The most recent texts included an exchange between Travis and a girl named “Sapphire” that started with the line HEY GIRL WHUT U WEARIN? Ethan made a disgusted face. “You lived with this guy?”

“Child Protective Services didn’t exactly give me a lot of choice,” Emma said, leaning over. “What’s in his e-mail from back in August?”

He hesitated. “We’re not accidentally going to find naked pictures of him on here, are we?”

She grimaced. “I never said this would be easy.”

Emma watched as Ethan scrolled down to the e-mails from August. All of Travis’s friends had e-mail addresses like markdogg69 or bluntmeister. She rolled her eyes. Then she saw it. On August twenty-ninth, someone named hollier_hell had sent a message with the subject line Check this out.

She lifted a trembling finger to point to it. Ethan’s eyes widened. “‘Hollier_hell’?”

She tucked her hair behind her ears, catching a lock in her hands and twirling it around her finger. “Open it.”

Ethan double-clicked on the message.

Hey man, thought you might like this video of your sweet little foster sister. Do me a favor and show her, too.

Below that was a link. Emma was willing to bet it would be dead now, but she was certain that back in August, it had led straight to the Sutton in AZ video that started it all.

“This is two days before the murder,” she said, a clammy feeling descending over her body. That meant that Sutton’s murder had been premeditated—not a crime of passion or an accident. And it meant that Garrett had been watching Emma, too; had known where she lived and with whom. It meant she’d been a part of his plan all along.

Travis had replied: That is some freaky shit, bro. Thanks for the link. But what’s in it for me if I show her?

Hollier_hell answered: $5K sound good to you? But don’t tell anyone about this. Delete these messages. If Emma leaves town you’ve done your job. Then meet me at 5784 W. Speedway in Tucson on September 15. I’ll be there with the money.

The last e-mail in the thread was from Travis: I’m game. Sept. 15. Be there.

Emma clenched her fists, her fingernails digging into her flesh. Travis had sold her to her sister’s murderer for $5,000. “Ethan. Do you know that address?”

“I’m on it.” A map flew open on the browser when he searched for the address. It was on the outskirts of Tucson, on the west side of town. When Ethan selected the pin on the map, the name of the business sprang up.

“Holy shit,” Ethan muttered.

The address the murderer had given Travis was for Rosa Linda Storage.