THE NEXT THING Seneca really remembered, beyond the woozy backpedaling into the grass, beyond the sounds of the sirens, beyond the EMTs screaming that Jeff had no pulse, beyond Jeff’s mother hysterically crying and climbing into the ambulance with her son, beyond the hand on the small of her back, guiding her and Maddox into a cigarette-stinking police cruiser with sticky backseats and nonworking seat belts, was standing in the hallway of the police station next to a water fountain. The walls were white cinder block, and the air was chilly. She pressed the lever, and a stream of water made an arc near her mouth. It reminded her of an ocean wave, which reminded her how Jeff had said that she’d love surfing because she had good shoulders. And for some reason that reminded her of her mother sometimes straightening her shoulders, saying, Don’t slouch. You’re such a tall, strong girl.

It was so obvious Brett had done this to Jeff. I’ve got a killer surprise for you! And none of them had seen it coming.

“Seneca.”

Aerin, who had come in a separate police car with Madison, was heading down the hall toward her. Her cheeks were stained, as if she’d been crying. Then Seneca noticed the guy standing next to her. He was tall and clean-cut, though he had the same shocked expression Aerin did. He held a Guy Fawkes mask at his side. She instantly recognized him. It was Thomas, the cop from Dexby who’d helped with Helena’s case.

That sobered her up fast. “What’s he doing here?” she snapped.

Aerin looked stricken. “I-it’s a long story. But Thomas was with me when I found Jeff. He’s here to help.”

“We both saw Brett tonight,” Thomas added. “He was at the party.”

Seneca stared at Aerin, her whole body gone cold. “He knows about Brett?”

Aerin pushed her hair out of her round, frightened eyes. “I told him ages ago, before Brett sent that letter. But then we broke up and I forgot about it.”

“I came to find Aerin in Avignon. I demanded to be part of the investigation. Don’t blame her for any of this,” Thomas said.

Aerin let out a tormented whimper. “I feel like this is all my fault. I’m afraid Brett saw us talking, and he did something to Jeff.”

Thomas looked pained. “I never meant for anyone to get hurt.”

“But someone did get hurt!” Seneca roared.

“We know.” Aerin covered her eyes. “We’re so sorry.”

Seneca took even breaths, trying to calm down. She gazed at Thomas. His skin was pale, there were circles under his eyes, and he looked drawn. It was so obvious that he’d only wanted to help. The guy had practically been the first person on the scene when Marissa Ingram had accosted them at the Easter Bunny party, and he’d personally made sure each and every one of them was okay afterward. Her anger, she knew, wasn’t at Thomas—it was at Brett.

“No, I’m sorry,” she said wearily. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. But I have a feeling this had nothing to do with Brett seeing you guys together.” In her mind, Brett had killed Jeff because of Jeff’s text to her: I have something to tell you, too. Maybe Jeff had figured something out. And maybe Brett knew.

Then she realized what Thomas had said. Her heart started to rocket. “Wait. You saw Brett at the party? Are you sure?”

Aerin nodded. “He was all in black. I could only see his eyes—but that was enough.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Fresh despair rolled over her. Brett had been close, and she hadn’t known?

“He disappeared so abruptly,” Aerin explained. “I wanted to keep him in my sights, so I followed him. But when I saw Jeff in that lot, I forgot about him completely.” She clapped her hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry. I ruined everything.”

Seneca bit down hard on her lip. “It’s not your fault,” she said, her voice choked. “It’s mine. I took my eye off the ball. I should have seen Brett, too…but I didn’t.” It made her feel so weak, all of a sudden. So vulnerable.

“Excuse me? Can you come in here, guys?”

A young cop with reddish hair and a smattering of freckles leaned halfway out an open door down the hall. He reminded Seneca of Woody from the Toy Story movies, earnest and friendly and a little bowlegged, though he’d said his name was Officer Ethan Grieg.

Officer Grieg gestured for the group to enter the room, which was empty save for a circular wooden table and chairs. He dropped a plain spiral-bound notebook on the table with a slap, then pushed a Coke can toward each of them. Seneca stared at the one in front of her, then shook her head, feeling too sick for sugary liquid.

“Sorry to bring you guys in.” Grieg sank into a seat. “We just needed you to make a statement about what exactly happened when you found Mr. Cohen. Think you can do that?”

“Is he…dead?” Aerin blurted.

Grieg’s gaze dropped to the table. “It’s been confirmed,” he said stonily. “His neck was broken, seemingly from a fall. I’m very sorry.”

Seneca blinked hard, trying to process this. A fall. She thought about the terrace above the junkyard. Had he fallen from there? Or more accurately, had Brett pushed him?

Maddox briefly met her gaze, then looked away. His handsome features were muddled with torment. Seneca considered the swell of emotions she’d felt for Maddox only an hour ago but then quickly put them on a high shelf. Part of the reason she hadn’t noticed Brett at the party was because she’d been dwelling on her feelings for Maddox. The price for that distraction had been Jeff’s life.

