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There was a low rumble of a passing car outside, sending a shock of fear through Emma’s system again. Pushing off the mattress, she tiptoed toward the door, pausing to shut off the TV as she passed. It was then that she noticed a matchbook sitting on top of the TV, its cover flipped slightly open and several matches pulled away. THE HORSESHOE, it said on the front. Scrawled in black pen on the inside were two words. Meet me.
Emma’s heart leapt. She reread the words, her mind scattering in a million directions. Was this message from Raven? Maybe she didn’t think meeting in the motel was safe. Maybe she worried about getting caught or maybe there was someone—Mr. Mercer?—watching.
Stuffing the matchbook into her clutch, she tore from the room and slammed the door behind her. She ran fast down the sidewalk, eager to get to her car. The Horseshoe diner was so close—she’d passed it on the way in. She’d be there in no time.
She was halfway across the parking lot when the glowing beams of headlights shot to life. Emma halted and shielded her eyes. Parked in one of the middle spaces was an SUV that hadn’t been there when she’d gone into the room. As her eyes adjusted, a hard pit formed in her stomach.
It was Mr. Mercer.
30
DINER DASH
The car door jerked open before Emma could run. She backed up against the wall of the motel as Sutton’s dad climbed from the SUV. His face was a twisted mask of frustration and fury. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” he shouted.
Emma tried to scream, but nothing came out. Images of what Mr. Mercer could do to her flashed through her mind. “Leave me alone!” she said in a small, weak voice.
“Get in the car!” Mr. Mercer barked.
Emma inched along the side of a windowsill, feeling her way with damp fingers. Maybe she could slip into the shadows and then run. Go to The Horseshoe, talk to Raven, call the police…
“I said, get in the car!”
Emma turned on her heel and started to sprint. There was a slam behind her, and she heard footsteps. Emma’s feet slapped the pavement hard, and when her left ankle turned, she winced but kept going. The footsteps were gaining on her, though. When she dared to glance over her shoulder, she could see Mr. Mercer just a few feet away.
Go! I screamed. Run!
Emma’s throat burned as she gasped for air. Black shadows danced along the walls of the motel. She was so close to Sutton’s car—only a few more yards before she could lock herself inside it. She rounded the corner to the back lot and raced across the final distance. Mercifully, she managed to get the door open and the key into the ignition before Sutton’s father reached her. The sound of the motor revving filled her with relief.
She backed out from the parking spot and peeled toward the exit. In the rearview mirror, she saw Mr. Mercer drop his hands to his knees. He looked like he was heaving, having a hard time catching his breath. Good, Emma thought as she sped from the motel’s parking lot.
She turned left onto the main road and crushed the accelerator to the floor. She pushed the car to its max and gripped the steering wheel. The diner loomed ahead, and she made the final turn and screeched into the parking lot. This place had to have the answers she needed. Raven had to be there. Because if not—what was her next move? She couldn’t go back to the Mercers. That much she knew for sure.
Deal with all that later, I thought. Just go.
The diner was long and thin with a dull, gray exterior, hedges that needed trimming, and windows that showed patrons eating fried potatoes, slurping coffee, or perusing menus. Dim lights flickered over the doorway, and wilted cacti lined the sidewalk. Emma pulled around to the parking lot behind the diner—she didn’t want Mr. Mercer to see Sutton’s car from the road on his way home.
The rain had let up when she stepped out of the car, and she hurried toward the entrance. A tiny bell jingled on the door, and the smell of eggs and greasy bacon was overwhelming. A line of short-order cooks behind the counter flipped burgers, and waitresses flitted between booths with coffee pots and ordering pads.
“Can I help you?” A sleepy-eyed hostess with crimped hair leaned on the hostess stand. She looked Emma up and down curiously, surely wondering why a girl in an expensive pink party dress and smudged makeup was at a down-and-out diner on a Friday night.
“Um, I’m meeting someone,” Emma mumbled. “I’ll just seat myself.”
The hostess shrugged. “Whatever.”
Barely any of the booths were taken, and the ones that were had multiple occupants: three teenage girls, an elderly couple who held hands over the table, and two guys in bright red mesh trucker hats drinking coffee. No one looked remotely like a woman Mr. Mercer would have an affair with—and furthermore, no one was looking at her cagily, preparing for a confrontation.
Emma moved past the tables, her heart thudding fast. A door marked LADIES beckoned at the end of the aisle. Emma pushed through it, her nose wrinkling with the sharp smell of lemony air freshener. “Hello?” she called through the room, her voice echoing off the pink tiles. “Is anyone in here?”
She peeked under the stalls, looking for feet, but they were empty.
She turned to the sink and splashed water onto her face. Had Raven left the note for someone else? Had someone else written on the matchbook and given it to Raven? Had she hit a dead end again?
She peered at her reflection and saw both herself and her sister staring back at her. I won’t let you down, Sutton, Emma said silently.
She exited the bathroom and stopped at the register. An overweight lady with thin blond hair was punching numbers into a calculator. “Can I help you?” she finally asked in a bored voice.
