I turn away, filled with guilt. I love Garrett—in a way.
He’s a good boyfriend. And he’s here, in Tucson, not God-knows-where like Thayer. But there’s something I can’t explain that pulls me to Thayer and makes me want to sneak around with him like this. It’s like every reason I give myself to stop doesn’t matter.
Thayer shifts closer to me. “When I come back, will things be different between us?” he asks in a low voice. He curls his palms around my hip bones, gripping me tight.
Our bodies are so close. I focus on his full bottom lip, wishing I knew how to answer him. When I’m with him, all I want is him. But I can’t deny that part of what makes our relationship work is that we’ve kept it a secret.
“I want to, but I don’t know,” I whisper. “There’s Laurel.
And God knows how Madeline would deal. It’s so …
complicated, don’t you think?”
Thayer disentangles himself from me, kicking at a fallen tree branch. “You’re the one who keeps begging me to come back.” The cold, closed-off tone is back.
“Thayer,” I protest. “Remember that no-fighting thing?”
But he won’t look at me. He mutters something beneath his breath. Suddenly, his foot flies out. There’s a crack as his toes make contact with one of the big boulders in the clearing.
“Are you trying to break all your bones?” I cry. Thayer doesn’t answer. I take a step closer and put what I hope is a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Thayer, listen. I do want you here. I miss you like crazy. But maybe right now isn’t the best time for us to tell everyone how we feel.” Thayer whirls around. “Really, Sutton?” he spits.
“Well, I’m sorry our relationship is less important than you maintaining appearances.”
I grab for his hand. “I don’t mean that. I was just saying—”
“Enough.” His mouth tightens. “Maybe it was a mistake to come back. I’ve had enough.” His eyes darken as he rips his hand from mine. I spin away from him, my heart suddenly in my throat. I’ve never seen Thayer like this. In many ways, he’s reminding me of his father. Explosive. Mercurial. Volatile.
Crickets chirp in the distance. A bunch of little pebbles cascade over the side of the cliff. All at once, I realize how alone and vulnerable I am, here on the edge of this mountain with a boy who ran off to some mysterious place he won’t tell me about. How much do I really know about what Thayer’s been up to lately, anyway? I’ve heard all the rumors about him—especially the ones about the trouble he’s mixed up in here, the dangerous things he’s done. What if some of them are true?
But then I realize how crazy my fear is. Of course Thayer won’t hurt me. What we have is special—he would never harm me. I close my eyes and spread my fingers wide, feeling the cool mountain air. If I can gather my thoughts, maybe I can explain what I’m feeling, why I think it isn’t the right time for Thayer and I to go public. I let go of a breath and open my eyes, but Thayer is gone.
I look right and left, but all I see is darkness.
“Thayer?” I call out.
A scratching noise sounds a few feet away. “Thayer?” I call again. No answer. “Ha, ha. Very funny!” A shadow slides across the trees and something skitters in the distance. Leaves rustle and whisper. A shiver runs the length of my body. “Thayer?” Suddenly all I want is to be off this mountain. I whirl around once more, ready to take off down the path toward my car, but a hand clutches my arm, hard. Terror shoots through me. I feel breath on my neck. But before I can cry out, before I can whirl around and see who it is, the memory cracks down the middle and fades to absolute whiteness.
8
WHAT NOW?
Emma sat alone in the interrogation room, waiting for Quinlan to return. She inhaled deeply, forcing herself to remain calm. The weight of what she’d just discovered washed over her anew. Thayer had been in Sutton’s car the night she died. That blood on the car had to be Sutton’s.
Had she finally learned how her twin had died?
I couldn’t help but wonder if she had. The memory I’d just seen flickered and snapped in my mind like a neon sign. The tumultuous look that had crossed Thayer’s face.
The fear I’d felt on the trail. The cops had found my bloodstained car at Sabino Canyon, exactly where Thayer and I had gone for our night hike. I thought about the heated fight we’d had. And then there was that hand on my shoulder, just before the memory faded out …
Emma barely had any time to catch her breath before Quinlan returned, a frown marring his face. With a quick jerk of his hand, he motioned for Emma to stand. “I give up. If the two of you can’t be bothered to tell the truth, you’re wasting my time. Get out of here.”
He kicked the door open with his boot and gestured into the hall. Emma followed the detective numbly toward reception. The lights in the front room were bright, making her head ache. Emma wanted to ask Quinlan when she could get Sutton’s car back—or if the cops were going to tell her whose blood was on it—but Quinlan slammed the door to the waiting area loudly and firmly before she could.
She watched through the little window as he sauntered back down the hall, hands in his pockets, handcuffs jingling on his belt.
Okay. So was she free to go, then? swallowing hard, Emma made her way across the lobby and pushed through the glass doors into the parking lot. Almost an hour had passed since she’d gone inside the station. The sun had set, and the air had a cool snap to it. Emma hugged her arms over her camisole and tried to warm up, although she doubted that even the coziest sweater would be able to chase away the chil that had settled in her bones after seeing Thayer.
