“That’s right. If my parents snatched me, then no one was looking for me. No one cared that I was missing.”
Before she knew it, Riley had slipped out of her seat and into JD’s. His arm was around her and she was leaning into him, somehow comforted by the constant tick of his heart, the systematic rise and fall of his breath. She didn’t consider what Shelby would say, what her parents would say—what every other person on the bus would say if they saw her curled into him, JD, the bad kid. It felt good to melt into his arms—into the arms of someone she could count on. She started. Did I just say that I could count on JD? She shook herself—or tried to. She was trembling, but she refused to cry.
He looked down at her, his eyes glittering in what remained of the light. “Maybe no one kidnapped you. Maybe there’s another explanation.”
“I don’t want to think of my parents that way, but what other explanation is there? I have no baby pictures, no family, they keep me under lock and key. I’m willing to believe I was adopted—”
JD’s eyebrows went up, slightly amused.
“—but there isn’t even the slightest clue that I was adopted.”
“Ry,” JD whispered, “you don’t have to figure everything out right now, OK? Give yourself another couple of hours to be Riley Spencer.”
“Why should I do that?”
JD wouldn’t look at her. “Because I was just beginning to really like her.”
The bus lurched to a stop and the running lights went on. Everyone started to scramble, Riley included.
“Hey,” Shelby said, her eyes clouded with sleep. “Did you sit somewhere else?”
Riley felt her cheeks flush red. She glanced over her shoulder at JD who was gathering up his backpack. “No,” she said quickly. “I was here the whole time. You’re just a heavy sleeper.” She smiled thinly, the whole time her heart beating a steady rhythm: liar. Liar. Liar.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Cassia Lohmen went into labor tonight.”
“Your neighbor?”
“Yeah. She asked me if I could come over and watch the girls overnight, so I won’t be riding home with you. Her sister is going to come get me and drop me off on her way to the hospital. Do you think you could catch a ride home?”
Riley frowned. “Oh, yeah. OK.” She thought of the long stretch of highway ahead of her—there was nothing for twenty miles between the high school and Riley’s new housing development. It was desolate and blank. “I can just call my parents.”
They shuffled off the bus.
“OK, I’m off to Cassia’s.” Shelby blew an air kiss. “And I still hate you for not telling me everything on the bus.” She pulled Riley close, her fingers wrapping around Riley’s upper arm. “You’re calling me first thing in the morning, right?”
Riley nodded, little pricks of heat going up her spine. She couldn’t tell Shelby about JD—she kind of didn’t want to. But she whispered, “Sure,” anyway.
Shelby ran off and Riley fumbled in her purse, looking for her cell phone. She yanked out her makeup bag, her notebook, and was going for the phone when a folded piece of paper popped out of the depths of the bag and flopped onto the ground. She snatched it up and frowned. Another black-and-white postcard. This one was even more random—a little kid, maybe ten or so—blowing out birthday candles. There were other kids in the picture, most in profile, and a woman leaning toward the birthday boy. Her long hair shadowed most of her face. That was it.
Riley turned the card over, her breath hitching.
I KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
SIX
The words were carefully written in all capitals, same as the other postcard. Her fingers began to tremble.
She wanted to crumple the card. She wanted to tear it up and toss it in the garbage right behind the birth certificate and the first postcard and go back to believing that there was nothing extraordinary about her life. She wished she had never known Jane O’Leary.
Riley didn’t know how long she stood there, staring, examining the note. There were no identifying marks on it, nothing else except the ominous message. She looked up, hoping that someone would take credit, would tell her it was a joke. She waited for Shelby to pop out from somewhere, laughing.
But Riley was alone.
A couple kids had moved to the benches across the lot to wait for their rides. Someone was smoking out against the back forty, the curls of cigarette smoke catching on the overhead lights.
Riley’s heart started to thud.
Numbly, she dug into her purse, this time refusing to look down. Her eyes scanned the parking lot until her fingers closed around her phone.
“Riley!”
Riley whirled, the phone sliding out of her hand and skittering across the concrete. Someone was parked in the darkness.