by Pintip Dunn
As he talks, the kernel of dread in my stomach unfurls. No. It has to be a coincidence. A sick twist of life. I won’t believe it. I won’t.
Wordlessly, I hand Sam the yearbook and tap my finger on the bumper. I have to swallow twice before I can speak. “What kind of car is this?”
“An old Firebird. The same kind Liam drives.”
A blast of ice hits right at my core. “Did you say ‘Firebird’? As in, another name for Phoenix?”
We stare at each other, and I watch the realization move across his face.
“Holy crap. It’s the same car.” Sam brings the flashlight closer to the page, as if the light will reveal more answers. “I don’t get it. Liam’s only a couple years older than us. What’s he doing driving a car from this picture?”
My eyes dart around the faces in the photo, snagging on the blond guy next to my mom. The one with a strong cleft chin and dimples. The one with a chain around his neck. The one who looks just like Liam.
I can’t breathe. It’s like a vise has been placed around my lungs, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing until there’s no air left. Sweat drenches my forehead, my neck, my lips, and the carpet sways beneath my knees. I can’t deny the truth anymore, but I don’t understand. Liam was my friend. He listened to me. He held me in his arms and comforted me.
I try to organize my thoughts, but they fly away, chasing each other like wind inside a tornado.
“Look.” Sam points out the name in the caption. Sure enough. William Kessler. I’d thought the blond guy with his arm slung around my mom’s shoulder was a student, but it says right there, in black and white, that Mr. Kessler was the photography teacher.
“It’s his dad. His dad is ‘W.’ ” I can’t believe I’m saying these words, but as I talk, the puzzle pieces begin falling into place. “His dad must’ve been the guy who preyed on my mom, but he passed away a couple years ago. Liam inherited his car and the cabin by the lake, which was their summer home. He told me . . . Oh god. He told me he was going to do everything in his power to pick up his dad’s torch.”
Sam’s hand closes in a fist above the photo. “Including prey on young girls he meets through the hotline. The more vulnerable the better.”
“Did Briony call the hotline?”
“Yes, right when we moved to town.” He takes a shuddering breath. “At the end of the last school year, my dad hit my sister for the first time. She wasn’t too hurt—nothing like the bruises he would leave on my mom—but it was enough to prompt my mom to do what she couldn’t do for herself. She left him, and we came to Lakewood. Both my mom and I thought Briony would benefit from talking to someone, and she didn’t want a therapist, so the hotline was it. Talking to the counselors seemed to help her a lot. That’s one of the reasons I leaped at the chance to write a story about the hotline. Because it helps people.”
My heart aches. Once again, I misjudged. Once again, I made assumptions based on someone’s appearances. I’d thought Briony had so many friends she had no need for a crisis hotline. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Liam must’ve been following his father’s MO,” I say slowly. “Down to the very lines the original Phoenix used to woo his girls. That was our mistake. We were looking for someone twenty-five years older. We completely discounted Liam, even though everything leads back to him.”
Sam doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. His thoughts are identical to mine.
Liam. It’s been Liam all along.
Liam, whose name is short for William. Liam, whose pendant displayed a picture of a bird. And not just any bird, I realize now, but a phoenix. Liam, who saw me discover my mother’s wallpapered box. Liam, who knew exactly when I would be at the hotline. Liam, to whom I confessed that I was retreating back into my shell. Liam, who wasn’t old enough for Briony to consider “old.”
Liam, Liam, Liam. Always there, but so good at turning on the charm, I never suspected him. Not once.
“Now what?” Sam asks. “How do we find them?”
“Don’t worry,” I say as the chatter of geese fills my ears. “I know exactly where they are.”
Chapter 46
“I’ve never seen you wear anything like that,” Sam says, his eyes drifting to my cleavage. But not because he enjoys the sight. The opposite, in fact, if his frown’s any indication.
“I blend with the bushes.” I tug at my shirt. “Isn’t that what you said we should do, when we were breaking into the shed? Blend?”