With gulping breaths, Aerin and Thomas began to describe how they’d come upon Jeff in that vacant lot. Aerin must have drilled it into Thomas’s head that they shouldn’t mention Brett, because they both awkwardly mumbled that they’d simply been on the stairs and heard a strange noise. Seneca listened only halfheartedly to their words, instead thinking about what had just happened. Once again, Brett had done something awful, and once again, he’d gotten away.

Her blood boiled. Her hands curled into tight fists. She was so sick of this. She wanted justice for her mom, but not at the expense of lives. She was done with Brett’s game. This was about more than her now.

She looked up into the cop’s bleary eyes. “It’s Corey Robinson.”

Grieg held his Coke halfway to his lips. “Pardon?”

“Corey Robinson. He did this to Jeff. You need to find him.”

“Seneca,” Maddox hissed from across the table.

Seneca leaned toward the cop. “We think he abducted Chelsea Dawson, too. We have a photo of them together outside the night of the party, around the time Chelsea went missing and right around where her blood was found. Jeff knew all this. Maybe he was getting too close to the truth, and Corey had to shut him up.”

The only sound in the room was the rattling of the air-conditioning through the vents. Grieg sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “First of all, it’s too early to classify Mr. Cohen’s death as a murder. He fell from the terrace—it could have been an accident or even a suicide, but…Okay. You know all this how?”

Seneca licked her lips. “We’ve been looking into the case. As a group.”

A scowl crossed Grieg’s face. His freckles had disappeared, and his eyes darkened. “Can you tell me this kid’s name again?”

Seneca repeated it. She also told him about Island Time and Kate, who’d seemed uncomfortable answering questions about Corey, and then rattled off the address he’d put on the job application. After scribbling this down in his notebook, Grieg gave Seneca a steely stare. “Don’t move.”

His footsteps echoed through the hall. Once they faded away, Thomas cleared his throat. “Are you sure that was a good idea?”

Seneca opened her mouth, almost wanting to tell him that he didn’t have the right to an opinion. But maybe she was overreacting. Brett hadn’t killed Jeff because Thomas was a cop—he’d meant to do it way before he knew Thomas was even around. “This isn’t a game anymore. They need to find Brett before he does something worse.”

“I know, but what if telling the cops makes Brett do something worse?” Maddox said.

“I’m sick of Brett’s stupid threats.” She could feel the desperation rising in her, an almost palpable heat just beneath her skin. “This guy killed Aerin’s sister. My mother. Jeff. Brett has to be stopped, now. It’s time to end this.”

The fluorescent bulbs flickered. It was so quiet in the room, Seneca could hear the carbonated bubbles in Grieg’s can of Coke rising and popping. Seneca lay her head on her arms and closed her eyes, suddenly bone-weary.

When the door opened again, she jumped frantically, banging her knee on the bottom of the table. Grieg rushed in. There were a few papers crinkled in his palm. “This your guy?” he asked in an annoyed voice, slapping a photo on the table.

Everyone peered at the grainy security image. The familiar fifties lettering of the sign outside the Island Time Café was in the background. The guy in the photo was the same one from the PhotoCircle—and the same one Seneca remembered at the café. The ball cap was pulled low. His head was bent. He was medium height with broad shoulders and a skulking posture.

“Yes,” she said. Everyone else nodded, too. “Was he at the party?”

Grieg crossed his arms over his chest. “Corey Robinson left town with his parents yesterday—his grandfather unexpectedly passed away from a stroke, and they had to attend the funeral. And I don’t think this guy kidnapped anyone. He’s fifteen years old. Can’t even drive.”

Seneca blinked. “Wh-what?”

“Fifteen?” Madison said at the same time.

The cop sighed. “Kate Ruggio, the manager of the Island Time Café, wasn’t lying to you about this guy being a criminal—she was uncomfortable about you asking questions about Corey because she’d hired him to do a forty-hour-a-week job when, as a minor, it isn’t legal. She thought she was going to get in trouble. She says Corey was quiet, hardworking. Well-behaved. Just wanted to save up money so he could go to a survivalist camp next summer.”

“He’s not well-behaved,” Maddox blurted. “We were told he brought guns to his school. Had to go to juvie.”

Grieg glowered at them. “There’s no record of guns or juvenile detention—we checked. You guys need to do your homework a little better.”

Seneca ran her tongue over her lips. “But what about the picture of him and Chelsea together on the sidewalk outside the party? How do you explain that?”

