Page 1

Prologue

He was always going to kill her.

He knew it the day he saw her spilling out of a big brick house with a group of other women. They lingered on the sidewalk, chatting. It must have been a party of some kind. All of them looked pretty and elegant, their makeup perfectly applied. He pulled into the nearest parking spot and watched. No one noticed him. Women were always so self-absorbed, they never saw what was right in front of them. If they did, they squandered and abused it. The longer he sat there like some kind of lovesick loser, the quicker his breath came. With her vibrant smile and effervescent beauty, she stood out. She always had. It didn’t matter where she was or who was nearby.

She was a beacon, and he was equal parts drawn to her and repelled by her. He wanted to be on the receiving end of her radiant smile and he wanted to strangle her so she could never smile again. He wanted to bask in her warmth and he wanted to feel the cold of her skin after he killed her. He wanted to admire her beauty and he wanted to tarnish her. He wanted her kisses and he wanted her to die so she could never kiss anyone else. He wanted her heart and then he wanted to expose the rot inside it.

No one else ever saw the rot.

No one else ever endured her rejection. Not like he had.

With his fists clenched in his lap, he wondered if he should keep trying. Maybe if he did, she would show him the parts of her that she gave to everyone else. Maybe it would make the ugliness inside him go away. But then he dismissed the thought. That hideous rageful thing inside him had been growing for too long. It was too big. Too powerful. She had made it that way and there was no appeasing it now. It demanded to be fed. That’s how he knew.

He was always going to kill her.

One

Detective Josie Quinn had interrogated many people in her career. She’d gotten pretty good at figuring out when a suspect was lying. There were usually tells. A quick glance upward before speaking. A heel bobbing frenetically against the floor. Hands fidgeting with whatever was close enough to grasp. Biting of lips or nails. Sussing out lies was one of her specialties. She’d thought the ability extended to when she was off duty, but apparently not.

From across the coffee table, fourteen-year-old Wren McMann regarded her with a bland smile that gave nothing away. “Which is the lie?”

Josie’s gaze flitted around the living room, buying time. She studied the smudges along the bottom of the pale gray walls where Noah had thrown their dog’s ball hard enough to leave marks. Then the entertainment center filled with framed photos of family and friends. Neither held the answer.

“Well?” Wren prodded.

Their new couch and the two matching dark blue recliners allowed for ample seating but her husband, Noah Fraley, sat on the floor beside Wren. He gave her a wide-eyed look as if to say he couldn’t hazard a guess either. He was a lieutenant for the Denton Police Department, working alongside her on their four-person investigative team. He’d conducted at least as many interviews and interrogations as she had. Between the two of them, they should have been able to identify Wren’s lie, but the girl was a closed book.

It was honestly terrifying, especially considering they were now her legal guardians. Eight months ago, she’d appeared on their doorstep after her dad died of pancreatic cancer, announcing that he had left custody of her to them. Josie wished she could chalk up hers and Noah’s inability to find Wren’s tells to the fact that they simply didn’t know her well enough, but she had a feeling that was not the case. Next to her, Drake Nally, her soon-to-be brother-in-law, was staring at Wren intently. He stroked his neatly groomed goatee, his dark brown eyes filling with consternation.

Drake was a seasoned FBI agent and, by the look on his face, he couldn’t figure the girl out either.

“Say them again,” Josie requested.

A laugh spluttered from Wren’s lips. “Oh my God. You can’t tell. You really don’t know, do you?”

“I’m still thinking,” Josie lied. “Just repeat them for me.”

With an eye roll, Wren started listing her two truths and a lie, holding up a hand and folding down a finger with each one. “Number one: my mom and I used to have a cat named Chlamydia. Number two: my old school’s mascot was a lion. Outside the building was a big statue of it. Me and a friend got to school early and painted its nails bright red. Number three: I once flushed a mean girl’s English paper down the toilet at school and caused a flood.”

Drake laughed. “Confessing to crimes in front of a bunch of law enforcement officers.”

“Please. It didn’t happen in either of your jurisdictions.” When Drake arched a brow, Wren added, “Yeah. I’ve learned some stuff since moving here.”

“The cat one has to be the lie,” said Noah.

“It’s too outlandish to be the lie,” Drake argued.

“It’s Josie’s turn to answer,” Wren said. “Stop trying to help her.”

Josie watched Wren twirl a lock of her black hair around her index finger until only the tip—dyed bright red—was visible. She wasn’t interested in figuring out which statement was the lie anymore. She was only interested in determining if the mean girl story was true or not. Wren’s dad had died in the middle of her freshman year of high school. They’d lived an hour from Josie and Noah. In the interest of trying to keep some consistency in Wren’s life, they’d offered to drive her back and forth to school for the remainder of her freshman year. She’d refused, insisting on changing schools mid-year. Last month, Josie had pressed her on whether she wanted to catch up with friends from her old school and she’d been adamant that she did not. The exchange was permanently burned into Josie’s mind. She’d just finished telling Wren that she had her back no matter what. That she wanted to be there for Wren and not because some legal document said she was supposed to be.

“I can’t,” Wren croaked. “Can’t talk about the kids at my old school but thank you for saying all those things.”

Can’t. Not won’t. Can’t talk about them. Not “I don’t want to talk about them.”

“Wren,” Josie said carefully. “Did something happen at your old school?”

“No, no. Of course not.”