His eyes haven’t left my neckline. “This wasn’t what I had in mind.”
He has a point. Instead of robber-black, I’m wearing a snug forest-green top that dips into a low V, a birthday gift from Alisara last year. What I said was true—it’s the same color as the greenery—but I’m not wearing it for camouflage. Rather, I want to be prepared.
We peek through the foliage at one of the cabins along the lake. The sun’s fiery orb skims the edge of the water, and the geese honk as if they’re stuck in a traffic jam. It was the crazy birds that clued me in. From our first conversation, Liam has complained about the birds waking him up every morning. And while the geese utilize the entire lake as their playground, they converge on the south side where their shelter is.
Once we narrowed our search, it was a simple matter of driving along the south side of the lake looking for the Firebird. We found the car in the third driveway we searched, a few cabins from Bobby Parker’s house and across the lake from the hotline.
“I don’t like this,” he says. “You dangling yourself as bait.”
“I’m not crazy about it, either. But do you have a better idea?”
“We could call the police.”
“And say what? That your sister’s dating a twenty-year-old guy? If they haven’t had sex, then there’s no crime.” I take a deep breath, remembering the scathing looks the detectives gave my dad when he came to them with one of his theories. The way they didn’t even bother to hide their snickers. But I’ll endure all that, and more, if it means Liam won’t be able to hurt anyone, ever again. “By the time we explain the whole story, it will be too late. We’ll call them as soon we get Briony out of there. I promise.”
He nods, adjusting his glasses. “Do you think he’ll fall for your plan? My sister’s a sure thing. Why would he let her leave?”
“He needs to expand his pornography ring. And I’m positive he was grooming me to be his next victim.” I blush, thinking of the way Liam flattered me with his attention. The way he made me feel special, like I was the only girl in the world. If I hadn’t had Sam, how close would I have come to getting sucked under his spell? “If I give him an opening, I don’t think he’ll turn it down.”
Sam squints at the cabin. Not a flutter of the curtain, not a stray cat meowing on the deck. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”
I settle on the ground, put the phone on speaker, and dial Liam’s personal cell number.
He answers on the fourth ring. “Hello.”
In the background, we hear a faint but familiar shrill of laughter.
Sam almost falls over. “That’s her,” he mouths.
“Liam, this is CeCe,” I say, trying—and failing—to sound coy. How on earth does Raleigh pack so much coquettishness into her words? “I was hoping we could talk.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
Not what I’m looking for.
“Could we talk in person? I’d like to see you.”
He pauses. “This isn’t a good time, CeCe. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Oh.” I don’t have to fake the disappointment in my voice. “I’d really like to see you tonight. You said, anytime I wanted to talk, just say the word. I wasn’t up to company a few days ago. But now that I’ve had the chance to mull things over, I think I’m ready.”
I glance up, and Sam’s right there, knees touching mine, face inches away. I look right into his eyes as I continue, “Sometimes, I think you’re the only person in this world who understands me.”
The seconds pass. Liam cl
ears his throat, and static snakes onto the line, as if he’s moving the phone into another room. Did I lay it on too thick?
“Okay,” Liam says finally. “Come by my cabin in half an hour.”
I grin at Sam, and he lifts his hand for a high-five. Instead, I lace my fingers with his. Because it makes less noise and because I want to.
Liam gives me the address—the address of the very property on which we’re sitting—and I hang up.
“And now,” Sam says, squeezing my hand. “We wait. The second she comes out, we’ll grab her.”
We crouch behind the bushes, watching the front door for Briony to emerge. We wait and we watch. We watch and we wait. And then we wait and watch some more.
But there’s no sign of Briony.
I glance at my watch. “Almost thirty minutes have passed.”
“What’s he thinking?” Sam shoves his hands through his hair. “That Bri will stay in the other room while he hooks up with you? Or does he have her tied up? Or—oh god—what if that wasn’t her we heard, after all? What if he’s already hurt her or drugged her or—”
“Sam!” I grab his arms. “We don’t know. We’re not going to know anything until I go inside.”
