Emily and the others stared at Melissa for a beat without moving. Frustrated, Melissa grabbed the remote and keyed in channel four herself. The screen showed a crowd of people thrusting microphones in someone’s face. The news camera wobbled, as if it was constantly being jostled around. Then, some of the heads parted. First, Emily saw a guy with a strong jaw and stunning green eyes. It was Darren Wilden, Rosewood’s youngest cop, the officer who had helped them find Spencer when Mona had kidnapped her. When Wilden stepped away, the camera fixed on someone in a rumpled suit. His floppy golden hair was unforgettable. Emily’s whole body went limp.
“Ian?” she whispered.
Aria grabbed Emily’s hand.
Spencer stared at Melissa, her face completely white. “What’s going on? Why isn’t he in prison?”
Melissa shook her head helplessly. “I don’t know.”
Ian’s blond hair shone like that of a polished bronze statue, but his face looked sallow. The screen switched to a News 4 reporter. “Mr. Thomas’s mother has been diagnosed with aggressive pancreatic cancer,” she explained. “There has just been an emergency hearing, and Thomas has been granted temporary bail to visit her.”
“What?” Hanna screamed.
A banner at the bottom of the screen said: JUDGE BAXTER RULES ON THOMAS BAIL REQUEST. Emily’s heart hammered in her ears. Ian’s lawyer, a silver-haired man in a pin-striped suit, pushed to the front of the crowd and stood in front of the cameras. Flashbulbs flared in the background. “It was my client’s mother’s dying wish to spend her last days with her son,” he announced. “And I’m thrilled we won the motion for temporary bail. Ian will be under house arrest until his trial starts on Friday.”
Emily felt faint. “House arrest?” she repeated, dropping Aria’s hand. Ian’s family lived in a big Cape Cod–style house less than a mile from the Hastingses’ farmhouse. Once, back when Ali was still alive and Ian and Melissa were dating, Emily had overheard Ian telling Melissa that he could see the Hastingses’ windmill from his bedroom window.
“This can’t be happening,” Aria said in a catatonic voice.
The reporters thrust microphones in Ian’s face. “How do you feel about the decision?” they asked. “What has the county jail been like for you?” “Do you feel you’ve been wrongfully accused?”
“Yes, I’ve been wrongfully accused,” Ian said, in a strong, angry voice. “And jail has been exactly what you’d expect—hell.” He pursed his lips together, glaring right into the camera lens. “I’m going to do everything in my power never to go back there.”
A chill ran up Emily’s spine. She thought of Ian on that online interview she’d seen before Christmas. Someone wants me here. Someone’s concealing the truth. They’re going to pay.
The reporters chased Ian as he walked to a waiting black limousine. “What do you mean, you’re not going back there?” they cried. “Did someone else do it? Do you know something we don’t?”
Ian didn’t answer. He just let his lawyer guide him toward the waiting limo. Emily looked around at the others. Hanna’s face was green. Aria was chewing on the collar of her sweater. Melissa ran out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind her. Spencer stood up and faced all of them.
“We’re going to be okay,” she said forcefully. “We can’t freak out.”
“He might come looking for us,” Emily whispered, her heart booming. “He’s so angry. And he blames us.”
A tiny muscle near Spencer’s mouth quivered.
The TV camera zoomed in on Ian as he climbed into the backseat of the limo. For a moment, it seemed like his deranged eyes were looking through the camera lens, like he could see Emily and her friends. Hanna let out a small “eep.”
The girls watched as Ian settled into the leather seat and reached for something in his jacket pocket. Then Ian’s lawyer slammed the door shut behind him, and the camera pulled away, switching back to the News 4 reporter. Below her the banner now read: JUDGE BAXTER GRANTS THOMAS TEMPORARY BAIL.
Suddenly, Emily’s phone beeped, making her jump. At the same time, a chime sounded from Hanna’s purse.
Then, there was a bleep. Aria’s Treo, which was sitting in her lap, lit up. Spencer’s Sidekick rang, two loud bleats like an old British telephone.
The TV flickered in the background. All they could see were the taillights of Ian’s limo, pulling into the street and slowly driving away. Emily exchanged glances with her friends, all the blood slowly draining from her head.
Emily stared at her phone’s LCD window. ONE NEW TEXT MESSAGE.
Her hands shook as she hit Read.
Honestly, bitches…did you really think I’d let you off that easy? You haven’t gotten nearly what you deserve. And I can’t wait to give it to you. Mwah!
—A
10 BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER…IF YOU’RE REALLY FAMILY, THAT IS
Seconds later, Spencer was on the phone with Officer Wilden. She put the call on speaker so her friends could hear. “That’s right,” she barked into the mouthpiece. “Ian just sent us a threatening text.”
“Are you sure it’s Ian?” Wilden’s voice crackled on the other end.
“Positive,” Spencer said. She looked at the others, and they nodded. Who else could have sent this, after all? Ian had to be furious at them. Their evidence had sent him to jail, and their testimony—specifically her testimony—at his upcoming trial would put him in prison for the rest of his life. Plus, he’d reached into his pocket just as the limo door had closed, as if searching for a cell phone…
“I’m a couple miles from your house,” Wilden replied. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
They heard his car pulling into the driveway a minute later. Wilden wore a heavy, down-filled Rosewood PD jacket that smelled slightly of mothballs. There was a gun in his holster and his ever-present walkie-talkie. When he took off his black wool hat, his hair was matted.
“I can’t believe the judge let him out.” Wilden’s voice was razor-sharp. “I seriously can’t believe it.” He stormed into the foyer with a lot of pent-up energy, like a lion prowling around his habitat at the Philadelphia Zoo.
Spencer raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t seen Wilden this keyed up since high school, when Principal Appleton had threatened to expel him for attempting to steal his vintage Ducati motorcycle. Even the night Mona died, when Wilden had had to tackle Ian in Spencer’s backyard to make sure he didn’t run, he’d remained stoic and unruffled.
But it was reassuring that he was as furious as they were. “Here’s the note,” Spencer said, thrusting her Sidekick under Wilden’s nose. He frowned and studied the screen. His walkie made a few squawks and bleeps, but he ignored them.
Finally, Wilden handed the device back to Spencer. “So you think this is from Ian?”
“Of course it’s from Ian,” Emily urged.
Wilden pushed his hands into his pockets. He sank down on the rose-printed wingback living room couch. “I know how this must look,” he started carefully. “And I promise I will investigate this. But I want you guys to entertain the possibility that this is just from a copycat.”
“A copycat?” Hanna screeched.
“Think about it.” Wilden leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Ever since your story has been on the news, there have been tons of people sending threatening notes, calling themselves A. And although we’ve tried to keep your cell numbers private, people have ways of getting hold of information.” He pointed to Spencer’s phone. “Whoever wrote that probably timed it with Ian’s release, making it look like he’d sent it, that’s all.”