For a moment the boat was blanketed in darkness. Then, one by one, the windows lit up. Outside, fake waves rolled angrily against the hull of the boat. The cabin began to rock and, outside, something flashed. A shock of white hair. Several kids screamed as the hair was swept away on the waves, replaced by the toothless grin of a plastic goblin. “It’s them!” the captain bellowed. “The ghosts, ghouls, and goblins!”
Kids shrieked and parents laughed and somewhere a baby was wailing, and all Emerson wanted was to get off this boat, as far away from Matt and Tracey as possible. But the engine was still whirring away under her feet. Her eyes landed on a bathroom sign in the corner of the boat. Thank god. She darted around the elderly couple and slipped inside, locking the door behind her. She sank to the floor, trembling all over as she pulled her knees to her chest.
What did this darer have against her? What had she done to make someone hate her this much? She pressed her forehead against her knees. Once a slut, always a slut. How would she ever change that if the darer kept rubbing her nose in her mistakes?
Her phone buzzed inside her bag, vibrating against her leg. Anger simmered low and hot as she reached for it. The instant she saw the screen, it erupted, scalding through her veins. Blocked. She clenched her jaw as she opened the text.
You can run, Emmy, but when it comes to your past—and to me—you can never hide.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tuesday, 11:13 PM
Tenley wrapped her blanket around herself, shivering in spite of the heat she had blasting in her bedroom. Discovering those photos of Kyla on Guinness’s bed had made her feel vulnerable in her own house. It didn’t help that she was home alone. Sahara had long since left for the day, her mom was out at some work party with Lanson, and who knew where Guinness was.
Guinness. The note she’d found with his photos felt branded in her mind. Had he written it? Had he written all the notes? The possibility that her own stepbrother was trying to hurt her sent icy fingers crawling down Tenley’s spine. She thought of the photo the darer had sent her at Caitlin’s memorial: her and Guinness, inside a coffin. Had that been Guinness’s way of taunting her? She’d seen all those cameras in his bedroom. Who was to say one hadn’t been put on automatic, set up to take surveillance photos of his room?
Or was that just crazy? Maybe Sydney was right; maybe her instincts were off about this. Sydney claimed the darer could have planted the note on his bed, setting up Tenley to believe it was Guinness. Tenley groaned. The whole thing made her head hurt. She didn’t know what, or whom, to believe anymore. She needed more information—and until then, she needed a way to protect herself.
She grabbed her laptop off her desk and opened up a search engine. Pepper spray, she typed in. A whole slew of links popped up, and she clicked on one at random. According to the site, she could have a bottle of pepper spray—in a neon-pink bottle, no less—in her mailbox by tomorrow. Spray your fears away! the site declared. “Or the darer,” Tenley muttered. She put a bright pink bottle in her cart. Then at last minute she added two more. Sydney and Emerson would thank her if the darer ever cornered them near a hot tub. She’d just pressed confirm when her phone let out a beep.
Immediately she tensed, thinking of her last text message. But it was just a Facebook alert. She had one new message on her page. She clicked open the site. If Abby was now using Facebook to campaign for Delancey, Tenley would defriend that girl faster than you could say virgin.
The name on the message wasn’t Abby’s, though. It wasn’t anyone’s. It was two words: A Warning. The user had no profile picture and zero friends. An alarm hummed deep in Tenley’s bones. Delete! her brain screamed. But it was too late. The message was open on her screen.
A friendly word of advice: Forget about Caitlin’s diary. You know what they say… Curiosity killed the cat.
Tenley’s phone felt hot in her hand, the words searing themselves into her skin. The darer wanted her to stay away from Caitlin’s journal? A journal all about Cait’s kidnapping—about who she thought her kidnapper could be?
Tenley’s jaw dropped as the full meaning of that hit her. The darer wanted to keep the identity of Caitlin’s kidnapper unknown.
Which meant… the darer was connected to the kidnapper.
Excitement tingled through her. The darer might have thought that note would send her a warning, but instead it had given her a lead. She made a mental list of everything she knew about Caitlin’s kidnapper. She was female, and since Cait had called her a “woman” in her journal, not a “girl,” she’d probably been at least twenty at the time of Cait’s kidnapping. Which would make her twenty-six now at the very youngest. It wasn’t a lot to go on, but it was more than she’d had before.
