MADDOX WAS A third of the way through the guest list—e-mailing leads, inviting people to the PhotoCircle, cross-referencing faces on Instagram—when he heard someone pounding on the condo door. His sister and Aerin stood on the other side. He opened it without speaking, but the frustration was all over his face. “What’s wrong with you?” Madison snapped instantly, her eyebrows raised in suspicion.

“Nothing,” Maddox snapped. “I just can’t believe how hard it is to find a guy we already know.” It was like that dream he sometimes had where he was winning a cross-country race, the finish line in view, and suddenly, his legs turned to Lego blocks. He no longer had knees. His limbs were brittle; one by one they fell off. Racers passed him, and he could do nothing about it, just lying there on the ground, a Lego torso and head.

After oohing and aahing over Gabriel’s condo—“Can I marry this guy? He has a Vitamix!”—Madison and Aerin padded to the terrace. Madison spied Seneca and Jeff against the wall of that parking lot immediately, then whipped around and looked at Maddox with wide eyes.

Maddox balled his fist. “She’s just trying to crack the case. Jeff has a lot of intel.”

Madison sipped her drink, which smelled more like vanilla flavoring than coffee. “Okay,” she said, watching him carefully.

Seething, Maddox grabbed his phone and started tapping. “A little help here? This guest list is mad long.” The last thing he wanted was for Madison to feel sorry for him. He’d successfully managed not to think about Seneca for forty-five minutes. He didn’t want to break that streak now.

Maddox, Madison, and Aerin sat down at the table on Gabriel’s deck and kept searching Instagram, the guest lists, and the PhotoCircle Seneca had just set up. One by one, people joined the photo group, uploading their pictures to the public circle. Maddox stared at the app, his gaze flicking through pictures of strangers’ faces. Kids were dancing, laughing, posing, trying to look sexy. People splashed in the shallow end in their clothes. A guy with a scruffy goatee named Rob Dalton had posted a picture of Jeff walking a slackline tied to two trees. Next to him was Chelsea, head down, scrolling through her phone. Maddox tried to zoom in on her screen—what was she looking at that was so interesting?—but it was too blurry. He searched for an image of Barnes Lombardi, who Madison had told him was a total creeper, but Madison couldn’t spot him in any of the pictures.

A girl named Hailey Garafalo uploaded pics of pretty blond girls singing into a karaoke machine, a montage of people’s feet, and Gabriel giving a speech. The pictures were time-stamped between 9:05 p.m. and 9:14 p.m., hours before Chelsea went down that path. They waded through more, finally coming to a picture of the bonfire at 10:45—around the time Jeff said he and Chelsea argued. Alistair provided a photo of three guys sitting on a log, holding their beers up in a toast. One of them was photo-tagged J.T. While most of his face was in shadow, there was something reminiscent about his posture. He was about Brett’s height and weight. Maddox felt a chill.

“Has anyone talked to him?” Aerin murmured, her gaze on J.T., too.

“He hasn’t uploaded pictures yet,” Madison murmured. She found his number on the guest list, called, and put it on speaker. Everyone was silent as the phone rang. Maddox heard a sleepy voice answer. Madison introduced herself as a friend of Chelsea’s who was trying to figure out what went down the night of the party. “We’re putting together a PhotoCircle. If you want to share anything—”

“I didn’t take any pictures,” J.T. interrupted, his voice flat. “And really, I don’t understand how another PhotoCircle is going to help anything.”

“We’re just trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle,” Madison said smoothly. “Do you at least remember Jeff and Chelsea fighting that night?”

“Yeah. They were near the dunes. She seemed pissed.”

“And then she ran away?”

“Yep. Down the path.”

“Did anyone follow her?”

“Not that I remember.” J.T. let out a yawn. “Except for Jeff.”

Madison picked impatiently at her fingernails. “Do you remember who else was sitting with you at the bonfire?”

“Not really.”

The silence felt desolate. Everyone exchanged skeptical glances. “Well, thanks anyway,” Madison finally said. She hung up and looked at the group, clearly at a loss.

“He sounded stoned,” Aerin grumbled.

