THE HOTEL HAD a little patio off the lobby with couches, palm trees, a big fishpond, and a large bar. When Seneca and Maddox sank down into a chaise, she overheard a few patrons talking about Chelsea. “What kind of girl kidnaps herself?” a woman at the bar said as she sipped her red wine. The man next to her rolled his eyes. “A girl who needs to be the center of the universe.”

If only they knew the truth.

Seneca slumped onto a couch, feeling a fresh wave of despair. Maddox sat next to her. She pulled it together for him; there was no use wearing her extreme disappointment on her sleeve. “I just wanted to say good-bye before I head out,” she said. She checked her watch. It was a few minutes after two. “I promised my dad I’d be home by late afternoon. I’d rather things go really smoothly so that I can come back here.”

Maddox nodded. “So he still doesn’t know about…?”

She shook her head. “And I don’t intend to tell him. Not yet.” She wouldn’t until she had Brett behind bars. It didn’t even feel like deception anymore. It was just the way things had to be.

She peeked at Maddox. He was hunching those muscled shoulders, and something about the lock of hair that curled over his left ear made her stomach swoop. “You know,” he said gently, “we still don’t actually know if Brett was telling the truth in that letter. He could have painted the relationship with your mom as way more friendly than it really was.”

Seneca felt the now-familiar heart drop whenever she thought of her mom and Brett as friends…or whatever they were. “I guess,” she said. “But I could also see it happening. Aerin’s right—Brett seemed totally harmless. She flirted with him. I unloaded to him about my mom, and he was really sympathetic.” She felt the prickle of tears. “Brett has this amazing ability to shift into whatever you need him to be. And I’m guessing that’s what he did for my mom—and for Chelsea, too. I looked at some of the phone data that was released—apparently he and Chelsea texted each other nonstop on that second phone she had. Chelsea told him everything. School stuff. Family stuff. Brett wanted more, clearly, but she didn’t.”

“Do you think he’s the guy Jeff thought she was cheating with?”

“Probably,” Seneca said. She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, reviewing the information Grieg had given them about Jeff. “Though it’s ironic that Jeff even cared, given his history.”

As soon as she said it, she felt cruel. So Jeff cheated on Chelsea. Maybe he had a reason to—people were complicated, or sometimes they made idiotic mistakes. They were misled, or they acted impetuously and foolishly on hunches and impulses, the same as her mother might have done during that fateful kiss with Brett at Starbucks. Seneca couldn’t shame Jeff for screwing up his relationship because she didn’t know the whole story. It would have been nice if Jeff had been honest with her, but that was a moot point now.

When she shut her eyes, she pictured his pale body lying facedown in that vacant lot behind the hotel. Was it their fault that he was dead? Would she have to live her whole life feeling responsible for that?

A wine cork popped. The music on the stereo changed to something jazzy and full of saxophones. Maddox shifted beside her, and Seneca could tell they were both thinking about Brett and how he’d manipulated every aspect of this situation. “I still can’t believe it,” Maddox murmured. “Brett used Chelsea’s life as leverage so we wouldn’t go to the cops, and that ended up being why the cops didn’t take us seriously.”

“I know,” Seneca said. “The other thing I don’t understand is how there can’t be any evidence at the house where Chelsea was staying. No cameras? No items out of place? Not a single fingerprint?”

“They’re still collecting evidence. Maybe they’ll find something.”

Seneca grunted in doubt. Then she added, “The strangest thing about this is that Brett went to all that effort to kidnap Chelsea only to let her go.”

Maddox cocked his head. “That seems like classic Brett. He shone a light on her biggest sin—that she’s full of herself. No one will take her seriously now that they think she staged her own kidnapping. I heard a bunch of people dropped her on Instagram already. Her reputation is ruined.”

“Yeah, but doesn’t classic Brett actually kill his victims? I mean, he even murdered Jeff—and for what? Chelsea is the first person we know of that he turned loose. She has information about him now. Possibly even more vital information than we do. We should definitely talk to her.”

Maddox’s eyes lowered. “I heard her parents are putting her in a psychiatric facility.”

“Well, then, we visit her,” Seneca said. “We ask her everything she remembers. We tell her we believe her, even if no one else will. But Brett should be thinking of that. He’s taken a big risk, leaving her alive. Which makes me think Chelsea was never his end goal.”

Maddox sat back on the cushion. “You think Chelsea was just a pawn, don’t you? Brett had an issue with her, but his bigger issue is with us.”

Seneca drummed her hands on her knees. “I do. Us finding her, us being here, somehow, is just another piece to the puzzle.”

“And we played right into his hands.”

Seneca massaged the back of her neck. It was a theory that had been kicking around in her brain all day, but it felt so chilling to say it out loud. “We did. We should have seen it coming. But all I was focused on was finding Chelsea…and having a standoff.”

“You wanted a standoff?”

She stared at him. “Of course I did. Didn’t you?”

Maddox’s green eyes narrowed, and then he took her hands. “I was scared shitless of that, but I would have been there for you. No matter what.”

Seneca felt her mouth wobble. Their talk the other night at the party swirled in her head. As she shifted closer to him, her heart started to pound.

“Maddox?” she said in a small voice. “What are we?”

Maddox looked surprised. “You really don’t know?”

She could feel her cheeks turn red. “Should I?”

