by Sara Shepard
“I sort of remember what Brett looked like, but I don’t see anyone like him,” Thomas said.
“He could be in a mask. Or maybe he’s not here yet. Promise me one thing, okay? If we do see him, don’t do anything rash.”
Thomas nodded again. After a beat, he cleared his throat. “So how are you?”
Aerin glared at him. Did he really expect her to answer?
“It’s a party,” Thomas reminded her. “We should act like we’re having a good time.”
Aerin rolled back her shoulders. “I’m fine,” she said begrudgingly. “Great, in fact.”
“Good,” Thomas said. “Me too.”
“Great,” Aerin snapped, though she felt a dip of disappointment. Of course Thomas was happy in his new life.
But then Thomas’s chin tilted down. “Oh, what am I saying? New York is crazy. It’s so crowded, and it smells, and there are people everywhere.”
Aerin bit her lip, suddenly guilty that she’d wished for Thomas’s misery. “But you like school, don’t you?”
“It’s…okay.”
A few new kids had streamed in, whooping loudly. Though some of them were in masks, no one matched Corey’s height or weight, and none of them looked like the old Brett, either. Aerin’s gaze flicked to several kids typing frantically on their phones. They seemed jittery, and they kept looking cautiously around the area. What if Brett had some sort of network, and these guys were warning him that she and the others were here?
“This must be really hard for you,” Thomas said, breaking the silence.
Aerin stiffened. “What?”
“Diving back into this investigation again. It’s like the nightmare that never ends.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “Yeah. Good times.”
“You should have called me. I’m always here to listen.”
“I’m fine,” Aerin said frostily. She stood on her tiptoes, pretending to be interested in a guy who’d just jumped into the pool.
“I wouldn’t be fine.”
Aerin clamped her lips together. The party felt too crowded and close. Or maybe Thomas felt too crowded and close, his questions too intrusive. Did he really think he could march back in here and take the same old spot in her heart? “Maybe we should mingle,” she said. She shot him a tense smile and began to cross the patio.
Thomas caught her arm. “Aerin. Please. Don’t walk away from me.”
She didn’t turn. “I don’t want to arouse suspicion. We need to circulate.”
“Wait.” Thomas’s muffled voice cracked beneath the mask. Reluctantly, Aerin stopped, her shoulders tense. “Why do you hate me?” he asked. “I’m the same person, and I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
“Except to New York.” Aerin wanted to take it back as soon as she said it. The hurt was evident in her voice, a chink in her armor.
Thomas went still. The whole party seemed to still, actually—Aerin was suddenly aware of all the space around them. Floating above them was the fragrant, summery smell of grilled burgers and hot dogs. She lingered on the sensation for a moment, letting it fill her. If she shut her eyes, she could almost imagine standing in her own backyard on a summer evening six years ago, before Helena was gone, before her parents split up. Her father was grilling on their three-tier deck. After they ate, she and Helena were going to retreat to the garage, where they’d sing in their karaoke booth for hours. A fresh wave of sadness cascaded over her.
Thomas’s shoulders rounded with hurt. “Y-you’re mad I went to New York?”
The lump in Aerin’s throat grew larger. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But New York isn’t even far. It’s a quick train ride. We could have visited each other every weekend.”
Aerin was clenching her jaw so tightly that it ached. “I said it doesn’t matter. None of it matters.”
“Stop pushing me away. What do you want, Aerin? What can I do to make this better? For you to talk to me again?”
Aerin opened her mouth, but no words came. She stared across the glittering surface of the pool.
“I didn’t even think you cared I went to New York,” Thomas said.
Aerin let out a surprised laugh. “Why?”
The mask didn’t move. Aerin wished she could make out his expression. “Because you didn’t react,” he finally answered. “You just…shut down. I figured I wasn’t that important to you.”
Aerin curled her toes. “It’s not that. But I also wasn’t going to try to talk you out of it. You had no future in Dexby. You needed to get out.”
“But I did have a future in Dexby. You.”