“Or he could be lying,” Madison said. “Maybe he’s Brett.” Her fingers flew. She typed his full name, Justin Thomas Rose, into Google. A Periscope account came up. At first, the video was of a shaky ride down a street in midtown New York City, probably filmed on a GoPro. But then J.T. turned the camera on himself and started narrating. With his olive skin and wide-set eyes, he didn’t really look like Brett. Then Madison pointed at the date that popped up on a digital scroll snaking around the outside of NBC Studios. It was April 19, a few months ago.

“Even if this guy did look like Brett, he can’t be Brett,” Madison concluded. “On April nineteenth, we were in Dexby, at Kevin Larssen’s engagement party. Not even Brett can be two places at once.”

“So he’s telling the truth,” Maddox said. He was about to ask if they’d gotten anything useful from J.T. when a knock sounded on the door. Madison opened it, and Seneca and Jeff strode through. They weren’t walking very close together, but their posture was friendly and relaxed. “Hey.” Seneca’s gaze drifted to Maddox for a split second. He looked away quickly, then scolded himself and gave her a small smile.

“Good idea about the PhotoCircle,” Madison announced. “People are sending in a lot of pictures.”

Everyone sat and flipped through more images. At the end of a long stream of pictures from a girl named Brianna Morton of the same four friends sitting on a chaise, a blurry photo popped up. “Huh,” Seneca said, stopping on it anyway. Maddox leaned in. The shot showed a view out a window of the intersection in front of the condos. It was time-stamped 11:02 p.m.

Seneca pointed at a figure in the upper right corner, half-hidden behind a parked car. Though he was in the distance, the image was clear. The guy seemed tall and lanky.

Aerin gasped. “It’s him.” She looked at Madison. “That kid we saw on the boardwalk. The one I swear we knew from somewhere.”

Jeff squinted. He made a face. “I think it’s…Corey Robinson.”

Seneca scrunched up her nose. “Why do I know that name?”

Jeff’s eyes darted. “I doubt you’ve met him. He keeps to himself. He wasn’t invited to the party as far as I know. People…talk about him.”

“What do they say?” Madison asked.

“Someone told me he brought a gun to his high school in Delaware a couple years ago. Got expelled immediately.” Jeff rubbed his temples. “He always comes to parties and just sits on the chair with a beer. Stares. It makes some people uncomfortable.”

Seneca widened her eyes, and Maddox knew they were thinking the same thing. He looked at the time again. 11:02 p.m. If Jeff’s timeline about that night was accurate, that was right when Chelsea walked down the path. Why was Corey standing on the street by himself? Was he trying to crash the party?

“Was this kid at the bonfire?” Maddox asked.

Jeff shook his head. “I don’t remember seeing him, but…”

Seneca suddenly had a light in her eyes. “Does Corey work at the Island Time Café?”

Jeff nodded. “I think so.”

Maddox’s mouth dropped open. “He talked to us.” He tried to remember the few moments they’d had with the kid their first afternoon here. He’d jumped right in on their conversation about Chelsea. It felt like a slap. Had Brett been practically the first person they’d met here?

“That café allows dogs,” Madison said, amazement in her voice. “Bertha has an Island Time magnet on the fridge that says so. Maybe she goes there with Kingston? That could be how the dog knows him.”

Seneca glanced at Jeff. “We’ve figured out that whoever took Chelsea also has a reason to get into the B and B we’re staying at. It’s a long story.”

“And maybe he was following us to the boardwalk,” Aerin said. “It’s such a strange coincidence that he was right there, in the crowd….”

“Jesus,” Seneca said, pressing her hand to her forehead.

“That dude took Chelsea?” Jeff’s voice was hoarse. “Him?”

“We have to call the girl who posted this,” Seneca said. “Make sure she didn’t see anything.”

“I doubt she realized she took this photo at all,” Maddox murmured.

Jeff exhaled sharply. When Maddox looked over, the guy had turned pale. “Whoa,” Maddox said, jumping to his feet and catching Jeff just before he crumpled to the ground. “Take a breath.”

“Sorry,” Jeff said shakily. “This is just so…intense. I mean, I know that guy.”

“Get him inside,” Seneca said, quickly pulling the sliding door open.

Maddox walked Jeff into the condo and deposited him on Gabriel’s white couch, where he collapsed into a heap. Moments later, Seneca returned with two cool glasses of water. Jeff drank his down quickly, sending her a grateful smile. “I’m going to go back outside and look through the PhotoCircle,” she said. “Maddox, can you stay with him?”