He lowers his forehead until it’s touching mine. The frame of his glasses jabs into my skin, but I don’t back away. Not a single inch. “You knew you were going in,” he says dully. “That’s what the shirt is all about.”
“I hoped I wouldn’t have to.”
He pulls back, and the glasses are crooked on his face. I reach out to straighten them, my heart full of resolve and anticipation and fear—and something else, too. Something only Sam evokes in me. If it’s not love, then it’s pretty damn close.
“Be careful, CeCe,” he says.
“I’ll try.”
Chapter 47
Liam answers the door seconds after I knock, dressed in jeans and a hoodie zipped halfway up his bare chest. He smiles when he sees me, a smile that reaches his eyes and broadcasts his sincerity.
Not once does he look at my cleavage.
Man, he’s good. If the evidence hadn’t been staring at me from the yearbook, if Lila hadn’t confessed that she met Phoenix at the hotline, I never would’ve suspected him in a million years.
“You’re here,” he says, giving me a hug.
For a second, I go statue-still. I’ve hugged him before. Hell, that day the lights flickered at the hotline, I spent a good five minutes in his arms. But that was before I knew he was a sexual predator. Before I knew he very likely killed my mom.
You’re supposed to have a massive crush on him, remember? Act like it.
I wind my arms around him automatically. I feel like I’m hugging a snake. Those limbs slithering across my back. The cool, minty breath against my cheek. Even his chest, where it brushes against my skin, feels too smooth. Too silky.
A column of flame burns up my chest. Instant heartburn. Oh god. I hope I don’t throw up over us both.
He moves back and grins. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Me, too.” I let the nerves leak into my voice. That’s appropriate, right? If I were visiting my crush at his cabin for the first time, I’d definitely be nervous.
He tucks me into his side like a doll, and we walk past the kitchen and into the living room. So far, the layout looks like the hotline’s. If the pattern holds, the bathroom will be down the hall, the basement office a few steps below that. The most private area of the house. The perfect place to stash a girl to keep her out of sight.
“You wanted to talk?” He gestures toward a dark leather couch and pours me a glass of water from a pitcher sitting on the end table. It even holds thin slices of lemon.
“That was an excuse. I wanted to see you.” I look at him through my eyelashes—a move I’ve seen Raleigh perform dozens of times. I must do a decent job because he smiles and sits next to me.
“I must say, I’m surprised. That night at the auction, I got the impression you were interested in someone else.”
I lick my lips. “I’ve always liked you. But you were older and so good-looking. I thought you would never be interested in me.”
He narrows his eyes. “And yet, you turned down my dinner invitation. You chose Tommy Farrow’s company over mine.”
My pulse hammers in my throat. Oh god. He doesn’t believe me. What can I say?
And then it comes to me: the truth. As Gram taught me, the most believable lies are based on an element of truth.
“You’re the one I want,” I say. “My date with Tommy wasn’t romantic. I bid on him so that I could talk to him about my mom.”
His hands clench. “Ah. Did you, uh, get the information you were looking for?”
I make myself look straight in his reptilian eyes. How could I ever have thought he was handsome? The eyes give it away. Small and cruel, a blue so cold it could freeze water. “He gave me a tip, but it didn’t pan out. Like I told you on the phone, I made a mistake and almost accused the wrong person.” I stare at my fingers. “I was silly. Playing detective, when I don’t know the first thing about tracking down a criminal. I guess you could say I learned my lesson. From now on, I’m leaving the investigating to the professionals.”
The words come easily. As they should. This was exactly how I felt before I saw Briony’s chopped-off hair. But does Liam buy it?
I count four breaths, in and out, and then he squeezes my shoulder. “Why don’t I give you a tour? We can start upstairs. With the bedrooms.”
Gotcha.
“I’d love a tour,” I say. “But first, could I freshen up in the bathroom?”
