“He did. He gave me another reason to suspect Cole Wright.” Garrett pulls my hand away from his head and asks, “What did you find out? About the college reporter?”

“Well, the college reporter died in Afghanistan, but he told a friend about the assault after the homecoming game—and named Cole Wright as the girl’s attacker.”

Garrett groans as he sits up. “Great. But that’s all hearsay. We need something more solid. Something firsthand.”

I put down the paper towel. “I might have it.”

“How? Who?”

“Remember Teresa? Suzanne’s sister?”

“Hard to forget.”

“She managed to track down Suzanne’s old roommate. Living in Southie.”

“You found Amber Keenan?”

“She’s Lillian now. Working in an Irish bar. Our talk got cut short, but she promised to call me with more information.”

“Brea. This could be it. It would establish a pattern!”

I can see Garrett focusing through the pain. I stroke his cheek—the one that’s not all beat up. “You want some Tylenol?”

“I already took twice the daily limit. I just need to lie still.” He groans again as he eases back down on the sofa.

Night is falling; I look out the window and see empty fields and the woods on the far side of the road. For the first time, the view creeps me out. I pull the drapes tight.

I didn’t see anybody.

That doesn’t mean there’s nobody out there.

CHAPTER
29

Boston, Massachusetts

Lillian glances at her face in the rearview mirror of her battered Corolla. Sometimes, she’s amazed at how completely she’s left Amber Keenan, with her twenty-four-inch waist and blond-streaked cheerleader mane, behind.

But now it’s time for her to emerge again.

“You hid Lizzie!”

“Did not!”

In the back seat, Lillian’s nine-year-old, Susan, is accusing her eight-year-old brother, Shane, of taking her favorite doll.

“We’ll find Lizzie tomorrow, I promise,” Lillian says when she brakes at a stoplight. “Remember where we’re going right now?”

At this, both kids perk up.

The Stop and Run is one of the places that stocks their favorite treat, Hoodsie Cups, a perfect split of chocolate and vanilla ice cream enjoyed with a small wooden spoon. In spite of all the sugar, Hoodsie Cups calm the kids down. Lillian figures that by the time she gets them home, they’ll both be out. All she’ll have to do is wrangle them into their beds.

Lillian is exhausted, her feet aching and ears ringing from her double shift at the bar. The music isn’t her style, but she likes the crowd. And her neighbor Jasmine is kind enough to look after the kids on late nights.

At the next traffic light, the engine rattles hard enough to vibrate the steering wheel. Lillian smiles.

She won’t be driving this shitbox much longer.

In fact, her whole life is about to change.

Thanks to Brea Cooke.