wounded. I keep asking him to meditate with me. It helped a lot, after my parents got divorced. But he won’t even try.”
Emma nodded carefully. “So you think he’s angry because of . . . because of what happened with Louisa?”
Celeste gave her an odd look. “Yeah. Of course.”
“Oh, well, I never heard the whole story. I knew he was upset about it, obviously, but I don’t really know what he was upset about,” Emma fished.
The color drained from Celeste’s face. She glanced back over her shoulder as if checking for eavesdroppers. “I shouldn’t have said anything, then. It’s not my business to spread around.”
Emma mentally swore. Gossip always flowed freely at Hollier, and the one time she needed it, it dried up entirely.
“I’m not trying to pry,” she backpedaled. “I just think you should be careful. I mean . . . Garrett’s pretty volatile, Celeste.”
Celeste narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Sutton Mercer wasn’t exactly known for her concern for others.
“Well, um, take care,” Emma said, recognizing her cue to leave. She tucked Sutton’s purse under her arm and walked away.
“Hey, Sutton?”
Emma paused and turned around. Celeste stood in the middle of the hall, hugging her shoulders.
“I heard about your sister,” she said. “I’m sorry.” Then she turned and disappeared, leaving Emma with more questions than answers.
But something Celeste said had awoken a strange, tingling memory at the back of my mind. It stayed maddeningly out of reach, just beyond my memory, but I could feel it there. Something had happened to Garrett
’s little sister—something very, very bad.
Maybe bad enough to turn her brother into a killer.
15
BEHIND ENEMY LINES
Garrett’s house was a small hacienda on a quiet street near the country club, surrounded by slate tile, low stone benches, and succulents in earthen pots. Enormous golden fish drifted lazily in a koi pond
beneath a small cluster of paloverde trees. A dark blue Subaru Outback was parked in the drive, but Garrett’s silver Audi was nowhere to be seen. Emma sat in Sutton’s car across the street for nearly ten
minutes, taking deep, steadying breaths and watching the house. Finally, she braced herself and got out of the car.
School had just let out. Garrett would be in the Hollier weight room with the rest of the soccer team for the next two hours—the season was over, but they worked out together year-round. Thoughts of Garrett
had haunted Emma all day. His face red and angry as he screamed at Celeste; the smirk on his lips as he’d held up the sign that read BITCH; the small, shiny key with her sister’s initials scratched on the
tag. She’d wandered through all of Sutton’s classes in a fog, waking up only during fourth-period German to stare intently at the back of Garrett’s head as if she could read his thoughts if she just tried
hard enough. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. She was going to hunt for answers—even if it meant putting her own life at risk.
She was going to try to get into Garrett’s bedroom.
No one knew she was here. She hadn’t told Ethan she was coming. He would have figured out a way to stop her. But she couldn’t find the proof she needed if she never tried.
Garrett’s street had felt strangely vacant as Sutton’s GPS led her to his house. No traffic rushed by, and no one in the neighborhood seemed to be outside doing yard work or enjoying the golden November
sun. The only thing she could hear was the soft, constant chatter of birds overhead. A few blocks away, someone at the country club yelled, “Fore!” It was punctuated by the soft pock of a ball being smacked
in the distance.
As she set foot in the Austins’ yard, a bizarre, high-pitched cry tore through the air. Emma jumped, panic surging in the pit of her stomach. Another cry broke out, and then another, again and again, echoing
off the flagstones. It sounded like a girl’s voice, wailing in pain.
Each keening cry seemed to cut through Emma’s chest. She spun in circles, looking for the source of the sound. For a split second she was sure that Garrett had another victim here, somewhere on his property.
But then two enormous peacocks came hustling out from the backyard, their tails dragging behind them. One of them tossed its head back, its throat shuddering as it gave the cry she’d mistaken for human. Emma
shrieked as they beelined for her. She jumped up onto a stone bench next to the pond just as the birds swooped toward her. They flanked her, angling their heads to glare at her with their beady eyes.
The front door opened, and a thickset woman with sandy blonde hair stuck her head out, calling, “Rocko! Salvador!” Then she saw Emma cowering on the bench. Her eyes widened, and she bustled through the