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Chapters (56)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for the novels of Mia Sheridan
  3. About the Author
  4. NOTE TO READERS
  5. Dedication
  6. prologue
  7. chapter one
  8. chapter two
  9. chapter three
  10. chapter four
  11. chapter five
  12. chapter six
  13. chapter seven
  14. chapter eight
  15. chapter nine
  16. chapter ten
  17. chapter eleven
  18. chapter twelve
  19. chapter thirteen
  20. chapter fourteen
  21. chapter fifteen
  22. chapter sixteen
  23. chapter seventeen
  24. chapter eighteen
  25. chapter nineteen
  26. chapter twenty
  27. chapter twenty-one
  28. chapter twenty-two
  29. chapter twenty-three
  30. chapter twenty-four
  31. chapter twenty-five
  32. chapter twenty-six
  33. chapter twenty-seven
  34. chapter twenty-eight
  35. chapter twenty-nine
  36. chapter thirty
  37. chapter thirty-one
  38. chapter thirty-two
  39. chapter thirty-three
  40. chapter thirty-four
  41. chapter thirty-five
  42. chapter thirty-six
  43. chapter thirty-seven
  44. chapter thirty-eight
  45. chapter thirty-nine
  46. chapter forty
  47. chapter forty-one
  48. chapter forty-two
  49. chapter forty-three
  50. chapter forty-four
  51. chapter forty-five
  52. chapter forty-six
  53. chapter forty-seven
  54. chapter forty-eight
  55. epilogue
  56. acknowledgments

Emily yelped, and we both moved quickly to the edge, going down on our knees and peering over to where the weight had landed, smack-dab in the middle of the Thunderbird’s windshield, shattering it and landing in a pile of shards on what had been the unblemished white interior.

Her father’s pride and joy. The one he’d spent three years restoring to pristine condition.

Emily’s sudden wail pierced the silence and she crawled to the ladder, turning around and descending in a blur of blue sundress and bouncing blond ponytail. I followed, my body still rigid with disbelief, and a fair amount of horror.

Emily’s dad was going to go ballistic on her.

Good.

Emily was standing next to the car, leaned toward the shattered windshield, as though, up close, it might not have been as bad as it looked from high above. She wailed again, tears pouring down her cheeks as she hiccupped and blubbered. “He’s going to murder me,” she cried. “Then he’s going to murder me again!”

I felt a small trickle of satisfaction but resisted the smile I felt tugging at one corner of my lips.

“At least it’s just the windshield,” I said. I didn’t know much about cars, but I figured that could be replaced more easily than if the weight had fallen on the hood and dented the paint and the metal. “He might only half murder you.”

Emily threw her head back and wailed again. “I’m supposed to go to a music camp this weekend. I’m already on thin ice because of my grades. He’ll never let me go now. He might as well just murder me!” She let out another high-pitched sob.

God, she was dramatic. My mom called Emily a “little showboat,” even if she smiled when she said it, affection in her voice. I gave her a glassy stare. “You really are a baby, you know that? You’re going to have to tell him what you did and accept the consequences.”

She deserved this. She really did. This was called just deserts.

Emily hung her head and sobbed for a minute, her shoulders shaking. But then with a shuddery breath, she nodded and looked up at me with her big blue eyes, now red-rimmed and glittering with tears. “I’m sorry, Tuck. I was mean. You’re not boring. At least not all the time.” Then she turned and headed slowly to the door, shuffling as she walked like she was heading for the gallows.

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chapter two

Tuck