Maddox stared at her for a moment, then took her shoulders and pulled her close. Seneca breathed in sharply, then felt all the tension in her body release as he pressed his lips to hers. She shut her eyes. The sounds of the bar fell away, and all she could feel were his warm hands wrapped around the tops of her arms and his soft mouth against her own. When he pulled away, he stared at her sweetly. She smiled back and ducked her head.

“Oh” was all she could think to say. “Well, okay. Good.” She moved toward him again, not wanting to end the kissing so quickly, but then her phone buzzed.

She glanced at the screen, annoyed for the interruption. It was an unfamiliar local number. She answered it and put the call on speaker. “Miss Frazier?” came a voice. “This is Amanda Iverson. From Golden Shores Realty?”

“Oh!” Seneca frowned. It was “Gabriel’s” boss. “Hi?”

“I’m returning your call. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. I’ve had quite a hectic week. So are you interested in one of our properties?”

Seneca ran her tongue over her teeth, remembering how she hadn’t given any details of who she was or what she wanted in her message to Mrs. Iverson. “Um, the reason why I initially called is irrelevant,” she said, gathering her thoughts. “But I’m a friend of Gabriel Wilton’s. I’m organizing a memorial for him, if you’re interested.”

Mrs. Iverson inhaled sharply. “Oh. I…I’m not sure.”

“Why? Do you think the stories about him were true?”

“No!” Mrs. Iverson cried instantly.

“So you think they weren’t true?”

“Of course not, but…” The woman sounded flustered. “I’d better go.”

“Wait!” Seneca sat up straighter, desperate to keep her on the phone. “Look, I don’t think he was a criminal, either. It’s a shame how the press has demonized him.” Every ounce of her being hated saying that.

Mrs. Iverson coughed. “Yes. Gabriel was a good person. I’m sad…well, I’m sad all of this has happened. He’ll be deeply missed.”

“I agree,” Seneca said, her voice quaking with fake feeling. “Which is why I’d like his memorial service to focus on how good he was, not the false charges before his tragic death. So if you have anything you’d like to say about him—”

“When is the memorial service?” Mrs. Iverson interrupted.

“Yes, we’re putting it together now,” Seneca said quickly, praying someone else wasn’t doing the same thing.

“I-is it in Avignon? Or in Gabriel’s hometown? Come to think of it, I don’t know his hometown….”

Join the club, Seneca thought bitterly, exchanging a quick ironic glance with Maddox. “Yes, it’s here. I’ve contacted friends. Coworkers. Family members. We’re hoping to put together some kind words about what Gabriel was really like, and perhaps you’d like to contribute?”

“Family members?” Mrs. Iverson’s voice had eased a notch higher. “So you’ve gotten in touch with his sister?”

Seneca’s gaze met Maddox’s again. Her heart was suddenly pounding. In touch with his sister? “Um, actually, we haven’t been able to reach her yet. Do you know how we could?”

There was a long pause. “I…” Iverson breathed noisily. “I’m not sure….”

“Mrs. Iverson, please,” Seneca said. “We’d really love to get in touch with her.”

“All right,” Mrs. Iverson said quietly. “I peeked at his e-mails this morning. It was for work reasons—he was handling some clients that I now need to take over. Gabriel was a model employee—he hardly contacted anyone unless it had to do with work. But I did find something in his deleted folder—he reached out to a woman named Viola with some sort of photo attachment. I didn’t open it, but he called her sis. She has a different last name, though. Nevins. I already e-mailed her, but so far I’ve gotten no response.”

Seneca dropped the phone on the cushion, staring at Maddox. He was clutching the side of his head. Holy shit, he mouthed. She picked the phone back up and conjured up her sweetest, calmest voice possible. “Can you tell me the e-mail address?”

“Um…” Mrs. Iverson said reluctantly, but Seneca pressured her a little more, and she rattled it off. Then she said, “Now, where and when is the memorial?”

Seneca named a church she remembered passing in Avignon and a time two days from now. Once Mrs. Iverson realized it was a lie, they’d be long gone. Then she quickly hit end and stared at Maddox. For a few beats, neither of them spoke.

“Do you really think this person is a relative?” she whispered. “Or is this another trick?”

“The e-mail was in his deleted folder,” Maddox said. “What if he meant to empty his trash but forgot? Could he really have a secret sister somewhere? And was it a mess-up, or intentional—yet another clue he left behind?”

“We’d finally learn his real name. We’d finally learn who he is.” Seneca wanted so badly for this woman to be the answer the desire was almost tangible, a taste on her tongue. She pictured presenting the police with Brett’s name. Telling her father. She pictured Brett standing trial, then shuffling off to jail forever. It wouldn’t feel as good as having her mother back, but it would be justice all the same.

Her phone beeped, and she grabbed it, but all she saw was a text from a long, disorganized string of numbers—a line of zeroes and ones, a lot like the texts she got from Verizon Wireless when she’d gone over her data limit.

Don’t bother looking for us. We’re outta here.

She showed the text to Maddox. Her stomach was swishing again. “Do you think this is from…”

“I—I don’t know.” Maddox pointed to the word at the end of the sentence. Us. “What does he mean by that? Him and his sister? This Viola person?”

That didn’t feel right. Unless Brett had bugged her phone, how could he know she’d learned about Viola at this exact moment? Seneca’s thoughts returned to the sinking feeling she’d had since Chelsea had been found—that her kidnapping was just a small part of a much bigger scheme. That everything he’d plotted had been deliberate, exact, and the worst was yet to come—something that would totally blindside them.

A chill went through her, cutting straight to her bones. Something had happened, she could feel it. She just didn’t know yet what it was.