I thought suddenly of the times that Mads and Thayer and I had played Grand Theft Auto on our old PlayStation, back before I ever even thought Thayer was cute. This was even better. But Emma didn’t seem so happy. Her pulse throbbed wildly in her ears, and she was clutching the door handle, her eyes wide. “That was some driving,” she mumbled.

The hint of a smile flitted across Corcoran’s lips, but he didn’t say a word.

They drove the rest of the way to Ethan’s in a circuitous route, making a wide loop to get back to the Catalina Foothills where he lived. Emma watched Corcoran out of the corner of her eye as he drove. She wasn’t sure what to make of him, but he’d certainly gone out of his way to protect her from the reporters, which was more than Quinlan would have done.

Corcoran pulled up outside of Ethan’s house and put the car in park. She sat for a moment, staring up at the faded bungalow, the porch light casting a feeble glow over the steps and the swing.

“I’ll wait until you’re inside,” Corcoran said.

“Thanks,” she said softly. She let herself out of the car and started up to the house.

Before she’d made it halfway up the walk, the door burst open. Ethan ran down the steps to meet her, a worried frown on his face. His hair looked ink-black in the darkness, but his face was pale. “What’s going on?”

“The cops know.” She stumbled, suddenly feeling faint. Ethan grabbed her in his arms and steadied her. “Quinlan figured out that I’m not Sutton, using my dental records. He has my friend Alex from Henderson—he knows I’ve been texting her as Emma all this time.”

Ethan gave a sharp intake of breath. “And they think you did it?”

She nodded, rubbing her eyes with a fist. His arms were strong around her, her cheek pressed flat to his chest. His T-shirt had a Mexican sugar skull screen-printed across the front, and she found herself staring into its hollow eyes. It made her think of the crime scene pictures all over again, of her sister’s body ravaged by time and elements. She squeezed her eyes shut against the thought, breathing in Ethan’s warm vanilla smell.

“Who’s that?”

She looked up to see that Corcoran’s car was still there. She felt a little rush of gratitude. It was too dark to see the man’s face behind the windshield, but she knew he was waiting to make sure she was all right.

“They kept Sutton’s car to search for evidence, so he tried to take me home. But . . . the Mercers . . .” Her lip trembled. “They’re furious, Ethan. They think I killed Sutton.”