“Is that someone you know?” Mr. Mercer asked, glancing over his shoulder. She pulled him ahead, walking faster. She passed a mailbox with tinsel garlands wound up the pole and hung another right. Who did she know with an Audi? It was hard to see in the dark, but it looked white. Or maybe silver . . .

“Silver,” I whispered, suddenly knowing who the car belonged to. I’d been in that car almost every day last summer.

Garrett, Emma thought, only a moment behind me. Her heart pounded as the car crept closer. Garrett had picked her up in that car the night he’d taken her out for their picnic. She clutched Mr. Mercer’s arm. “We need to go home,” she muttered urgently.

“What’s wrong, Sutton?” he said, trying to look behind them at the car. “Who is that?”

“Just trust me. Keep walking.” She pulled him along behind her, cutting across a corner lawn now to keep as far from the car as she could. For a moment she thought about bolting, but then she realized it would do no good—Garrett would be able to catch them. He’d already run someone over in a car once; if he wanted to do it again, there’d be nothing to stop him.

With a sudden roar of the motor, the car lurched around the corner after them, angling its nose to block their path. Drake barked furiously. Next to her, Mr. Mercer tightened his arm through hers. She shuddered as the door flew open and braced for Garrett in all his rage, ready to push Mr. Mercer down and stand in front of him, if she had to.

But it wasn’t Garrett. It was a skinny, pointy-chinned man wearing a denim jacket and a shabby brown knit scarf. He wore wire-frame glasses, and he was fiddling with a digital audio recorder as he approached them.

“Ted and Sutton Mercer?” A shameless grin spread across his face. “Care to give me a statement for The Real Deal Magazine?”

Mr. Mercer looked outraged. He straightened himself to his full height and hugged Emma to his side with one arm. “You almost ran us over!”

The reporter’s grin didn’t falter. “Just trying to get your attention. Come on, pops, don’t you want your side of the story to be told?”

Emma’s temper flared. “Not by some hack from a second-rate gossip rag.”

The man laughed out loud. “I’ve already heard it all, sweetheart. Save your insults for the fat girls at school.”

Drake hadn’t stopped barking. Now he gave a low, threatening growl.

“We have no comment to make at this time,” Mr. Mercer said firmly. Emma noticed that he’d given some slack to the leash, and Drake had gotten closer to the reporter. The reporter seemed to have noticed it, too. He held his hands up in the air and backed slowly away.