“Mr. Robinson didn’t come clean about being there earlier because, again, the kid’s fifteen—he was scared about what his folks would say about trying to crash a party where there was alcohol.” Grieg stacked his notes neatly. “I’m not happy that he didn’t come forward sooner, but that’s beside the point. He remembers briefly saying hi to Chelsea Dawson, but she was distracted. Said she was texting someone. Barely paid him any attention. Corey left shortly after. Didn’t see anything weird. His father can vouch when he came home to the beach house, and a buddy of his at Wawa who sold him a Mountain Dew can place him there at eleven fifteen p.m. And as for tonight’s events, Mr. Robinson wasn’t even in town, so his involvement is out of the question.”

There was a cold, hollow feeling inside Seneca, as though her stomach had been scooped away with a large spoon. “Oh.” It was so obvious. Brett set this up. How, Seneca wasn’t sure. But he must have.

“We’re really sorry to have wasted your time,” Maddox croaked.

The cop snorted. Seneca hated the pitying, condescending way he was staring at them. “Look,” he said as he stood, “this is police business, okay? Take your little crew and go home, and leave the rest of this to us. We wasted forty-five minutes following up on a fifteen-year-old kid because of you guys.”

There was nothing to do but leave. The blood felt hot in Seneca’s veins as she stood. Someone put a hand on her shoulder, and as she turned, she realized it was Thomas. He looked pained. “As a former cop,” he said in a low voice, “I can honestly say the dude that just questioned us is a major asshat.”

Tears prickled Seneca’s eyes, and suddenly, she felt so weary. “As a former cop, feel free to join us,” she offered. “It looks like we need all the help we can get.”

“I’m in,” Thomas answered.

Then Seneca ducked into the bathroom at the front of the station. There was a cop in one of the stalls, and she shot Seneca a tight, knowing smile as she dried her hands. Maybe everyone knew, Seneca thought. Everyone in town thought she was an idiot. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, keeping her expression neutral until the woman left. Only then did she let her composure crumble. She stuck her whole head under the faucet, though it did little to cool down her blazing cheeks.

She doubted anything would.

A SQUAD CAR dropped everyone off at the gates of the B&B. Before the vehicle pulled away, Madison asked the officer if it would be dangerous if she ran to Wawa, which was only a block to the east. The officer, a youngish guy who seemed to perk up whenever Madison spoke to him, said that he’d escort her, and so she slid back into the front seat, taking Wawa orders. But Seneca couldn’t fathom eating anything. Her stomach felt like a numb, hollowed-out pit, too ravaged for food ever again.

She closed the door of her room and stood on the rug. In some ways, she was grateful for the temporary solitude. After locking the windows and checking on the surveillance camera, she walked over to the minibar in the kitchen, slid in some cash, and wrenched it open. The mini bottle of Stoli burned her throat and brought tears to her eyes and unfortunately didn’t make her feel much better. She pulled out another bottle and drank it just as fast. Then she returned to her room, crawled to the bed, and stared dizzily at the ceiling.

Her heart beat strongly and loudly in her chest. Her limbs felt exhausted, and all she wanted to do was sleep, but whenever she closed her eyes, the only thing she saw was Jeff being covered with a sheet and loaded onto that stretcher. Why had Brett gone after him? What had Jeff found out? Would she ever know the answer?

The door creaked open. Seneca squinted, figuring it was Madison, when suddenly she felt her mattress shift. Had Madison climbed into the bed with her?

A large, rough hand pushed her down. “Don’t you dare move.”

Seneca’s veins turned to molten lava. She knew that voice. Brett.

His dark shape loomed above her. Seneca couldn’t make out any of his features, but she knew without a doubt it was him.

She pivoted on her side, desperate to switch on a light. Brett clamped down on her wrist. “You move, and you’re dead. You scream, and you’re dead. Got it?”

Seneca let out a shaky nod. She glanced toward the vague outline of the door to the hall. Please, someone hear. Maddox. Bertha. That damn ineffective dog. But the little B&B remained still. Quiet. Dark. Disinterested.

“So listen.” Brett’s breath was hot, and he had a familiar tangy smell about him. Bug spray, maybe. Lemon. “I’m surprised you haven’t figured me out yet. You thought I was a fifteen-year-old kid? Really?” He sucked his teeth. “It just goes to show who’s the real mastermind.”

Seneca shifted her weight, and Brett moved right with her, digging his nails into her wrist. “But the game’s taking too long, okay? So I’m going to speed it up. That bitch is still alive, but you have to find her by noon on Friday. After that, she’s dead. I’ll even help you—I’ll give you some clues. Your time starts now.”

His body lifted away. Seneca sprang up instantly, but Brett pushed her back to the bed. She let out a surprised squeal.

“Noon on Friday,” Brett hissed. “Thirty-six hours. See you on the other side. Or not.”

His footsteps creaked away. Seneca sprang up again, but the adrenaline was zooming frantically through her veins, and she felt light-headed. Her knees buckled, and she grabbed on to the bedpost to steady herself. By the time she was on her feet, it was too late. Brett had bolted into the night.