“I never wanted it to come to this. That’s why I put a note on your car. You should’ve heeded my warning.”
The cell felt cold and slick in her damp palm.
Silently, she repeated his words in her head.
“Cat got your tongue?” He chuckled. “Since you’re so fascinated with that phone—the code is three-four-eight-five. Why not open the My Home app? The blue one.”
Her scrambled thoughts rearranged themselves, attempting to accommodate this new information. Baxter had left the note on her car. And what had Detective Samuels said? Do the math and you’ll realize the person who left the note and the person who put a tracking device on your car are one and the same—something like that.
She did a quick calculation.
“Did you follow me to the overlook at Torrey Pines?”
“I kept behind a bunch of hikers, close enough to seem like the straggler of the group. I knew exactly where to dig—I just didn’t know what was in that paper sack you buried until I pulled it out of the ground.”
And the camera inside the smoke detector? She punched in 3485, opened the My Home app and clicked “History”.
A video began to play.
It was of Mia in her room at the Coopers’—kneeling in front of her mother’s hope chest, searching frantically for the missing photograph.
She held back a gasp.
With her heart knocking against her ribs, she tapped the phone, then selected “Messages” and opened the top message:
I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.
The phone slid from her hand and thunked off the dashboard.
Take it easy. Don’t let him see your fear.
“And the red sweater?” Baxter had been the one to retrieve it from the school. “Was that you, too?”
“Who else?” He winked, obviously pleased with himself.
This whole time it had been him.
Deep breath.
She placed her hand on her stomach, felt it rise and fall. Willing herself to remain calm—at least outwardly—she asked, “Why?”
“Oh, come on. I’m not going to make this easy for you. You’re the amateur sleuth—much to your own detriment.”
She eyed the open glove box. He wouldn’t let her dig in it if he thought she’d find a weapon. But sometimes people forget what they leave in these things. And sometimes objects can be put to use in unintended ways.
Like empty cans for digging.
She reached in the glove box again, using her one good hand—searching. There had to be something she could use—a pen, a paperclip…
She pulled out an old Polaroid.
Her mouth fell open.
“Oh, darn. You found the picture. You’re onto me now.”
“This is the photograph from my mother’s hope chest? You stole it?”
“Reclaimed—it’s always belonged to me. It was never yours to begin with.”
She wiped her eyes, trying to bring the image into focus through her tears—a little girl in a too-big dress.
This time she recognized the little girl, and it wasn’t her.
“This is a picture of Celeste. I don’t understand.”
“Try harder, Mia.”
“This is the photograph I found in my mother’s hope chest? The same one that disappeared?”
He showed her his teeth, more snarl than smile.
Stay rational. Don’t let him distract you. “Why would a picture of Celeste be mixed in with my mother’s things?”
His breathing came faster and louder.
The wipers whooshed furiously against the downpour.
The engine roared as the speedometer climbed to ninety.
“Slow down! We’re going to skid off the road.”
“You disappoint me, Mia. You’re not even trying. If you want me to tell you the truth, you need to earn it. Let’s play a game. I’ll give you three guesses, and if you get it right, I’ll slow down.”
He let his foot off the accelerator, and for a fraction of a second, she thought he might come to his senses. The car slowed to seventy, fifty, and at forty, she reached for the wheel, but he knocked her away. Her head banged against the side window, then snapped forward.
No pain.
Good.
Stay in survival mode.
The car skidded into a turn, and then straightened, before accelerating again.
He’d slowed, just then, in order to turn onto a dirt road, and she’d missed her chance to take the wheel.
No problem—just wait for the next opportunity.
Trees rushed by.
Houses grew fewer and farther between, as they passed the time in silence.
The sun set, and the sky turned a deep, beautiful shade of purple.
The faintest glimmer of stars adorned the evening sky, and then, suddenly her mind rang like a bell.
She knew this area. She’d been here before. “Where are we?”
“Don’t you know?”
If only she could reach the memory.
The photograph holds the answer. Ask him.
“How does your game go? What are the rules again?”
He grinned. “I knew you’d be too curious not to play along. You make a guess, and I’ll tell you if you’re hot or cold.”
She held up the snapshot. “This photo is of Celeste when she was a little girl. But it was with my mother’s things.”
“We’ve established that. That’s not a guess. Try again.”
“Did Alma and my mother know each other?”
He clucked his tongue. “Cold.”
It still made no sense. “Did you know my mother?”
“Hot.”
She tried to breathe through it, but her body refused to exhale. An unbearable tension was building in her chest.
Look at Baxter.
Could it be?
She was breathing again—back in control.
Baxter’s silver hair was thick and wavy.
In his youth, it might’ve been dark.
No scar on his face, though. His skin was smooth—perfect.
Too perfect for a man his age. Easy enough to laser off a scar these days—plenty of men get work done, especially ones who’ve been on TV.
He told you he’d traveled the world, and Alma was his compass.
“Were you ever in the Navy?” she asked.
“Hot,” he said, making her heart jolt in her chest.
It’d been ages since they passed any houses, and the roads had long since turned rutted and bumpy. As she gazed out the window at the driving rain, the Range Rover, at long last, skidded to a stop.
Then he turned to her, his eyes gleaming with mirth. “You’ve had your three guesses, but I’ll allow one more.”
They were deep in the woods, far from any well-traveled roads, but it didn’t matter. Mia wasn’t