She pulled out Sutton’s iPhone and composed a text to Ethan. CAN YOU PICK ME UP? She typed quickly, praying he was finished taking his mom to the doctor.
Blessedly, a reply text appeared in minutes. WHERE
ARE YOU? Ethan asked.
POLICE STATION. Emma wrote back.
That got his attention—Ethan’s response was immediate. WHAT? I’M ON MY WAY.
Emma sat back and waited. Two black-and-white police cars sped from the lot with sirens blaring. A door to the station swung open, and two cops strolled out for a smoke break. They looked at her suspiciously, perhaps recognizing her. One of them said something to the other that sounded a lot like Thayer.
She thought about Thayer’s hardened expression in the interrogation room. When Quinlan had asked him to explain himself, he hadn’t offered a word. Was it because he was guilty of something awful? Had he killed Sutton?
Had he made the trip back to Tucson on the thirty-first for exactly that reason? Or had he come to spend time with her
… and lost control? Maybe they’d had a fight. Maybe Sutton had said something to hurt him. Perhaps Thayer had grabbed Sutton’s car keys and run her down, then hid the car in Sabino Canyon. But where had he put Sutton’s body? Quinlan would have said something if it had been in the car.
With every fiber of my nonexistent being, I didn’t want Thayer to be my killer. In the brief memory I’d been given, I could tell Thayer and I shared something very, very special.
I wasn’t the type of girl to beg a guy to stay— or to get jealous when another girl made him a stupid bracelet. If Thayer planned to kill me, I had been blindsided by it. I had loved him, deeply and truly.
But then something occurred to me: In my memory, when Thayer had run from the bus station to my car, his gait had been strong and graceful. There had been no visible limp whatsoever. Whatever had happened to his leg had happened afterward. Maybe he’d gotten hurt running from the cops. Or maybe from dragging a body into a deep, dark hiding place.
Ethan’s beat-up bloodred Honda pulled up in front of the police station and sputtered to a stop. Emma raced toward him, flinging the car door open and sliding into the leather seat. The radio was turned up, blaring a Ramones song. The inside of the car smelled slightly of cigarettes, even though Emma didn’t think Ethan smoked. She turned to face him, taking in his light blue eyes and the smooth, tan skin that stretched over his high cheekbones. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see you,” she blurted.
Ethan grasped her hands. “What happened?”
“Just get me out of here.” Emma pulled her seat belt over her lap and pressed her back against the worn cushion.
As Ethan pulled out of the lot, Emma explained her visit to the police station. “The postcard and ticket prove he was with her in her car the night Sutton died,” she concluded. “I’ve made a decision. I really need to talk to Thayer alone and find out exactly what happened. It’s the only way I’ll get to the bottom of this.” Ethan paused at a stop sign and pulled up a side road.
Two preteen girls rode Appaloosa horses along the shoulder. Reflective stripes covered the Western saddles and Ethan swerved to give them more room. “Are you crazy?” he asked. “You’re just going to serve yourself up to Sutton’s killer?”
Emma shrugged defensively. “It’s the best way to get answers. I’m not going to tell him I’m on to him. I’ll just act like Sutton, pretend I don’t know he’s behind this.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Ethan slammed his palm hard on the steering wheel. “That doesn’t even make any sense.
It’s too dangerous. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.
Thayer is conniving—he can twist things around just as deftly as Sutton could. He could expose you to the cops.
You know what would happen then.” His voice was urgent.
“You’ve been living Sutton’s life—everyone will think you killed Sutton so you could steal her identity.”
“Thayer already had the chance to do that today and he didn’t,” Emma reminded him.
“Well, he could do much worse than that,” Ethan said, running a hand through his dark, inky hair. “If he ever gets out, he could hurt you.”
Emma stared out the window at the streetlamps ill uminating the way for the car along the deserted road.
She didn’t want to think about that possibility. She hoped that Thayer would just stay locked up forever. And she didn’t like Ethan’s tone. Maybe he was just being protective of her, but having lived thirteen years with no one looking out for her, it felt strangely unwelcome to have someone telling her what she could and couldn’t do—especially a boyfriend, who was supposed to be on her side.
“You don’t know Thayer,” Ethan urged. “He has a temper, just like his dad.”
Emma shot him a look. “You don’t think I can handle tempers? I’m not Sutton, Ethan. I didn’t grow up in a happy bubble of a delusion. I was a foster kid. I’ve been screamed at all my life. I was abandoned by my real mom. I’m tougher than you think.”
“You don’t have to get angry,” Ethan protested.
“I just don’t understand why you aren’t backing me up on this. I thought you wanted to find Sutton’s killer just as badly as I do.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Ethan argued, his expression hard.
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