I tossed the key onto the table, but it flipped end over end and skittered across the wood, landing right in the center of the rectangle on the sheet of paper. I started to get to my feet to go get more cookies, but something about the key's lying there made me stop, lean forward, and look at it again.

It reminded me of . . . something . . . something that I'd seen recently. Some . . . shape. But what?

I sat there and thought about it for a few minutes, but the answer wouldn't come to me, so I got up, went into the kitchen, and came back with three more cookies on a paper napkin. I set the cookies down on the table next to the sheet of paper and arranged them in a neat row. . . .

That's when I remembered the exact shape that the key in the center of the rectangle represented and, more important, where I'd seen it before. I stared at the key, the rectangle around it, and the cookies lined up on the table. My heart started pounding with excitement. I was right. I was sure of it. But even more than that, I felt a growing sense of antic.i.p.ation, knowing that Fletcher had left something for me to find after all.

"Fletcher," I said, grinning, "you sly son of a b.i.t.c.h."

30.

"This is a bad idea," Finn muttered. "A very bad idea. You know how thin the ice is for me around here these days."

We were back at First Trust bank, down on the bas.e.m.e.nt level, standing in front of a closed office door. I'd called Finn first thing this morning and told him what I'd realized about the clue that Fletcher had left behind. Finn had been a little doubtful, but he'd agreed to help me see this thing through.

"Don't worry," I said. "It'll be fine. You'll see. Now knock on the man's door."

He shot me a disbelieving look. Finn stared at the bra.s.s nameplate and winced, obviously not wanting to do this, but he raised his hand and knocked on the office door anyway.

"Come in!" a voice barked.

Finn sighed and twisted the k.n.o.b, and we stepped into Stuart Mosley's office. Although he ran Ashland's most exclusive and influential bank, Mosley's office was simply furnished, with a large wooden desk, two chairs in front of it, and several metal filing cabinets lining the walls. A few large rugs were scattered across the marble floor, and the only painting on the wall featured a lovely scene of a waterfall on Bone Mountain. My eyes narrowed. I'd been to that same waterfall with Fletcher many times. Once again, I wondered just how well Fletcher had known Mosley, but that wasn't what I was here for today.

Mosley was sitting behind his desk, poring over a stack of papers, and he didn't even look up when we stepped inside. "Yes?"

Finn shifted on his feet. I elbowed him in the side, encouraging him to get on with things, and he stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Mr. Mosley, I'm sure that you remember my sister, Gin Blanco. She wanted to speak to you about something."

The dwarf still didn't look up. "And what would that be?"

"A safety-deposit box," I said. "Nine of them, actually."

That finally got his attention. Mosley paused a moment, then set aside the papers he'd been looking at and slowly lifted his head. His black reading gla.s.ses made his hazel eyes seem larger than they really were, and I noticed the sudden, sharp interest in his gaze. "And what box would that be?"

I held up the safety-deposit box key where Mosley could see it.

He arched his bushy eyebrows. "Yes? I believe you already looked in that box several days ago, Ms. Blanco."

"Yep. I did look in that box. At first, I was very disappointed with the contents, since the only thing inside was this single sheet of paper, as I'm sure you already know."

I pulled out the paper from my jacket pocket and unfolded it before laying it down on Mosley's desk and placing the key in the center of the rectangle just like it had been on my coffee table last night. At first, I'd thought that the paper was a dead end, but it was anything but. Instead, it had been a message about where the real information was-in the safety-deposit boxes all around that first one, forming a rectangle around Fletcher's original box. Or a circle, depending on your point of view and appreciation for irony.

I drew my finger around the rectangle, tracing the shape all the way around. "And now I want to open the rest of Fletcher's boxes. All the ones that form a ring around that first center box. Nine boxes total, counting the one that I already opened."

Mosley took off his gla.s.ses and set them aside, then leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands together, studying me. I stared right back at him. Beside me, Finn kept shifting his weight from foot to foot, still uncomfortable about my confronting his boss.

"And why would you think that Fletcher had another box here?" Mosley finally asked. "Especially so many of them?"

"How interesting that you would call him Fletcher, instead of Mr. Lane. Are you that familiar with all your clients?"

Mosley shrugged, not really answering my question.

"I know that Fletcher had more boxes here because he drew this treasure map to them. He just didn't say X marks the spot. He was too smart for that, and he trusted me to figure it out on my own. In fact, I'm guessing that he set things up precisely this way because he realized that I was the only one who'd have the stubbornness and determination to figure out what his clue really meant."

Agreement flashed in Mosley's eyes, along with what looked like respect.

I tapped my finger on the paper. "When Finn took me into the vault a few days ago, I noticed that Fletcher's box was in the middle of this bank of nine boxes that were set off by themselves in the back corner of the vault. I'll admit that it took me a while to figure out what this rectangle meant, that the old man was telling me that I'd only opened the first box, and that all the other ones around it belonged to him too. But Fletcher was paranoid, and he wanted to make sure that no one else found out about those boxes but Finn and me. That makes me real curious as to what's in them. But you already know, don't you, Mr. Mosley?"

