Page 128 of Wicked Promises

“Closet,” Riley whispers, hauling me across the room.

We slip into it, and I take a moment to be thankful for the size. She closes the closet with the tiniestsnick. We both back away. I spin around. The closet is deep and narrow, with Claire’sclothes on both long sides. In the back are a few rows of shelves, sparse except for the boxes at the top.

Claire’s bedroom door flies open. “Claire, I asked?—”

My heart cracks. Wherever Claire is, Hanna expected her to be here. And now the twelve-year-old is alone in thebig, creepy house, as she called it. I take a step toward the door, ready to reveal myself.

Riley grabs me from behind, covering my mouth with her hand.

“Please, be quiet,” she whispers in my ear.

My lungs stop working.

I’m so sorry.

Flashes of being in the same position—both as a child and just recently, yanked from the wrecked car—fill my mind. I cansmellthe smoke.Feelthe bite of glass in my skin. I thrash and claw at her arms.

She holds on tightly. “Stop, stop,” she whispers in my ear.

“Claire,” Hanna sings, her voice farther away. “Are you downstairs?”

Riley releases me, and I fall out of the closet.

I land on my hands and knees, gasping for air. I wasn’t here in a closet. I was there. It was so fucking real.

She crouches beside me. “Margo, I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot, I just… we can’t be caught. You said Claire lives here—did you know? Did she mention it?”

It takes a minute for me to regain my breath, but then I grab Riley’s offered hand and stand. Ignoring her other questions, I say, “She’s obsessed with car accidents.”

Riley nods slowly.

I go to Claire’s desk, yanking out the chair and taking a seat. Her computer is bound to be password protected—but at least it’s more proof that she has a laptop.Portable computer.

“It can’t be her,” I mumble.

I open the drawers and riffle through loose paper. At the bottom of the last drawer, there’s a wooden box.

I pause. Whatever is in this box was worth her hiding it—or it’s nothing.

If I don’t open it, the contents can’t hurt me. Claire remains innocent.

“What?” Riley takes the box from my hands and flips it open. Inside is a folded picture of me and Caleb. She pulls it out and flattens it.

I gasp. I can’t help it.

She’s…

“That bitch scratched your face off.” Riley’s tone is appalled.

I shudder.

“We need to get out of here. Fast.” She looks over her shoulder. “I hate to say Hanna’s right, but I’m getting creeped out.”

“We still need the yearbook. What if Masters is in on it?”

“Can’t we just trust the police for once?” Riley retorts.

I shake my head, then snap a picture of the photo with my phone.