The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,462

that in banishing Emma, she was banishing me, too. It had been hard enough, not being able to touch my family or talk to them. Now I couldn’t even watch them.

It was like I was losing them all over again.

21

SHELTER FROM THE STORM

Emma gripped the sides of the squad car’s passenger seat as the officer sped around a corner. She craned her neck to look behind them at the reporters trailing in their wake, news vans and cheap rental cars harrying the cop’s bumper like a pack of hungry wolves. She glanced at Corcoran. His lips were pursed in a tight, stoic line.

“Is there any way to keep them from following us?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Corcoran didn’t answer. His eyes flickered up to the rearview mirror. Then, without warning, he jerked the steering wheel into a hairpin turn, down an alley that ran behind a Starbucks and a Mediterranean deli. Emma watched three vans streak past. His hands steady on the wheel, he then floored the gas, and with an angry squeal of tires the squad car shot through the intersection just as the light turned red.

I thought suddenly of the times that Mads and Thayer and I had played Grand Theft Auto on our old PlayStation, back before I ever even thought Thayer was cute. This was even better. But Emma didn’t seem so happy. Her pulse throbbed wildly in her ears, and she was clutching the door handle, her eyes wide. “That was some driving,” she mumbled.

The hint of a smile flitted across Corcoran’s lips, but he didn’t say a word.

They drove the rest of the way to Ethan’s in a circuitous route, making a wide loop to get back to the Catalina Foothills where he lived. Emma watched Corcoran out of the corner of her eye as he drove. She wasn’t sure what to make of him, but he’d certainly gone out of his way to protect her from the reporters, which was more than Quinlan would have done.

Corcoran pulled up outside of Ethan’s house and put the car in park. She sat for a moment, staring up at the faded bungalow, the porch light casting a feeble glow over the steps and the swing.

“I’ll wait until you’re inside,” Corcoran said.

“Thanks,” she said softly. She let herself out of the car and started up to the house.

Before she’d made it halfway up the walk, the door burst open. Ethan ran down the steps to meet her, a worried frown on his face. His hair looked ink-black in the darkness, but his face was pale. “What’s going on?”

“The cops know.” She stumbled, suddenly feeling faint. Ethan grabbed her in his arms and steadied her. “Quinlan figured out that I’m not Sutton, using my dental records. He has my friend Alex from Henderson—he knows I’ve been texting her as Emma all this time.”

Ethan gave a sharp intake of breath. “And they think you did it?”

She nodded, rubbing her eyes with a fist. His arms were strong around her, her cheek pressed flat to his chest. His T-shirt had a Mexican sugar skull screen-printed across the front, and she found herself staring into its hollow eyes. It made her think of the crime scene pictures all over again, of her sister’s body ravaged by time and elements. She squeezed her eyes shut against the thought, breathing in Ethan’s warm vanilla smell.

“Who’s that?”

She looked up to see that Corcoran’s car was still there. She felt a little rush of gratitude. It was too dark to see the man’s face behind the windshield, but she knew he was waiting to make sure she was all right.

“They kept Sutton’s car to search for evidence, so he tried to take me home. But . . . the Mercers . . .” Her lip trembled. “They’re furious, Ethan. They think I killed Sutton.”

His chest rose and fell beneath her as he sighed. “Come on,” he said, leading her up the stairs and through the front door.

Ethan’s house gave off an aura of genteel neglect. The hardwood floors were scuffed but squeaky clean. The décor was dated—the floral wallpaper had a “grandma’s house” kind of feel—and the air smelled stale, as if the windows had been closed for a long time. There was no clutter anywhere, no piled-up mail or half-folded stack of laundry. Emma felt dizzy, and her knees buckled. “Let’s go into the kitchen,” Ethan said quickly, catching her. “You look like you need a glass of water.”

He led her down