“Are you sure you want to do this?” Spencer asked quietly. A reflection in the window caught her eye, and she cringed. But when she turned to stare at the house opposite them, a similarly modest brick ranch, no one was there.
“What other option do I have?” Emily twisted the pink rubber Jefferson Hospital bracelet around her wrist. The staff didn’t even know she was gone—the doctors had wanted her to stay an extra day so they could monitor the incision from her C-section. But if she’d stayed in the hospital a minute longer, her plan wouldn’t work. She couldn’t possibly give the baby to Gayle, the wealthy woman who’d paid a huge sum of money for her, so she’d told Gayle she’d pushed back the date for her scheduled C-section to two days later. Then she’d solicited her friends’ help to sneak out of the hospital shortly after the baby was born. Everyone had played a part in the escape. Hanna returned Gayle’s money. Spencer distracted the nurses while Emily hobbled toward the exit. Aria provided her Subaru and even found an infant car seat at a garage sale. And they’d succeeded: They’d escaped without Gayle finding out and taking away the baby.
Suddenly, as if on cue, Emily’s phone bleated, breaking the tense silence inside the car. She pulled it out of the plastic shopping bag the hospital had stashed her clothes in and looked at the screen. Gayle.
Emily winced and hit IGNORE. The phone quieted for a moment, then bleated once more. Gayle again.
Hanna eyed the phone warily. “Should you answer that?”
“And say what?” Emily hit IGNORE one more time. “‘Sorry, Gayle, I don’t want to give you my baby because I think you’re psycho’?”
“But isn’t this illegal?” Hanna looked up and down the street. There wasn’t a car in sight, but she still felt on edge. “What if she turns you in?”
“For what?” Emily asked. “What Gayle did was illegal, too. She can’t say anything without incriminating herself.”
Hanna bit a thumbnail. “But if the cops do find out about this, what happens if they investigate other things? Like . . . Jamaica?”
A palpable tension rippled through the car. Although it was always on their minds, the girls had promised each other never to talk about Jamaica again. It was supposed to have been a getaway to forget about Real Ali, the diabolical girl who’d killed her twin sister, Courtney, the Ali they all knew and loved. Last year, Real Ali had returned to Rosewood and tried to pass herself off as the girls’ old friend, but it was later revealed that she was the new A, the girls’ text-messaging tormenter. She’d killed Ian Thomas, Rosewood Day heartthrob and suspect in the first murder, and Jenna Cavanaugh, who the girls and Their Ali had blinded in sixth grade. Real Ali’s master plan was to murder the four girls. She’d brought them to her family’s house in the Poconos, locked them in a bedroom, and lit a match. But things hadn’t turned out as she’d hoped. The girls escaped, leaving Real Ali trapped in the house when it exploded. Even though her remains had never been found, everyone was positive she was dead.
But was she?
The trip to Jamaica had been a chance for the girls to move on with their lives and deepen their friendships. Once they got there, though, they met a girl named Tabitha who reminded them of Real Ali. She knew things only Ali would know. Her mannerisms were chillingly like Ali’s. Slowly, they became convinced that she was Real Ali. Maybe she’d survived the fire. Maybe she’d come to Jamaica to finish off the girls as planned.
There was only one thing to do: stop her before she got revenge. Just as Real Ali was about to push Hanna off the rooftop deck, Aria had intervened, and Ali fell instead. Her broken body had vanished before the girls got down to the beach to see what they’d done, probably swept away by the tide. The girls vacillated between relief that Ali was gone for good . . . and horror that they’d killed someone.
“No one will ever know about Jamaica,” Spencer growled now. “Ali’s body is gone.”
Emily’s phone bleated again. Gayle. A beep followed. Six new voicemail messages, the screen announced.
“Maybe you should listen to those,” Hanna whispered.
Emily shook her head, her hands trembling.
“Put the call on speaker,” Aria suggested. “We’ll listen with you.”
Drawing her bottom lip into her mouth, Emily did as she was told and played the first message. “Heather, it’s Gayle.” A harsh voice blared through the car. “You haven’t returned my calls in days, and I’m worried. You didn’t have the baby a few days early, did you? Were there some complications? I’m calling Jefferson to make sure.”
“Who’s Heather?” Spencer whispered nervously.