Ever since Maggie had found him on the floor when he’d passed out (drunk or food poisoned, she still couldn’t decide), he’d been different. Make no mistake, Danny’s case was still the giant hippo in the room—or was it elephant, she could never remember, whatever—but her father seemed more available, more present. Maggie wondered if her mother would be so carefree about the trip if she knew why they were going. Um, she certainly wouldn’t be smiling and ordering another wine right now. Watching her mother drain the plastic cup, laugh at something her father said, Maggie didn’t care why they were going.

Maybe she’d hold off telling Mom about what had happened with Eric. Why ruin the trip, right? Maggie could handle it. Just don’t think about it. But it wasn’t so easy. She felt a prickling down her spine remembering how he’d pinned her arms against the wall. She still had fingerprint bruises on her wrists. She was being melodramatic. It wasn’t like he’d raped her. But she’d felt so powerless, so scared, so ashamed. But if she told Mom, then Mom would tell Dad and then he’d … Well, the trip would be wrecked. Maggie also didn’t think her father could take another instance where he hadn’t been there to protect one of his kids.

The plane hit a patch of turbulence and Maggie clutched the armrest. Tommy gazed up at her, smiling, the headphones giant on his head. When was the last time she’d felt that safe and secure, that invincible? Had she ever? She thought so. Before a young girl was found murdered at Stone Creek. The boogeyman could still be out there, her dad reminded her and anyone who’d listen. Maggie had been on the hunt for him ever since.

Sure, she’d had doubts over the years. She didn’t really know Danny. She’d been only ten when he went away. He’d been larger than life. The boy who playfully called her dork, mussed her hair whenever he walked by, gave her piggyback rides. She remembered him playing tea party with her and her dolls. Remembered going to the football games, feeling special that she was Danny Pine’s sister. She didn’t remember Danny being home much. Back then their parents didn’t believe in monsters, and let the kids come and go. Maggie knew Danny was no saint. He drank too much, wasn’t particularly kind to the unpopular kids, and wasn’t a great boyfriend, at least from what Maggie had learned working his case over the years. But he also wasn’t a murderer. She believed that. Needed to believe that.