“No problem.” His fingers slide under my short cap sleeves, both a caress and a promise. “It’s right down the hall.”
Giving him my best seductive smile, I sashay away. Once I’m halfway down the hall, I glance over my shoulder. He’s nowhere in sight. Good.
My heart scampers, my mouth dries. This is it. My chance to find Briony and get us the hell out of here.
I blow past the bathroom and trip down the stairs, making sure my footsteps are muffled by the carpet. Opening the door, I walk into a photo studio. I scan the room. An expensive-looking camera on a tripod, professional spotlights, a big white backdrop. A four-poster bed with fluffy pillows. Slinky red boa. A bucket of ice.
And standing in the middle of the set is Briony.
“CeCe!” Her eyes take up half her face. “What are you doing here?”
Her feet are bare, and her body is wrapped in a black silk kimono. She’s wearing a wig of sunset red hair, shot through with flames. I’ve only known one person who has hair that color.
One person from whom the wig could’ve been made.
The room pitches, and I wrap my hand around the bedpost to stay upright.
But there’s no time to faint. I grit my teeth, fighting the dizziness. “We’ve got to get out of here. Is there a back door? A window we can climb through?”
Her eyebrows crease. “What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere. How’d you find out about Liam, anyway?”
“Briony, listen to me. Your boyfriend is a sexual predator.” Convince her. Quickly. “He runs an underage pornography business, and he lures girls into falling in love with him so he can take their pictures.”
She glances at the photo set, with its bed and props. “He said they would be for his personal enjoyment. He said I was so sexy he couldn’t get enough of me, and this way, he’d be able to enjoy me all the time.”
“You haven’t taken any photos, have you, Bri? Oh please. Tell me I got here in time.”
Her hands go to her waist, tightening the belt of her kimono. “We were just about to get started when he got called away on business.”
“I was his business. I called and asked to come over, and he leaped at the opportunity to convert me into one of his victims.” I take a deep breath. “While you were down here waiting, he was upstairs, flirting with me.”
“I don’t believe you.” She shakes her head, an
d the red strands swing in the air. So bouncy. So lifelike. “He loves me.”
We don’t have time for this. Liam will be here any second. He’s probably looking for me now.
I grip her shoulders. “The wig you’re wearing. It’s made from my mother’s hair. She was investigating his pornography ring, and when she got too close, he killed her. Only he chopped off her hair first, just like he chopped off yours. You’re wearing a dead woman’s hair, Bri. That’s the kind of monster he is. Now do you believe me?”
She pales, and my hands slide to her forearms. I’ve got her now. “Come on. We’ve got to go.”
But it’s too late.
The door creaks open, and Liam stalks into the room, his white teeth glinting in the overly bright spotlights.
Chapter 48
“Hello, ladies,” Liam drawls. “I see you’ve found each other.”
His hands are empty. That means no weapon. Not yet. There’s two of us. One of him. We can take him. We can get out of here.
But only if my second is willing to fight.
Briony shakes my hand off and walks to her boyfriend.
“It’s not true, is it?” she says. “CeCe’s been telling me all these crazy things. You’re not really a child pornographer, are you? You didn’t kill her mom?” She pulls the wig from her head and lets it drop to the floor, shuddering. “This isn’t the hair of a dead woman?”
His eyes widen, his mouth drops—the very picture of an innocent man accused. He’s not just a good actor; he’s a goddamn psychopath.
“Of course it’s not true.” He strokes her blunt, jagged locks, as though he’s a parent soothing a toddler. “CeCe’s unstable. You must’ve seen it.”
“Liar!” I burst out.
He talks right over me. “That’s why Mr. Willoughby recommended she volunteer at the hotline. He thought we could help her. Instead, she fell in love with me. Which, incidentally, is why things didn’t work out between her and your brother. She’d say anything to get rid of you. Anything to have me.” He caresses her lips, her chin. “But she won’t come between us, will she, my love? Because you’re the only one for me. Now and forever.”