It was unbearably sweet, exactly what she longed for him to say to her, and yet she felt the urge to run. Not just out of this party, either, but out of this town. All of this was just too much. Facing this. Rehashing it. Asking for something she needed. It just wasn’t something she could do.
She was pushing Thomas away—again. He was about the millionth person she’d pushed away since Helena vanished. But what did she gain from it? Okay, it kept her safe and sealed, free from hurt. The flip side of that, though, was her crushing loneliness. Which she suddenly felt so acutely, it was almost an ache.
She let out a shaky breath, wondering if she could, just once, ignore her instincts. “Okay, I didn’t want you to leave,” she said in little more than a whisper, barely audible over the loud techno that was now blasting out of the speakers. “Are you happy now?”
“I…am,” Thomas said immediately. “And…well, I’ve been thinking. I want to come back to Dexby. I miss it there. I miss my grandparents. And I miss…you.”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “Don’t just come back because of me.”
“I wouldn’t be. I’ve looked into colleges right around Dexby, and they have the same programs I was interested in at the New School. But without the crowds in New York…and with you.”
Aerin turned to him. There were so many things she wanted to say—things maybe she could say. Because Thomas would listen. She knew he would. Who else would have followed her all the way to Avignon just because he was worried? Who else would have risked so much to approach her at this party? Who else would wear such a horrible mask to remain incognito?
He cared. Really, really cared—and maybe she could let herself care, too. It was the most incredible feeling of freedom, even amid all this turmoil. Slowly, she inched toward him until their shoulders were touching. Their fingers brushed together. Thomas caught her pinkie and curled it into his palm. Aerin felt a swoop in her stomach and shut her eyes.
All at once, he was pulling her close. At first, she felt the plastic mask against her cheek, but then it gave way, lifting off his face. His breath was warm and sweet, and she could just make out his twinkling eyes. Her heart rocketed as he gently touched the edge of her lips with the tip of his finger. And then, unable to stand it any longer, she pressed her lips to his, savoring the rush and the release of the kiss.
SENECA STOOD NEXT to the pool and coolly assessed the scene. Girls in boho dresses were already so tipsy they were having trouble walking in their wedges, guys in board shirts and tees were cheering at a very competitive game of ladderball that had started up, and some people in complete Francophile regalia, including face masks, traipsed around affecting drunken French accents. The people in the masks were maddening. Was Brett right in front of her, hiding in plain sight? Was this his surprise? Whenever someone jostled her, she jumped and turned around, on high alert. She kept expecting Brett to grab her, hurt her…but the party seemed so innocent. It was buoyant, in fact, almost like a caricature of a party. The guests’ mirth was heightened and exaggerated, as though they were laying it on thick because Chelsea had been taken a few days before and they wanted to show whoever had done it that they weren’t broken, that they were stronger than ever.
She fiddled with the strap on her shoe and eyed Aerin across the pool. She was still with that guy in the mask; Seneca had been worried, but Aerin signaled that she was okay. Maddox, on the
other hand, stood at the edge of the dance floor, trying to blend in with the other partygoers by halfheartedly bobbing back and forth to the beat. When he noticed Seneca watching, he stopped moving, and a blush crept from his neck to his cheeks. Seneca smiled wryly—Gotcha! But then she remembered how nervous she felt and frowned again.
“Hey!” Kona from Quigley’s Surf strutted up next to her, giving Seneca a start. “What’s up?”
Seneca swallowed awkwardly, reaching for the cup of beer she’d filled a half hour ago and hadn’t taken a single sip of. “Just getting my party on!” she chirped, realizing how insane she sounded.
Kona waved at someone by the bounce house. Seneca turned and recognized Alistair, Gabriel’s friend who’d come to the condo. He wore a blue blazer, a silly-looking two-cornered hat, and a French flag as a cape. “Hey!” he called back, then merged into a knot of Les Mis–costumed girls.
As Kona bounded away, Madison appeared, clutching a completely full wine cooler and looking frustrated. “Any luck?” Madison asked.
Seneca shook her head. “No. Nothing.”
