You have to scan your pass at the bottom before you enter the cable car, and again to enter the bubble. Saskia would never have made it past the eagle-eyed lift attendants without it. Yet Heather and Brent said they saw her up on the glacier, and Curtis said he saw her gear up there. Did they really, or are the three of them in this together?

All those accusations Curtis made. The perfume, the hair, his questions about whether she’s still alive. Was it to cover up the fact that he killed her? I don’t want to believe that, but I can’t find any other explanation.

Saskia looks as gorgeous as I remember in her photo. Her stunning blue eyes gaze at me like she’s trying to tell me something.

Where are you, Saskia, and why does Curtis have your pass?

CHAPTER 24

TEN YEARS AGO

“I hate her,” I whisper in Brent’s ear.

Below her pink neon goggles, Saskia’s mouth twitches as though she knows I’m talking about her. Her long, white-blond ponytail curls around her neck like a snake.

“Chill,” Brent says.

“But I loved that board.”

I thought she liked me. That’s what hurts most of all. That I was stupid enough to be taken in by her. She only befriended me so I would let my guard down.

“Let it go,” Brent says. “You’re on fire with your riding right now and that’s because of you, not your board. She can’t take your talent away from you.”

We’re sitting at the bottom of the half-pipe, eating our lunch. My new board is identical to the one I lost but I still mourn the old one. And every time I look at Saskia, I relive the moment I realized it was lost forever.

It’s another sunny day and Brent wears a back-to-front Burton baseball cap. He slides his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close.

I tense. Brent looks super cute in that cap, but until now he and I have limited this kind of stuff to behind closed doors, and no one except Curtis knows about us.

And they’re all here today. Odette and Saskia sit nearby, friends again, apparently, after their earlier falling-out. Curtis is chatting with an Aussie girl who was pulling big airs earlier. Julien stands dwarfed by a trio of French freestyle skiers. Even Heather has graced us with her presence. She’s been sulking at the bottom of the pipe with a camera all morning. Dale’s clothing sponsor dropped him—budget cuts—and he needs some decent shots to send to prospective sponsors.

I chew my baguette, feeling awkward.

Saskia’s the first to notice. She raises her goggles to her helmet and watches us through narrowed eyes.