Somehow this woman was connected to the darer—Guinness or Sean or whoever it was—which meant if Tenley found her, she’d find the darer, too.
Tenley jumped up, pacing through her bedroom. Sydney was investigating Guinness, and Emerson was on the Sean trail, which left Tenley holed up here alone like some sitting duck. Well, not anymore. The darer could find out if she went to the cops, but how would anyone know if she quietly followed a little clue?
She went over to her backpack and rooted around for Caitlin’s journal. Thanks to the mystery hand that had pushed her under in the hot tub earlier, she’d never gotten a chance to finish reading it. Where was it? She was sure she’d left it in there. Annoyed, she dumped the whole thing over, its contents splaying everywhere. It took her half a second to confirm her fear. The journal wasn’t there. The darer must have stolen it out of her bag, right after trapping her in the hot tub.
Adrenaline thrummed under her skin. Whatever was in that journal, this person really didn’t want her to see it. Lucky for her, she’d already read part of it. She grabbed a spiral notebook off her desk and dropped down in the yellow chevron armchair she’d brought with her from Nevada. She planned to write down every word, before she forgot it.
Thud! She was halfway through Caitlin’s hypnosis recollection when a noise from outside made her jump. She leaped to her feet, hurrying over to her window. Down below, a long, lean shadow slithered behind a tree in the front yard. A second later, another noise wafted up, a muffled thump.
Tenley sucked in a breath. Someone was definitely out there.
She looked desperately around for something to protect herself with. Her eyes landed on a hideous marble bust of a gymnast she’d won years ago and couldn’t bring herself to throw out. She hoisted it off its shelf, staggering a little under its weight. If worse came to worst, she could throw it at someone to ward them off—
“Ten?”
“I’m armed!” Tenley yelled. She whirled around, shielding herself with the marble bust.
Guinness stood in the doorway, watching her. “With a girl’s head?” he asked dryly. His dark, wavy hair was more messy than tousled, and his words slurred together, making it obvious he was drunk.
Tenley took a step backward, swallowing hard. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or terrified. If only she had that bottle of pepper spray.
“Aha!” Guinness said suddenly. “This is a new pageant act, isn’t it? Bust balancing?”
Tenley stared at him. He was swaying as if he were being tossed on an invisible breeze. She could smell the alcohol pouring off him. His dark eyes were bleary and bloodshot and strangely flat, too, as if whatever he’d been drinking had dulled him around the edges. It hit her that he wasn’t just party drunk, but drunk drunk. “What are you doing in my room, Guinness?” she asked shakily. Her heart was beating so loudly she was worried he could hear it.
“I wasn’t ready for my night to end.” A hard look crossed his face. “Though, apparently, the bar thought I was when they kicked me out. Just for having one drink too many.” His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. “So I thought I’d see what my little sis was up to.” He gave her a sudden grin. It reminded her of a joker playing card: a sinister kind of happy.
A litany of options raced through Tenley’s head. She could scream, run, call her mom.… Or she could do some Guinness sleuthing of her own.
She put down the bust, then cocked her head, plastering on what she hoped was an annoyed-little-sister expression. “What happened to you at that bar?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “Did you take a bath in a bottle of Scotch?”
Guinness stared at her, unblinking. “You’re too young to understand,” he said, but he was slurring, so it sounded more like, youtooyoongtounderttttnd. Tenley took a deep breath. Guinness’s baby jokes usually bothered her, but she pushed her annoyance aside. “Oh look, your diary!” Guinness went on, eyeing the notebook she’d been writing in. He put a hand on the mantel, steadying himself. “Dear diary,” he intoned, raising his voice several octaves. “Today I found the perfect lipstick!”
Diary. Tenley inhaled sharply. He knew—he was taunting her!
Or was it just a drunken coincidence? Her world suddenly felt upside down and inside out. It was impossible to tell which way was up.
“How about this?” she shot back. “Dear diary, today I dug up pictures of Kyla Kern!” She crossed her arms against her chest, glaring at him. “Want to tell me why that is, Guinness? Or is it yet another secret you want to keep from me?”