Spencer, Hanna, and Emily shot to their feet as soon as Aria returned to the waiting room. Aria avoided their gazes and trudged straight to the drinks station, her shoulders hunched.
“What did Noel say?” Spencer asked breathlessly, following her. “Did he see who hurt him?”
“No,” Aria mumbled, grabbing a cup from the stack.
“Are you sure?” Hanna asked. “How well did he know Ali, anyway? Were they friends—or more?”
Aria busied herself at the coffee machine. Her eyes were red, and she kept making little hiccupping sighs like she’d been crying. Spencer hated pushing her for answers, but they needed to know.
Reluctantly, Aria relayed what Noel had told her, including how he’d visited Ali at The Preserve. When she got to the part about Noel not meeting anyone else there except for Tabitha and Iris, Spencer grumbled. “He didn’t see one single guy? Ali never talked about someone she liked?”
Aria shrugged. “I think Ali wanted Noel to think she liked him.”
Emily groaned. “That makes sense. It was her way of keeping him on her side.”
Aria took a sip of coffee. “Noel said he heard a guy’s voice when he was attacked. But that’s it.”
“I wish we could take down Ali and her helper once and for all.” Spencer plopped into a chair.
“Maybe we could go back to The Preserve,” Hanna suggested. “Ask them if there were any guy patients whose names started with N.”
Emily looked unsure. “It seems so risky.”
Hanna furrowed her brow. “You want to give up?”
“Maybe we should,” Spencer said. Just last week, in an attempt to catch Ali and her helper, they’d gone rogue, putting away their phones, which A had hacked dozens of times, and buying burner cells. Then they’d met in a panic room in Spencer’s stepfather’s model home for Who-Is-A brainstorming meetings. They’d created a list of people who might have been helping Ali. They’d drawn lines through each name as they ruled people out. Finally, only Noel remained . . . and they’d thought they were one step ahead of A, until A’s text yesterday included a picture of the suspect list. Spencer had no idea how Ali found the thing, as she’d had it hidden under her bed. Noel as A? Not it! the note had said.
“What about the cops?” Hanna reshaped her auburn ponytail. “Should I hand over Ali’s note from the burn clinic?”
Spencer thought it over. If they showed the cops the note, Ali and Helper A might come after them. If they didn’t, the cops might accuse them of obstructing justice. “What if you handed it over but told them nothing about A?” she suggested. “It’s signed in Kyla’s name, not Ali’s. The cops don’t have to know she’s one and the same. To be honest, we don’t even know for sure.”
“That could work,” Hanna murmured.
“What do we do about our burner phones?” Aria asked. “A hacked them, too. Do we keep them?”
“We might as well use our old phones,” Emily suggested. “No matter what we do, she finds us. Let’s just not make calls or send texts unless we absolutely have to.”
“If we change our passwords on our e-mail daily, that could be okay to use,” Spencer said. “But we shouldn’t discuss anything about Ali or Helper A over e-mail or text.”
“What if we get another A note?” Hanna whispered. “Can we still talk about it?”
Spencer glanced around the room, almost afraid A was listening. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Maybe we could use a code word if we want to meet and talk about Ali. How about . . .” Her gaze clapped on the handsome, silver-haired figure on the TV screen. “Anderson Cooper.”
“Done,” Aria said.
Hanna leaned in closer. “What do you think A’s next move is going to be?”
Spencer’s stomach flipped over. How many times had they wondered that? “It could be anything. A’s still watching us. We just need to keep our eyes and ears open.”
Everyone nodded, looking even more terrified than before. But there was nothing else to say, so Spencer grabbed her purse, fished out her keys, and started for the elevators, eager to head home and take a long, hot shower.
She passed the cafeteria and staggered out into the bright morning. The street swarmed with people, including a bunch of ragtag protesters holding signs on the corner. ROSEWOOD, some of the signs read. SERIAL KILLER was written on another in big red letters. “Keep our children safe!” the protesters bellowed. One of them wore a Rosewood Day sweatshirt.
Spencer watched them for a while, feeling ambivalent. It was strange to have people care so passionately about something she was so directly and intimately caught up in.
Then she noticed a news van parked across the street, with a female reporter sitting in the passenger seat. Spencer ducked her head and strode quickly to her car, afraid that in seconds, the reporter would recognize her.
“Spencer?”