“Me neither.” Madison held up a copy of a New Jersey newspaper. On the front page was a headline: Police May Have Evidence to Hold Cohen in Chelsea Dawson Abduction Case. “But I did find this crumpled up in the bathroom.”
The paper crinkled in Seneca’s fingers. “What evidence could they be talking about?” she said faintly.
“It says they got another anonymous tip about how Chelsea and Jeff’s relationship was violent.” Madison leaned against a nearby table. “What do you want to bet it was from Brett? But I guess Chelsea’s parents are glomming on to anything, and they’re talking about how possessive Jeff was.”
“But it’s not true,” Seneca said quietly.
“They’re bringing him in for questioning tomorrow morning.” Madison widened her eyes. “You know, I saw on Dateline that these cops kept this kid awake for seventy-two hours, drilling him and drilling him until he confessed to a crime he didn’t commit. What if they do the same to Jeff?”
Seneca’s stomach clenched. “We have to try to figure out a way to prove his alibi. The faster the cops stop focusing on Jeff, the faster they might turn to the real person who did it.”
“Agreed.”
Seneca squared her shoulders and scanned the crowd again. Still no Corey. Still no one else that could be Brett. Aerin had vanished from her post across the pool. The guy in the mask wasn’t there, either, but then she spotted both of them walking casually toward the food table. Had Aerin seriously picked up a date? By the dance floor, Maddox had gone back to surreptitiously dancing. Seneca giggled, despite herself. Maddox was kind of getting into the rhythm.
Madison groaned. “Would you two just get together already?”
“Huh?” Seneca blinked.
Madison gave her a knowing smile. “You heard me. You’ve been staring at my brother nonstop since we got here.”
“I have not!” Mortified, Seneca averted her gaze from the dance floor and pretended to focus intently on a few people passing by. A guy in the third Napoleon costume she’d seen. Four girls with pink stripes in their hair. They were all wearing the same brand of fitness tracker, too. One girl’s tracker lit up, proclaiming she’d achieved her step goal for the day. It was a wonder the trackers didn’t all ping at once—the friends were synchronized in every way.
Then a switch snapped on in Seneca’s head. She looked at Madison. “Jeff’s Fitbit. Oh my God.”
“Huh?” Madison asked.
Seneca started to riffle in her purse, and her fingers clamped around the rubber bracelet at the bottom. She pulled it out triumphantly. “I’ve had this since yesterday. Jeff took it off while we were talking outside the condos, and I slipped it in my bag. I forgot to give it back.”
Madison cocked her head. “So?”
Seneca plunged her hand into her bag again. The USB cord for her own Fitbit was nestled in one of the pockets. She untangled it, plugged it into her phone, and connected it to Jeff’s Fitbit. “A Fitbit tracks when you move and when you sleep. I saw pictures of Jeff from the party—he had the Fitbit on. The data from the device should show us when he stopped moving—when he fell asleep. It should also show us when he started moving again the next morning. We could get GPS data from it, too—proving he stayed in that one spot.”
Madison’s mouth made an O. “Which proves he couldn’t have done anything to Chelsea.”
“Exactly.”
The Fitbit app launched, and Seneca tapped the screen to import Jeff’s data. As it loaded, she suddenly felt eyes on her back. She turned slowly. From behind the gate, the security guard glanced up from a game on his phone. A seagull pecked at a spilled piece of food on the pool deck. The place was crammed with people, but no one was watching her.
Information popped up on the screen. Seneca scrolled back to July 10, the day Chelsea disappeared. Jeff had walked 13,492 steps and had gotten 56 minutes of cardiovascular exercise. She inspected the data from later that evening, and her heart leapt. The Fitbit tracked Jeff walking steadily from 8:00 p.m. to about 11:10 that night—a step here, several steps there, the typical behavior of someone milling around a party. But at 11:23 p.m., after walking a quarter of a mile—the distance down the grassy path to find Chelsea—the Fitbit recorded no new steps. For seven hours. Based on his heart rate, the device reported that he was in a deep REM sleep by 12:03. GPS data backed up that he was right by the parking lot, nestled in the grass. He didn’t take the device off all night.
