Deadly

“Good luck with your PSAs,” Madison snorted. “Better you than me.”

Hanna and her father were silent as they headed down the hall, but suddenly, Mr. Marin put his arm around her. “I’m so proud of you,” he said. “It’s hard to face your demons and come clean.”

Hanna felt tears well in her eyes again. “Thanks for coming with me.”

Then her phone pinged. Her heart lifted. It was Mike, finally getting back to her. Sorry, busy day, he’d written, and she let out a sigh of relief. He was fine.

Then she noticed a second text had come in as well. She looked at the screen, and her heart dropped. This one was from an unknown sender.

Just when you make peace with Daddy, I’m going to have to take it all away. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. —A

“Hanna?” Mr. Marin turned. “Are you okay?”

Hanna’s hands trembled. Was that a threat against her father?

Squaring her shoulders, she forwarded it to Fuji. Then she looked at her father, who was peering at her worriedly from the end of the hall. “I’m great,” she said with certainty. And she was. If Fuji was working so hard on the case that she couldn’t even take Hanna’s calls, then she would keep everyone safe.

She’d better.

17

THE WALLS COME CRASHING DOWN

Friday morning, Spencer and Chase sat at Wordsmith’s Books. The place smelled like fresh-brewed coffee and sugary crullers, jazz played faintly through the stereo speakers, and a free-verse poet was reciting his latest work on a makeshift stage. The store was holding a performance series called “Morning Muses” in which local authors read their works to caffeine-starved patrons.

“That was awesome, wasn’t it?” Chase asked when the poet finished his zillion-line free verse and they stood to leave. “That guy has such an amazing sense of imagery. I wish I could write poems like that.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean you write poems?”

“Sometimes.” Chase looked bashful. “They mostly end up really lame.”

“I’d love to read them,” Spencer said softly.

He met her gaze. “I’d love to write one for you.”

Spencer’s stomach flipped over, but she cut her gaze away, suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. A’s threat against Chase. Should she warn him?

“You okay?” Chase asked.

“Of course.” Spencer cleared her throat. “So . . . nothing else has happened lately?”

Chase’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing . . . weird?” Spencer didn’t know how to phrase it. Saying something like Have you felt like someone’s been watching you? would just get Chase riled up.

Chase shrugged. “The only weird thing going on right now is that you’re paying attention to me.” He lowered his head. “I really like it, by the way.”

“I really like it, too,” Spencer said, her cheeks turning red. She should just tell him. But Fuji was handling it, right? Maybe Chase had a security detail so secret that they didn’t even know they were there.

“I’d better get to school,” she mumbled, standing up and tossing her coffee cup into the chrome trash can near their seat.

Chase followed her onto the street, and they parted with a demure hug. “Call you later?” Chase asked eagerly.

“Definitely.” Spencer shot him a shy smile.

She kept the innocent look plastered on her face until he rounded the corner to the back parking lot. Then she pulled out her phone, scrolled to find Fuji’s number, and dialed. Annoyingly, it went to voicemail. Just like her six other calls to Fuji in the past twenty-four hours had.

“It’s Spencer Hastings again,” Spencer said after the beep. “I’m just checking about that extra security detail on my friend Chase—I’m really worried about him. Also, I think my sister might need one, too. And you got the Acura keychain, right? And my letter?”

Yesterday, because e-mailing was far too risky, she’d hand-delivered to Fuji a letter of connections and leads. Like how Ali and/or Helper A had been in New York a few months ago when Spencer, her mom, Mr. Pennythistle, and his son and daughter visited—Spencer had gotten an A note practically the second Mr. Pennythistle walked in on Spencer and his son, Zach, in bed together. Maybe Team A was staying in the Hudson Hotel, too. Perhaps it would be useful to search Amtrak passenger manifests from around that time. There were tons of avenues to investigate.

“Anyway, give me a call back when you can,” Spencer chirped. Then she hung up and turned into Rosewood Day. After parking the car, she trudged through the wet grass to the elementary-school swings, where she and her friends always met to talk—they hadn’t spoken about A in a while, and maybe it was time. Emily dangled languidly from a low swing, her long legs dragging on the ground. Aria pulled the strings on the hood of her bright-green jacket. Hanna checked her reflection in a round Chanel compact. It was one of those beautiful spring mornings where practically the whole senior class was lingering outside before the bell.

“So what’s the news?” Spencer asked her friends when she approached.

“Well, Sean Ackard’s now officially a stalker,” Aria mumbled. She gestured to a clump of kids on the stairs. Both Sean and Klaudia Huusko, the Kahns’ exchange student, were staring at them. When they noticed the girls looking back, they turned away fast.

“Maybe Sean likes you again, Hanna,” Emily teased.

“Or maybe it’s about those suicide rumors.” Aria looked at Hanna. “Sean gave me a pamphlet the other day for a support group at his church. He was looking at me like I was going to slit my wrists right there.”