“What?” I say.

“I did it. I killed her.”

I look at him in shock. Desperate for it not to be true.

Curtis slides his hands from his face. “That night at Glow Bar. What a train wreck. She’d destroyed everything. Dale and I were out of the comp, Odette was upset. And you, Milla. You were prepared to break your neck to beat her. It was all too much. I wanted to hurt her like she’d hurt all of us.”

I stare at him, trying to reconcile the man in bed with me last night with one who apparently . . .

“But how?” The word sticks in my throat.

“I went to the half-pipe first, saw she hadn’t signed in, and thought I’d catch her at the top of the cable car. Make her realize what she’d done. As I got over there, I saw her board bag in one of the bubbles, so I chased her up to the glacier and saw Brent and Heather. We split up to search the building and I went out on the sun deck and spotted her bag on the snow. I headed over to it but still couldn’t see her. Her bag was right near a crevasse.” He meets my eyes. “It was the only thing I could think of to get back at her. I remembered what she did to your board . . .” He screws his eyes shut. “And I shoved it in.”

Oh shit.

“If I’d known she was in there—” Curtis breaks off. He sits, still and silent, as if paralyzed by what he’s done.

I shoot a look at Brent. “She was already dead.”

Brent takes the hint. “Yeah, she was dead, bro. Definitely. I didn’t see her move. Heather was hysterical.”

But I hear the doubt in our voices. Curtis sits there pressing his knuckles into his eye sockets. He’s never going to forgive himself.

Yet if Saskia went down that crevasse, who’s out there doing this to us? Maybe she somehow slipped out of the board bag, hid nearby, and watched Curtis kick the empty bag in. And crept away, dreaming of revenge . . .

The door smashes into my back, throwing me against Curtis. Fire shoots through my knee. I look over my shoulder and the blood drains out of me.

There in the doorway is a girl with white-blond hair.

CHAPTER 62

PRESENT DAY

It’s her. Back from the grave and full of vengeance.

I draw in a breath as my brain processes the sight before me. The face. The features.

It’s not Saskia.

It’s Odette.

And she has a gun—some kind of rifle, which she’s pointing at us. Which she must have pointed at Heather too, I realize. Not her arm.

“Stay where you are.” Her voice is cold, her eyes as well.