Emma blinked, wondering how to react. Would Sutton’s parents expect her to be relieved by this detail …
or start vehemently defending Thayer? She settled on an expressionless face, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at Sutton’s dad.
“Do you understand how dangerous that boy is?” Mr.
Mercer asked, shaking his head.
Emma opened her mouth to speak, but Laurel was faster. She pushed past Emma and gripped the back of one of the wooden chairs that circled the round oak table.
“That boy is one of my best friends, Dad,” she growled.
“And did it ever enter your mind that Sutton—not Thayer—is the one causing all the trouble?”
“Excuse me?” Emma squeaked indignantly. “How is this my fault?”
They were interrupted by the distant wail of sirens.
Mr.Mercer headed for the hall, and Mrs. Mercer followed.
The sirens grew louder and louder until they were right outside of the house. Emma heard a car pull up the drive and saw red and blue lights flashing on the front porch. She was about to follow the Mercer parents into the foyer when Laurel caught her arm.
“You’re going to throw Thayer under the bus, aren’t you?” Laurel hissed, her eyes blazing.
Emma stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know why he always comes to you first,” Laurel continued, as if she hadn’t heard Emma’s question. “You just make his life worse. And you’re never there to pick up the pieces. You leave that to me, don’t you?” Emma fiddled with Sutton’s locket that hung from her neck, silently begging Laurel to explain herself, but Laurel just glared accusingly. Clearly whatever she was talking about was something Sutton was supposed to know already.
Except … I didn’t.
“We’ve got coffee on,” Mrs. Mercer’s voice echoed from the foyer. Emma turned just in time to see Sutton’s parents leading two officers into the kitchen. One of them had red hair and freckles and didn’t look much older than Emma. The other was more weathered, with oversized ears and a woodsy cologne. Emma instantly recognized him.
“hello again, Miss Mercer,” the second cop said, shooting Emma a weary look. It was Detective Quinlan, the officer who hadn’t believed Emma when she had told him her real identity the day she’d arrived in Tucson. He’d assumed the long-lost-twin routine was another one of Sutton’s hoaxes—the Tucson police had an entire case file dedicated to Sutton’s wrongdoings as part of the Lying Game, a cruel club Sutton and her friends had invented over five years ago, which involved playing pranks on unwitting victims. One of the most horrific pranks involved Sutton pretending that her car had stalled on the train tracks as a commuter train barreled toward her and her friends. It had ended in Gabby’s hospitalization for a seizure. Emma had only learned about it last week, after she’d purposely gotten caught shoplifting to get a peek at Sutton’s rap sheet. She’d snooped, and she’d scored, but she wasn’t exactly looking for more quality moments with the Tucson police force.
Quinlan sank into one of the kitchen chairs. “Why is it that whenever there’s a call on my beat you have something to do with it, Miss Mercer?” he said in a tired voice. “Did you organize this meeting with Mr. Vega? Do you know where he’s been all this time?”
Emma leaned against the table and glared at Quinlan.
He’d had it in for her—er, Sutton—since the day she’d met him. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said quickly, flicking a strand of chestnut brown hair from her shoulder.
Mr. Mercer threw up his hands. “Sutton, please,” he said. “Cooperate with the police. I want this kid out of our lives for good.”
“I told you, I don’t know anything,” Emma argued.
Quinlan turned to Sutton’s dad. “We’ve got three squad cars patrolling the area for Mr. Vega. We’ll find him sooner or later. You can be sure of that.”
There was something about his threat that made Emma shiver. I shivered right along with her, the same question on both our minds: But what if Thayer found Emma again first?
2
A BOY NAMED TROUBLE
“Sutton?” Mrs. Mercer’s voice floated upstairs. “Breakfast!” Emma’s eyes slowly opened. It was Saturday morning, and she was lying in Sutton’s bed, which was a zill ion times more luxurious than any bed she’d ever slept on in her foster homes. She would have thought the plush mattress, thousand-thread-count sheets, down pillows, and satin comforter could ensure a perfect eight hours of sleep every night, but she’d slept fitfully ever since she arrived here.
Last night, she’d woken up every thirty minutes to make sure Sutton’s window was still locked. Each time she stood at the window ledge, looking out on the perfectly manicured lawn that Thayer had scurried across just hours before, the same thoughts ran through her head, over and over. What if she hadn’t screamed? What if the vase hadn’t broken?
What if Mr. and Mrs. Mercer hadn’t barged into Sutton’s room when they had? Would Thayer have threatened Emma to her face at last? Would he have told her to stop snooping, or else …?
Long-lost Twin Encounters Crazed, Possibly Murderous Runaway, Emma thought to herself. During her years as a foster kid, she’d gotten into the habit of titling her daily activities with a punchy headline as training for becoming an investigative journalist. She’d recorded the headlines in a notebook and named her newspaper The Daily Emma. Since moving to Tucson and taking over Sutton’s life, her adventures really were newsworthy—not that she could tell anyone about them.