“Oh my God.” Seneca squeezed her phone. “I need to call Jeff. He needs to see this.” She quickly sent off a text. Within a few moments, Jeff replied, That’s incredible. Was on my way over anyway. I’ve got something to tell you, too.
Seneca couldn’t wipe the huge smile off her face. Score one for me, she thought. This would throw a wrinkle into Brett’s plan; if Jeff was exonerated, the cops would focus on someone else—maybe him. Suddenly, she felt ready for anything he might throw her way.
Full of glee, she stood on her tiptoes and peered across the room for Maddox, who, sure enough, was still bobbing to the beat of some techno song. She waved her hands, and he headed over. Her lips stretched even wider with a smile, and all of a sudden, as she watched Maddox weaving through the crowd, his jaw set, his eyes bright, his body quick and athletic, Madison’s words flashed back to her. Would you two just get together already?
She watched Maddox continue to make his way toward them, feeling a sense of brief lightness settle over her, despite danger lurking so close. Maybe Jeff was right. Maybe her and Maddox’s auras did match up. Maybe they were a good match, in fact.
And maybe, just maybe, she should own that she felt the same way he did.
AERIN DIDN’T WANT to stop kissing Thomas, but she pulled away regardless, remembering the task at hand. She needed to remain vigilant. They might not have spotted Brett yet, but maybe that was because of their location. Moving around might help. “Come on,” she said, taking Thomas’s hand. “Let’s grab some food.”
They walked to the table overstuffed with snacks. Aerin felt a mix of nervous giddiness and wasn’t in the mood to eat, but she grabbed a couple of pretzel rods anyway. She wasn’t sure what made her look over her shoulder, but when she did, she noticed a flutter off to the left. She jolted back, doing a double take. A figure lurked behind one of the large concrete posts across the pool. He wore a black mask that concealed most of his face, but when his head turned just so, she got a look straight into his eyes. They were bright and round; if she’d been closer, she was sure they’d be blue.
They were his eyes. Brett’s.
Aerin dropped Thomas’s hand. “What?” Thomas asked, pulling the mask back over his face. “What’s going on?”
“Quiet,” she hissed, her throat tight. She could feel the heat in her cheeks. Sweat prickled on her brow. Holy shit, yelled one voice in her head. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be him.
You need to play it cool, yelle
d a second voice. You need to pretend you didn’t see him. But how long had he been standing there? Had he seen her? Had he seen Thomas? Finally, when she thought enough time had passed that it no longer seemed so obvious, she glanced at the concrete post once more. Brett was gone.
She took off across the pool deck. Thomas was on her heels. “Aerin,” he murmured. “Tell me what’s happening!”
“Shhh,” Aerin murmured out of the corner of her mouth. “I think…” Then she froze. The figure in black—Brett—had reappeared by one of the exits.
Thomas seemed to spy him at the same time. He grabbed her wrist. “Is that…?”
Aerin squeezed his hand. “Don’t look directly at him.”
The figure in black was just standing there, blending into the high bushes that acted as a natural barrier around the pool. Every few seconds, his head jerked this way and that—he seemed to be searching the crowd. He didn’t see them.
Aerin folded in her shoulders to make herself smaller. She was desperate to signal Seneca, but she didn’t want to make any sudden movements that gave her position away.
“You don’t know how badly I want to go over there and bash that guy’s head in,” Thomas murmured quietly.
“Please don’t,” Aerin urged. But Thomas had brought up a good point: It was insane that they were just standing here, a few yards from a murderer, but they couldn’t do anything about it. She considered the words in his message again: I’ve got a killer surprise for you. What could it be?
There was a sudden shift out of the corner of her eye, and Aerin stiffened, instantly on alert. The figure in black was now staring at a phone screen, its tiny LED light illuminated against his mask. Aerin’s fingers clamped around her phone—maybe she should snap a photo of him. At the very least, she should text Seneca. But before she could do either, the figure turned sharply and headed toward a small break in the bushes. He moved quickly and with purpose, his head ducked, his shoulders hunched. In mere seconds, the darkness had swallowed him up.
