Nic walked quickly through the parking lot. The air was cold enough to see her breath. And still enough to hear her steps on the pavement. Watkins was long gone. The woman had vanished as well, between a row of cars, maybe to the back of the building.

Inside, Nic stopped, leaned against a wall just beneath one of the mounted cameras. She didn’t want to be seen. Not by anyone.

She pulled out her phone but there was no one to call.

Her father had lied to her about the handwriting analysis.

Roger Booth had lied about Daisy Hollander, about being the boyfriend she’d been running away from when she disappeared.

And Watkins had failed to mention he owned a dark gray truck. Now that she thought about it, so had Officer Reyes. And who else? This was a small town. Watkins must drive that truck when he is off duty. Up and down Hastings Pass. Day after day. Year after year. All of them would have seen it—Booth, Mrs. Urbansky. Reyes. Even Kurt Kent, the bartender.

And what about Kurt? He’d driven her all the way into those woods to meet Daisy’s sister, knowing about Roger Booth the whole time.

There was no one she trusted.

Was that true? Or was she just being paranoid? So what if Watkins drove a gray truck? Edith Moore couldn’t even be sure of the color. It might have been black or brown. And so what if Watkins picked up a prostitute one day, then helped teenagers with scholarships the next? People were complicated. She’d learned that from all those nights spent in bars. She wasn’t a sheltered teenager anymore.

Still, her life these past five years had left her with just one person she could trust—and that person was now missing.

What now? She thought about her car just outside. She could leave—drive straight home. Her father would come and collect her things from the inn. She didn’t have to stay here. There was nothing left to do.

The sea of humanity was all around her, coming from or going to the casino that was just on the other side of the lobby. So many faces—happy, pensive, worried, excited. The energy began to seep inside, feeding the panic that had already taken hold.

Maybe everyone was lying to her for this very reason. Because she couldn’t handle the facts. The truth. Because she hadn’t been able to navigate her life since Annie died.

She drew a breath but couldn’t feel it reach her lungs. It felt shallow. Suffocating.