“Yeah, but you need a phone,” he said. “Now I’m just a call away. If you need me, I’ll come running.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him. The contact sent a warm glow through her body, and she hugged his neck.

“So, I really need to catch up on my calculus,” he said, resting his forehead against hers. “But when I’m done, how about we grab some takeout and have a picnic? I know a great little spot just a few feet from here where the paparazzi will never find us. It’s right behind my house, in fact.”

She smiled. “You mean your yard?”

“You’ve heard of it!” he teased. “Come on. You, me, the mood lighting of the citronella candle. The best tom kha gai in town . . .”

“I’m there,” she said, laughing.

As I watched them, it was almost like my heart came unclenched for a moment. Even with all the madness in her life, my sister had found someone who really cared for her. When I saw the way he looked at her, it made me hope that someday, when this was all over, they would be able to move on.

And I was glad they’d have each other when—if—that time came.

25 - Emma Paxton: Master of Disguise

25

EMMA PAXTON: MASTER OF DISGUISE

“Have a nice afternoon, miss.” A thin, white-bearded man wearing a flannel shirt and an apron handed Emma her bag of groceries and gave her a quizzical look.

Emma tugged self-consciously at her skirt. It was Wednesday, and she was incognito again, in Mrs. Landry’s blonde wig, a denim jumper embroidered with butterflies, and a red turtleneck sweater she’d gotten at Goodwill. Plastic dime-store glasses completed the look—she was a dead ringer for the Sunday school teacher she’d had during her few weeks with the Morgans, a particularly pious foster family back in Nevada. She couldn’t believe it had come to this to just buy milk; but the reporters—or Garrett—could be anywhere.

She exited the store and walked across the parking lot toward Ethan’s car, her shadow flickering across the asphalt at her feet. Next to the home improvement store was a Burger King, a line of cars stretching around the drive-through. Just as she dropped the groceries in the car, someone laid on his horn, impatient to make an order.

What she saw next made her stop in her tracks.

Travis had just stepped out of the Burger King, a thirty-two ounce soft drink in his hand. He paused in the doorway, pulling a pair of cheap aviators down over his eyes, before slouching up the street in the opposite direction.

Emma didn’t waste any time. Slamming the car door shut, she followed him on foot.