The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,188

MacBook Air laptop and navigated to the Greyhound website, researching the pick-up and drop-off points for Greyhound buses in Seattle and Tucson. It was a long trip, over a day, with a driver change halfway, in Sacramento.

She dialed the customer service number on the site and waited almost ten minutes on hold, listening to a Muzak version of a Britney Spears song. Finally, a sweet-sounding woman with a Southern accent answered. Emma cleared her throat, steeled her nerves, and started to speak.

“I’m really hoping you can help me.” Emma tried to sound as though she were distraught. “My brother ran away and I have reason to believe that he took one of your buses out of Tucson. Is there any way you can tell me if he bought a ticket? It would have been in early September.” She couldn’t believe the story had just spilled from her lips. She hadn’t rehearsed it beforehand, but she was surprised at how natural it sounded. It was an old trick she remembered Becky doing quite a bit: sobbing when she needed to get her way. Once, when they were at an IHOP and were presented with a bill they couldn’t pay, Becky told the waitress a long, drawn-out tale of woe about how her deadbeat husband must have cleaned out her wallet without telling her. Emma had sat next to her in the booth, gaping at her mother, but whenever she breathed in to correct Becky, her mother kicked her sharply under the table.

The woman on the other end of the phone coughed. “Well, I’m not really supposed to do something like that, honey.”

“I’m really sorry to ask.” Emma let out a loud sob. “I’m just so, so desperate. My brother and I were really close. I’m devastated he’s gone, and I’m worried he’s in danger.”

The woman hesitated for a moment, and Emma knew she had her. Finally, she sighed. “What’s your brother’s name?”

Score. Emma bit back a smile. “Thayer. Thayer Vega.”

She heard a series of clicks on the other end. “Ma’am, I see a Thayer Vega on a Seattle-to-Tucson bus that left at 9 A.M. on the morning of August thirtieth, but that’s the only entry I have with his name in the system.”

Emma switched the phone to the other ear, feeling deflated. “Are you sure? Maybe it’s out of a different city? What about Phoenix? Flagstaff?”

“Anything is possible,” the woman answered. “I only have his name on the original trip because he booked online. He could have paid cash at any station—there’s no way for us to track that.”

Emma jumped at this piece of information. “Is there any way to look at where he booked that ticket online? Maybe an IP address?”

There was a long pause. “No, I don’t have that ability. And I’ve really told you more than I should …”

Figuring she’d gotten everything she could, Emma thanked the woman for her time and hung up. Shit. She knew calling Greyhound was a long shot—she was lucky they had released any information at all.

She closed the laptop and ran her hands along its smooth, shiny surface. Suddenly, the four walls seemed to be closing in on her. Putting the computer back on Sutton’s desk, she slipped on Sutton’s ballet flats and started down the stairs.

Dusk had fallen outside, and the house was cool, dark, and silent. Emma didn’t know where the family had gone—it was too early to go to bed. She walked down the empty hall, her footsteps ringing out on the terra-cottatiled floor, and entered the kitchen. The pungent scents of roasted potatoes and grilled beef filled the air. The oven was still on, and Emma could just make out a plate waiting for her in a little lower compartment. She couldn’t help but feel touched. No foster mom had ever made her a plate of leftovers. Mostly she’d had to fend for herself.

But she wasn’t hungry right now. Emma walked through the kitchen and let herself out onto the redtiled patio behind the Mercer’s house. The night had a cool edge to it and after the warmth of the day, it felt like plunging into a swimming pool after a soak in a hot tub. She dragged one of the wooden chaise lounges to the darkest corner of the lawn, then stretched out on it. She’d always done her best thinking outside.

The midnight blue sky was alive with stars. They twinkled like faraway Christmas lights, bright and clear. It had been ages since Emma had sat out