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.
“Yeah, well, spare me your fatherly lectures,” Emma said darkly.
Ethan let out a small, incredulous sniff. They were silent for a little while, driving down the dark streets past the adobe houses and gravel lawns. A boy on a bicycle with a flashing light on the back wobbled on the shoulder.
“I just want you to be safe,” Ethan said finally. “Just hold off visiting him for now—for me? Maybe there’s another way we can figure out what happened that night. A way that gives you solid proof to bring to the police.” Emma let out a sigh. Ethan was right about the risks involved in a jailhouse visit. And she had to admit that the thought of facing Thayer again terrified her. “Fine. I’ll give it a couple more days. After that, if we haven’t made any progress, I’ll have no choice but to talk to Thayer.” Emma may have been reluctant, but I, for one, couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say.