He studied me over the tops of his fingers. "And what makes you think that I know what might be in those boxes?"

"Because you're the secrets keeper around here. You know who every single box in your vault belongs to and what is in every single one of them. So you know that all those boxes belong to Fletcher."

Mosley kept staring at me, and I looked right back at him. Finn kept shifting on his feet, glancing at both of us in turn, and the only sound was the faint scuff of his shoes on the floor.

Finally, Mosley barked out a laugh. "Fletcher always told me that you were clever. I didn't think that you'd figure it out myself."

I gave him a thin smile. "Good thing Fletcher didn't share your doubts. Although I wondered why he trusted you with his boxes."

"That's between Fletcher and me." Mosley's smile was as sharp and razor thin as mine was. "Let's just say that the two of us did each other certain . . . favors from time to time."

I opened my mouth to ask exactly what those favors had been, but Finn touched my arm in warning and gave me a stern, pointed look. He knew Mosley better than I did and was telling me that I'd pushed his boss far enough today. So I clamped my mouth shut. Besides, Finn and I still needed to get in those safety-deposit boxes, and I was betting that Mosley was the only one who could open them. That's how Fletcher would have set it up, and it seemed like he and Mosley had been close enough-or at least done each other enough favors-for Mosley to honor the old man's wishes.

Finn cleared his throat. "Gin and I would really appreciate it if we could go look in the boxes now."

The dwarf stared back at Finn, and his eyes and face softened, just a bit. For a moment, Mosley's gaze seemed distant, as though he was thinking of something else, or rather someone else-Fletcher. I saw so much of the old man in Finn, and it seemed like Mosley did too.

The dwarf pushed back from his desk and gave me another cool look. "Well, then, now that Ms. Blanco has decided to be civil about things, I will be happy to let you into Fletcher's boxes."

Mosley made Finn and me step outside his office, then closed and locked the door, not wanting us to see what he was up to. I tilted my head to the side and pressed my ear up against the door, but I couldn't hear a whisper of sound from the other room.

"Don't bother," Finn said. "His office is soundproof."

"What do you think he's doing in there?"

Finn shrugged. "Probably getting the box keys. Rumor has it that Mosley has a secret safe hidden somewhere in his office. That seems like exactly the sort of place that Dad would leave those keys."

Sure enough, a minute later, the office door opened, and Mosley appeared, carrying a small silver key ring in his hand. Finn and I followed him down the hallway to Big Bertha.

Mosley nodded at the two giant guards standing there. Another new security measure. "Jimmy, Tommy, take a break."

At the stern order, the two men nodded and moved off without a word. Mosley punched in the codes on the keypad, and the three silverstone mesh doors slid back one after another. I thought that Mosley might step into the vault with us, but he flipped through the keys on the ring before selecting one and holding it up where Finn and I could see it.

"Per Fletcher's instructions, he wanted you to open this box first," Mosley said.

I took the key from him and looked at the number stamped into the metal-1301. Starting at the beginning, in more ways than one. "Thank you."

"I hope you find what you're looking for, Ms. Blanco. You too, Finn. Bring me the keys back when you're done." Mosley nodded at both of us and left, heading back to his office.

I waited until he was out of sight and the echo of his footsteps had faded away before turning to Finn. "You ready for this?"

He blew out a breath. "I guess I have to be."

We stepped into the vault and went to the back corner where Fletcher's safety-deposit boxes were. They were exactly the same as before, three boxes across and three down, for nine boxes total. I hadn't noticed before, but the boxes were slightly out of order, with 1300 in the center, and 1301 in the upper left-hand corner. Another small clue that I'd initially overlooked.

So I slid the key into the lock, turned it, and pulled the box out of its slot in the wall. Antic.i.p.ation surged through me, and I hurried over and set the box down on the table at this end of the vault. For once, I didn't have the patience to wait, and I yanked open the top of the box to find . . .

Photos-dozens of photos stacked inside the box.

They were all of the Bullet Pointe resort.

I stared down at the photos, dumbfounded.

Finn groaned. "Are you kidding me? I never want to see that place again."

But I shook off my surprise and started going through the photos, looking at and then handing them off to Finn one by one.

Most of the shots were the same sort that Ira had taken-pretty pictures of the hotel, theme park, and lake. My heart started to sink. Maybe I'd been wrong. Maybe there wasn't any information about the Circle in here at all. Maybe Fletcher hadn't known anything about the mysterious group. After all, the old man had kept tabs on Deirdre to make sure that she wasn't headed back to Ashland to threaten Finn. Maybe that's what he'd been doing down at Bullet Pointe. Following her and seeing what she was up to.

