Behind her, footsteps sounded as Mr. Mercer entered the room. “Detective,” he said, coming forward to shake the man’s hand. “I expected you tomorrow.”

“You folks are on my way home. I thought I’d swing by and see how you’re doing.”

Mr. Mercer gave a wan smile. “A little shell-shocked, mostly. Come on in.”

Quinlan’s mustache twitched almost imperceptibly. “Thanks so much.”

Mr. Mercer led the detective into the kitchen, Emma trailing behind them with her heart pounding in her ears. Mrs. Mercer and Laurel were at the kitchen island laying out plates and napkins for the pizza. They both stopped in their tracks when they saw Quinlan. He gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry to interrupt right at dinnertime. I know it’s been a long day.”

“Not at all,” Mrs. Mercer said. She put down the pile of plates. “Can I get you something to drink, Detective? I can put on a pot of coffee.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Mrs. Mercer.” He glanced around the room, picking up a pineapple-shaped serving dish from the counter and examining it in his hands.

Emma walked over to stand by Laurel, who gave her a wide-eyed, furtive look. Mrs. Mercer gestured for Quinlan to sit in one of the dining chairs, then took a seat across from him, her husband standing behind her with a hand on her shoulder.

The detective took a tiny notebook out of his breast pocket and flipped it open. “I’ve been talking to Las Vegas, and here’s what I’ve got so far. Emma Paxton went missing on September first after an argument with her foster family. No one’s heard from her since. Her foster mother reported her missing, but because there were no signs of abduction or foul play, she was assumed to be a runaway. Foster kids take off all the time. Emma was just a few weeks away from turning eighteen, so LVPD figured she’d just gotten a head start on setting out on her own.” He clicked his pen a few times and glanced up at Emma. “What we’re trying to figure out is how she ended up here. Is there anything you can tell me about that, Sutton?”

Emma took a deep, controlled breath, trying to quell the rising panic in her chest. If they were investigating Emma Paxton, it wouldn’t be long before they checked Sutton’s Facebook account and found out the twins had been in contact. She had to tell them as much truth as she could without giving herself away—or else she’d get caught in a much bigger lie.

She licked her lips. “Y-yes,” she stammered. “She messaged me on Facebook the night before she disappeared. We made plans to meet in the canyon the next day.”