Emma stared at him, trying to conjure up an image of him at her kiosk. It seemed impossible that she wouldn’t have noticed him—for months now she’d been staring at him every day, preoccupied by how cute he was, obsessed with the curve of his lips, the curls in his hair. But then, all that time, she hadn’t seen him for what he really was—a murderer.

“As soon as I realized how crazy Becky was, I knew she wasn’t going to be the romantic present I’d hoped her to be.” He chuckled, then glanced at her and sobered. “But you? You were perfect. I couldn’t wait to tell Sutton all about you. You were the proof of how much I loved her—more than Thayer or Garrett or anyone else. None of them could give her a sister.” He sighed. “She would’ve been so excited to know I could lead her to you, if she’d just listened to me. But things didn’t go right, and I had to use you a different way.”

Emma swallowed. “What about those e-mails on Travis’s phone?”

He gave a crooked grin, unable to hide his satisfaction. “Fake. I had that file doctored up for weeks and was just waiting for a chance to use it. I did send him the link, but I didn’t have to promise him anything. Guys like that are so predictable. I knew he’d show it to you.”

She nodded. A heavy feeling of resignation settled on her—one by one, all the pieces of the puzzle were coming together with implacable finality. Even as her heart thrashed in her chest like a frightened bird, a sickly, dull weight pressed down on her. Ethan had thought of everything. All along, he’d had the reins. “And you knew about the video because you’d walked in on the prank happening. You knew it had to be on Laurel’s computer, and you hacked it. Just like you hacked Charlotte’s alarm codes to break in and give me back the locket.” She licked her dry lips. Her hand felt like wood in his, but she squeezed it softly, her eyes still on the knife shining in the moon. “That’s pretty brilliant, Ethan.”

She knew right away she’d said the right thing. He blinked in surprise, a flush of pleasure tinting his cheeks, and she remembered what the psychiatrist had written, about how Ethan couldn’t keep from bragging about his crimes. “And what about Nisha?”