Finally, I came to the last picture, a large rectangular print that had been stuck in the very bottom of the box, as though it were of no importance at all. I glanced at it, expecting to see another shot of the hotel lobby. That's exactly what it was, but I recognized someone in this picture.

My mother.

I sucked in a breath. Finn realized that I'd finally found something, and he put down the photo he was looking at to peer at the one in my hand.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h," he said. "That's your mom."

"Not just her," I whispered. "Not just her."

The picture showed a group of people sitting at a table in the middle of the hotel lobby sometime during the holidays, given the mistletoe, bows, and other decorations in the background. And my mother wasn't the only person that I recognized. Deirdre Shaw was in the photo too, along with Mab Monroe. Several other people were also gathered around the table, their faces clearly visible, although I didn't know any of them.

The group seemed to be celebrating something, given the champagne gla.s.ses on the table and the pleased grins on everyone's faces-except for my mother's. Her mouth was a hard slash in her face, and her hand was wrapped around her champagne flute, her arm drawn back slightly, as though she were thinking about hurling the gla.s.s at the two people sitting across the table from her.

Finn tapped his finger on one of those people. "There's Tucker."

I nodded. "And I'm willing to bet that this is the rest of the Circle."

"Deirdre, Tucker, Mab, your mother. You might be right. But who are the rest of these folks?"

I studied the faces a little more closely, but I still didn't recognize anyone. "No idea." I pointed to the photo again. "But this guy-he's the leader."

The man was sitting next to Tucker and seemed to be the person that my mother was glaring at. He was the only person whose face you couldn't see, since his back was turned to the camera. All I could tell about him was that he had dark hair and looked to be a big, tall, strong guy.

Finn frowned and leaned forward, staring at the photo again. "Why do you think that he's the leader?"

"Because Tucker is sitting next to him, and look at the vampire's posture. He's leaning in and ducking his head. You know Tucker. He wouldn't show that sort of deference to anyone . . ."

"Except his boss."

"Exactly. Besides, my mother is sitting as far away from this man as she can possibly get, clear on the opposite side of the table. He's the leader. I know it."

I did know it-deep down in my bones.

"But why doesn't Dad have a shot of this guy's face?" Finn asked. "He has a clear view of everyone else. Surely it wouldn't have been that hard to discreetly move around the table and snap a picture of the leader. So why didn't he?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. Maybe Fletcher could only get this one shot of the whole group of them. These people are paranoid about their secrecy. They wouldn't have wanted anyone taking pictures of them."

Finn nodded, accepting my explanation, but my mind kept churning and churning. He was right. Fletcher should have included a picture of the leader's face, but he hadn't, and I couldn't help but think that it was a deliberate omission. But why? What was so interesting or horrible or shocking about this man that Fletcher had excluded him?

And how was it going to impact me, Finn, and everyone else?

Finn pointed at the photo. "Hey, look at that. What does that look like to you?"

I squinted at the picture. I hadn't paid any attention to it before, but the table boasted an elaborate metal centerpiece, the sort of thing you might put candles in, although this piece had none. "That looks like . . . a group of swords, all bound together and pointing outward."

"Not just a group of swords, but a group of swords in a circle." Finn looked at me, excitement flashing in his eyes. "Ladies and gentlemen, I think that we just found the official rune for the Circle." He paused. "Well, the official, probably top-secret, and no-one-knows-about-it-but-them rune. But still."

"I think you're right."

We looked at each other, both of us grinning like fools, realizing that we were finally-finally-on track to getting the answers we wanted.

31.

We went through the rest of the safety-deposit boxes, opening them one by one, and examining all the items inside.

They were all filled with photos, just like the first one, and all the pictures were various shots of the people that had been gathered around that table. I hoped that there might be more. Perhaps some diaries or logs of who the people were and all their movements, but nothing like that was in the boxes. Perhaps Fletcher hadn't been able to get all that much information about the members of the Circle. I'd probably never know for sure, but the uncertainty didn't bother me the way it had before. The old man had given me a place to start. That was all that I needed.

The only person Fletcher didn't seem to have photographed was the man with his back to the camera in that first photo, the leader of the Circle. I still wondered why Fletcher hadn't identified him as well, but I wasn't overly worried about it. I'd find his friends first, and they would eventually lead me to him.

The photos in the last box made tears well up in my eyes. They were all shots of my mother. And not just of her, but me, Bria, and Annabella as well. I didn't know how long Fletcher had been watching us, but he'd snapped dozens of shots of us around our mansion, playing in the backyard, window-shopping, and walking the streets of Ashland. There was even a picture of the four of us sitting in a booth at the Pork Pit, looking over our menus.

Instead of being angry that Fletcher had never shown these to me, I found myself comforted instead. The old man hadn't left these here as a reminder that my mother had been mixed up in the Circle, but because he knew that I would want the photos as mementos of her and Annabella. Of my family. Of happier times.