Emma swallowed hard. The recorder both made her feel better and not—she didn’t like the thought of the lies she’d have to tell being recorded in her own voice, but on the other hand it would document anything Quinlan said, too. He wouldn’t be able to bully or intimidate her if he wanted to use the recording as any kind of evidence.

“Well, like I told you,” she said slowly, “I met my birth mom for the first time in Sabino Canyon on August thirty-first. She told me I had a twin named Emma. That same night I got a message on Facebook from a girl named Emma Paxton. Her picture looked exactly like me. We messaged back and forth a few times, and we made arrangements to meet the next evening back at Sabino. I went the next night to meet her, and she never showed up, so I went to Nisha Banerjee’s party instead. I didn’t really think about her after that—I assumed the Facebook messages were either a lame prank from my friends, or that Emma was just a flake like my birth mom.”

“Can you show me those Facebook messages?” Quinlan asked. She nodded, pulling them up on her iPhone and handing it across the table. The night before, she’d sat up staring at her Facebook exchange with Sutton, trying to see if there was anything incriminating that she hadn’t realized. As far as she could see, the messages were safe.

Quinlan’s eyes flickered up to meet hers. “‘Don’t tell anyone who you are until we talk—it’s dangerous!’” he read out loud. “What was that all about?”

Emma’s throat felt dry. “I wanted to surprise my parents with her,” she said, beads of sweat gathering at her temple. “I was afraid someone else would find her before I did and think she was me. I didn’t want her to give it away.”

Quinlan’s eyebrow twitched, but otherwise his face was motionless. Somewhere overhead the air conditioning kicked on, and a blast of cold turned her sweat clammy.

“Pretty weird coincidence,” Quinlan said. “The night you found out about her was the night she messaged you?”

Emma nodded, shrugging. “Yeah. I know it’s weird; I thought so, too. But like I already told you, Becky’s weird. Maybe she was in contact with Emma, too.”

Quinlan pushed the phone back across the table. Emma slid it into her pocket, her skin crawling under his gaze. He was watching her intently, his gray eyes sharp and glinting. She tried not to squirm away from making eye contact.

“Do you know anything about her foster family?” he asked then. She shook her head.