The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,294

the same way he’d looked at me the night I died.

22

PLAY ALONG

Pretend you didn’t see him, Emma thought instantly. She put her head down and shuffled toward the locker room, her heart pounding hard. But then she heard a metallic sound of a hand slapping a car door. “Sutton!” Mr. Mercer’s voice called.

Emma stopped and peeked at him. “Oh, hey, Dad!” she said pleasantly, as if just noticing him for the first time.

Mr. Mercer didn’t look amused. He walked around to the other side and opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

Emma’s fingers shook. “Thanks, but I drove here,” she said, holding up her car keys and trying to sound normal. “I can get home on my own. And anyway, I have tennis practice now.”

“Get. In. The. Car,” Mr. Mercer said sternly. Then, seemingly realizing he was in a school parking lot, his lips formed a small smile, probably for the sake of anyone watching. “We need to talk, okay?” he said in a gentler voice.

The whole scene felt chillingly familiar. Don’t do it, Emma, I urged.

Emma didn’t budge from the square of pavement where she stood. She glanced around, hoping—praying—that someone would come around the corner and see this. Amazingly, there was no one. If only she could reach into her pocket and text Charlotte for help, but Mr. Mercer would see. And anyway, what would Charlotte say when she got here?

“Sutton?” Mr. Mercer said warningly.

Not sure what else to do, Emma walked over to the car and climbed inside. The SUV was chilly, the AC on full blast. The cold metal of the seat belt buckle felt like ice against her thigh.

Sutton’s dad shut his door and rested his hands on top of the steering wheel. He drummed his fingers on the thick leather, seemingly collecting his thoughts. Emma shrunk down in the seat and focused on the chipped beige polish on her fingernails, trying to remain calm. You’re going to be all right, she told herself. We’re in a public place. He can’t do anything to you here.

Yeah, until they drive away, I thought. And then what?

Finally, Mr. Mercer let out a sigh and looked at her. “You and I have needed to talk for a long time now.” His words came out slowly, like he was measuring each one. “We might as well get it out in the open.”

Mr. Mercer took a long breath. “That night in the canyon changed all of our lives. I didn’t plan for it to happen that way….” His voice trailed off. “But I was doing it for you.” His expression was beseeching. “I thought it would make things better. I thought it was what you wanted.”

The air in the car seemed to plummet another ten degrees. Emma could barely keep her jaw from dropping. Was he talking about her life in Nevada, as a foster child? Was he intimating that he’d killed her twin to rescue her from foster care?

Jesus. The horror I’d previously felt had now multiplied exponentially. Was my dad really that insane? Did he hate me that much?

Anger burned in Emma’s chest. “How could you think it would make things better?” she squeaked. Her fingers curled around the door handle.

But Mr. Mercer grabbed her arm before she could get away. When Emma turned, his eyes were blazing again. “Look. We have a good thing going here. Don’t you think? Do you really want to ruin everything? For your mother, for yourself?”

Emma stared at him, but no words came out.

“I didn’t think so,” Mr. Mercer said. He placed his hands on Emma’s shoulders, pressing her into the seat. “Keep playing along. Everything will be okay.”

Emma was too afraid to even breathe. His words mirrored the ones used in the first note the killer left her: Sutton’s dead. Tell no one. Keep playing along, or you’re next.

He’d confirmed everything she suspected to be true. Rage suddenly flowed through her. He’d done this to Sutton—to her. He’d brought her here to cover up his heinous crime. Then he’d threatened her, again and again, to keep quiet. And all for…what? Some woman? Keeping up family appearances?

My shock and sadness and horror turned to fury, too. My own father had killed me. There was no question, and there was no good reason. Parents were supposed to love, not kill. They were supposed to protect their children, not throw them away like they were a pair of last year’s boot-cut jeans. I wasn’t dispensable. I wasn’t nothing.

Emma whipped around and grabbed the handle again.