything about his trial.

Everything feels hopeless.

“Margo…”

I meet her eyes.

“I think you need to talk to your dad.”