“She wanted things,” I tell him. “That’s all it takes. She wanted things too much.” I tilt my head toward the woods, toward the whispering darkness. “That’s how they get in.”

Anders stares at me, unblinking. “What did she want?”

We can’t keep wasting time. And I need him to believe me. I want him to believe me.

I want it too much.

“It was her stepfather.” I let it fly out. “He’d molested her for years. When Corrine told her mother, she wouldn’t believe it.” Anders’s face shifts. I see sympathy. Anger. “Corrine wanted him gone,” I continue. “She would have done anything. And they knew it.”

“What happened?”

“Car accident. Slippery road. He was dead before help arrived.” Anders almost smiles. I understand. I might smile, too, but I know what came next. “Of course, then they came back for their payment.” This part still hurts. It hurts like a broken branch between my ribs, like something jagged, healed over, buried inside. “At the end, I wasn’t there. We’d had to move. Things went wrong. Just like this.” I gesture down the steps, to the empty root cellar. “I couldn’t save her. But they didn’t get her, either.” I add. “When they came for her . . . she took another way out.”

Anders is silent for a second. Then he asks, in a thick voice, “Why Frankie?” He glances down, into the cellar where Frankie has been trapped for days. He’s sick and horrified by it; the darkness and smallness and the smell. “Is she one of them?” he asks. “Or were they using something she wanted against her?”

“Neither. Anders.” I lean closer, making sure that he can see my face as well as I can see his. “They are taking everything you love. They will destroy everything you love. Do you understand?” He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t look away. “I was keeping her safe.”

“You were?” He wants to believe me. I can hear it seep into his voice now, a rivulet of water cracking through ice.

“This was the one place where they couldn’t touch her. And now she’s out there.”

His breath catches.

“How did you know she was here?” I ask him. “Who told you? Who is she with?” Anders keeps mute. Shadows flicker on his cheeks as his teeth clench. “I know it isn’t Sasha and Carson. They’re still inside the house. Is it Will and Gwynn?” Anders looks away. “Who is it, Anders?” I push on. “You need to tell me. Whoever took her—they’re in serious danger.”

I bend closer. The smell of the cellar is strong, but I can still catch the distracting scent of him, carried on the warmth rising from his skin.

No. I snap my mind away. This is not for you. This will never, never be for you.

“Anders,” I say. “Please. I know you don’t trust me. But please. Please believe this.”

His eyes move over my face, like he’s reading something written there in small print.