“I’m fine,” Jeff insisted. “Really.”

But Maddox nodded at Seneca, and she returned outside. He focused on Jeff again. Pieces of hair stuck to Jeff’s sweaty forehead, and he’d stripped off his sweatshirt and now had on a sleeveless Billabong tee. His eyes were glazed and unfocused—it seemed as though he’d had a full-on panic attack. Maddox changed the channel on the TV, worried that the program he’d been watching about hurricanes might stress Jeff out. But as soon as he saw what was on the screen—a Philly news broadcast of Chelsea’s disappearance—he winced and changed the channel again. SpongeBob appeared. Hopefully that was harmless enough.

“Just relax,” Maddox said awkwardly. “We’re all shaken up.”

“Yeah.” Jeff’s voice was strained. He picked at a frayed hem in his shorts. “Um, you asked who I was talking to on the phone. It was just this girl I know from school. A friend. She’s kind of a drama queen. Freaked out when she saw me on the news. I tried to calm her down, but she was going crazy, and I was getting frustrated at her.”

Maddox wanted to ask why Jeff hadn’t just said that from the start, but the guy was looking at him so beseechingly that he decided to let it go. Jeff probably wasn’t worth wondering about. There’s no way he was Brett, and it was clear he hadn’t kidnapped Chelsea, either. “No worries,” he murmured.

The cartoon cut to a commercial about water balloons, and Maddox shut his eyes. The notion that Brett might have been right there, practically the first moment they’d set foot in Avignon, shook him. He felt a sense of urgency, like they needed to call out this Corey guy right now. But he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. And they had to play it cool. Alerting Brett that they were onto him might make him do something rash.

“It’s pretty amazing that she figured this out,” Jeff said in a croaky voice. “I mean, without her? I’d probably be going to jail.”

Maddox turned his head with a start, at first not understanding whom Jeff was talking about. Jeff had a wistful smile on his face, and his gaze was on the patio, where Seneca was pacing around. Maddox swallowed awkwardly, all at once very aware of what was going through Jeff’s head. He thought he’d picked up on something.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Definitely. But, um, just so you know, she’s kind of off the market.”

Jeff shifted on the couch. “Huh?”

Maddox studied his knuckles, feeling slimy for talking about this—but, hey, he might as well spare Jeff the pain. “I mean, she doesn’t have a boyfriend or anything. But all she cares about is this case. She has no room for anything else right now. Especially…relationships.”

Jeff’s jaw twitched. “Oh?”

“I’m not trying to be an asshole. I just…” He laughed sadly. “I know it firsthand.”

Jeff pushed his toe into one of the perfect vacuum lines on the carpet. “Huh. Well, good to know.” Then he stood, pulling his sweatshirt back over his head. “Um, I’m going to jet.”

Maddox frowned in surprise, taking in Jeff’s ashen pallor. “You still look pretty weak, man.”

“I’m fine.” Jeff avoided eye contact and made a big production of putting his shoes on. “I should get back to my family. I’ll see you later, okay? And thanks for everything. I mean it.”

“Okay,” Maddox croaked, hoping he hadn’t misstepped. He’d thought telling Jeff would help him, not destroy him further.

Once Jeff slumped out the door, Maddox collapsed in his spot on the couch. SpongeBob came back on the TV, but he stared at the screen without absorbing the story.

When the door to the patio slid open, he jumped. Seneca stood on the carpet, her eyes searching the room. “Where’s Jeff?”

“He…had something to do. Why?”

Seneca hurried into the condo. There was something about her movements that seemed antsy and troubled, not angry. “What is it?” Maddox asked, propping himself up.

She sat next to him on the couch. Her proximity both excited him and made him horribly nervous. “We found another photo,” she said in a low voice.

“Of Jeff?”

“No. But something from that night.” Seneca showed her phone to Maddox. It was another out-the-window shot, time-stamped shortly after the first. But this time, there were two figures. The girl stood with her arms crossed and her body arched away. The guy—gaunt, gangly—bent toward her, his arms outstretched menacingly.

“It’s Corey,” Seneca said. “With Chelsea.”