“We spent hours with you guys already,” Brooke says. “What more is there to ask?”

“You should be going through our father’s attorney,” Hannah adds.

“Relax, ladies,” I say. “This isn’t formal. I came up here to get a better sense of Paige’s school life. Who her friends are, the kinds of things she enjoys…”

Brooke loosens up, but it’s clear her sister isn’t having any of this. “You should be down on the island looking for her, not up here,” Hannah says. “I’d still be down there if my father didn’t insist I return for classes.”

“And where would you be looking?”

Brooke leans forward, wispy smoke curling out of her petite nostrils. “Think about it. She didn’t fly home, and she didn’t walk. The only other way off that island is by boat.”

Hannah turns to shush her sister, but Brooke flashes eye daggers in return. “What? Are we supposed to protect that trust fund jerk? For what?”

“Does this jerk have a name?” I ask.

“Brooke, stop being a moron. This is what they do—ask the same questions over and over again and hope you say something different. I’m calling Daddy’s lawyer.”

Of course we know the trust fund jerk’s name already. And, my dear Matthew, I know you didn’t send me here to squeeze information out of these two. You sent me trekking up here in the cold snow to push their buttons and see what happens.

So I push.

“Before you call your father’s attorney,” I say, “you guys should know something.”

Hannah’s eyes narrow. “What’s that?”

“We’re fairly certain Paige is dead. And there’s been a huge reward offered for closure on the case.”

The look on their entitled little faces tells me that indeed I’ve pushed the right buttons.

“How…” Brooke stammers. “How can you say that?”

Chapter 6

JANA (continued)

Now here’s where I get to turn my “friendly FBI agent” persona into something more sinister. It’s not as much fun playing the good girl, the straight woman, the high-cheekboned representative of law and order.

I much prefer the role of the woman who wears a professional face for all the world to see…until the mask slips slightly, and what’s underneath is someone you’d never want to meet.

“The only way she left that island on a boat,” I tell them, “is if someone wrapped her body in a tarp and gave her a burial at sea. No…I think she’s buried in the sand somewhere. Close your eyes and picture it, ladies. Your best friend, at the bottom of some dank hole, while somebody shovels sand over her body. Her arms. Her legs. Her face. Until there’s no trace of her.”

“Stop saying she’s dead!” Brooke cries.

But I’m more interested in Hannah’s reaction to my little rant. She’s not a bad actor herself, and she looks like she’s trying really hard to keep a firm grip on the wild thoughts running through her mind.

“Fine,” I say. “Maybe she’s not dead. Maybe she’s alive and well. Maybe you two know her disappearance is a hoax. Maybe you’re even in on it. Maybe the whole trip to the island was just a convenient way to help your friend disappear.”