Sutton feel a little…lost. I saw her in the library at school once poring over a book on genealogy. The look on her face…” Ethan hesitated. “Well, I’d never seen Sutton Mercer look sad before.”
A swell of vulnerability hit me like wave. I had no memory of that, but ever since I’d woken up at Emma’s place in Las Vegas, I’d felt a deep, familiar ache that had nothing to do with being dead. I’d always known I was adopted, and my parents had told me over and over that I was special because they’d chosen me to be their daughter. But the thought that my real mom hadn’t wanted me made me feel adrift and empty, like a piece of me was permanently missing.
But how had Ethan, whom I’d barely known, seen through me like that? Was I more transparent than I thought?
“I guess Laurel had what Sutton never could—a biological family,” Emma said softly, knowing exactly how her twin felt. When she was five years old, her and Sutton’s birth mother, Becky, had left her at a friend’s house…and never come back.
Emma sighed deeply. “Laurel just seems so angry. She was able to keep a lid on it until Thayer showed up in Sutton’s room and Mr. Mercer called the cops on him. But now that he’s back, it feels like she’d do anything to keep him away from the girl he thinks is Sutton—the girl Laurel knows he loves.”
“What’s the saying? That people kill for money, love, or revenge?” Ethan asked, rubbing his hands together as a cool breeze blew through the courtyard. “Maybe she wanted to get rid of the competition.”
“Well, she certainly accomplished that. It looks like they’re on a date.” Emma glanced across the courtyard again. Thayer rested a hand on Laurel’s shoulder. She fed him a chip loaded with guacamole, then shot another self-satisfied smirk in Emma’s direction. Emma wondered what happened to Caleb, Laurel’s boyfriend as of yesterday. Laurel probably didn’t even remember his name.
I followed Emma’s gaze back over to my little sister. Thayer was now giving his order to the waitress, his posture easy and natural. Laurel watched him adoringly, hugging the pale pink sweater-wrap that engulfed her tiny frame. I narrowed my eyes. I recognized that sweater. It, like Thayer, was mine.
Maybe my mom and Ethan were right—maybe Laurel wanted everything that was mine. And maybe, just maybe, she had killed me to get it all.
2
TO GRANDMOTHER’S HOUSE WE GO
The following evening, Emma turned into the Mercers’ neighborhood, groaning as her feet pushed the pedal.
“The pain,” she grumbled. They’d just had the worst tennis practice ever—it had involved a five-mile run before a grueling scrimmage and drills—and she could barely move her legs. Why couldn’t Sutton have just been a couch potato?
Laurel sat in the passenger seat, scrolling through her iPhone and ignoring Emma’s comment, even though she had to be in agony, too.
“So did you have a nice date with Thayer last night?” Emma couldn’t help but ask.
Laurel looked up and gave her a saccharine smile. “Yes, as a matter of fact. It was really romantic—I think we might even go to the Harvest Dance together.”
“What about Caleb?”
Laurel blinked, caught off guard. “Caleb and I never were exclusive,” she said after a moment.
Emma sniffed. It certainly looked that way at the Homecoming Dance, she wanted to say.
“Why do you care, anyway?” Laurel snapped, turning back to her phone. “Now that you have Ethan?”
Emma flinched at the disgusted way Laurel said Ethan’s name. Sutton’s friends had seemed pretty accepting of him, Laurel especially. She’d been the one who’d encouraged her to come clean with their friends about their romance. But was that an act? Or, if Laurel had killed Sutton, was it a secret wink-wink, nudge-nudge as if to say, I know you’re not my real sister. I know you never cared about Thayer.
“No, I don’t care,” Emma said tightly. “I was just making conversation.”
But I cared. What if Thayer did like my sister? Would he do that to me? Then again, he probably figured I’d abandoned him for Ethan. If only he knew the truth.
Emma turned up the Mercers’ driveway. The sun was setting behind their two-story adobe home, a home Emma had gawked at when she’d first laid eyes on it. She still had trouble accepting that she actually lived here. The orange rays glinted off Mr. Mercer’s Range Rover. Next to it was a gleaming black Cadillac Emma had never seen before. Its California license plate