Page 57 of The Engagement Party

“Move back.” Mitch’s hand hesitated over the lock. He closed his eyes for a second then opened them again and undid the bolt.

The door bounced open, bringing in a sweep of wet, cold air on a burst of wind. A figure stepped inside and slammed the door shut behind him. The lock slipped back into place as the officer leaned against the door, looking out the side window with his back to the room.

Ruthie tried to shift to get a better look at him but he wore a raincoat with a hood. The mix of grass stains, mud, and blood on his pants confirmed he’d been knocked down.

Sierra and Mitch stood the closest. Mitch hadn’t lowered the log he held. Sierra seemed more concerned with other issues. “You were shot.”

The officer didn’t turn around or give up his position at the door.

Mitch’s gaze moved over the officer. “And you were on the ground.”

“Anyone have a weapon?” The officer got the question out through a round of coughing.

Sierra glanced at Ruthie but didn’t say anything.

Ruthie barely noticed because the question hit her the wrongway. Her trust, already waning, performed an unexpected nosedive. “Did you see your attacker?”

The officer stiffened before answering. “Only a shadow then the gun went off and I went down.”

That voice.

“You should come in and let us check your injuries.” Sierra gestured toward Cassie’s purse and the piles of medicine and assorted mom things inside. “Sorry, I can’t remember your name.”

The officer dropped his hood and turned to face the room. “Dylan. Dylan Richter.”

He had dirt-streaked cheeks and disheveled hair that had long ago lost the battle to the wind. His hand moved to his gun as he stared right at Ruthie.

Only one thought ran through her mind—Not a police officer. Not law enforcement of any type.

Now she knew what this game was... and more people were going to die.

Chapter Forty-Two

Book Notes: Those Searching for the Truth

You can smother the truth. Bury it deep in a hole and cover it with rocks and dirt. Plant trees. Build houses and highways over it. Let the years pass and tendrils of memories grow up and around for cover as the earth devours the shattered pieces left behind. But the truth’s tattered edges still pulse with life. Faint and carried in hints and promises to others, it survives. Through strength of will or out of pure audacity, it’s there. Waiting to be uncovered.

Who would dig up the truth about what happened at Bowdoin and shine a light on it? There were, of course, those left behind. The ones who knew and grieved, as well as those who viewed the ongoing investigation as a calling. Family members, friends, detectives, and in modern times, keyboard warriors. People who spent their days and nights sleuthing and dissecting, watching and devouring true crime, questioning and analyzing. In groups or as a movement, they ban together and try to give that tiny flicker of truth air and breathe life back into the quest.

The truth-seekers never gave up on Emily and Brendan. They viewed with skepticism the packaged results that bound theirdeaths together. They poked at the holes. They asked questions and more questions. Over smirks by some outsiders and whispers about their “questionable” motivations, the murderinos persisted until the drumbeat of doubt grew louder and seeped out of their insular online world and into the general consciousness.

They had theories and timelines. Photos and a copy of Emily’s leaked diary. Many pointed to Mitch and Jake as therealsuspects. A few threw out names not previously mentioned in the public space. Nothing and no one were off-limits.

They got others interested in their findings and theories, and their ranks increased. They spent hours looking into the private lives of those who knew Emily and Brendan back then.

They drew attention. People who knew Emily and Brendan, and some who pretended to know them, crawled out of their dark spaces. The dedicated started a conversation... and woke a beast.

Chapter Forty-Three

Sierra

Dylan.For some reason the name hadn’t stuck in Sierra’s head before. She bet it would now. She’d never been the type to expect someone to ride into trouble and save her, but this weekend—today—the concept sounded good. They needed an advantage and Dylan provided that.

His arrival meant two people in the room had guns. Sierra debated spilling Ruthie’s secret and eliminating more surprises. They’d had enough of those. But, despite every new bit of information she’d collected, Sierra didn’t think Ruthie was a killer. She wasn’t a fiancée who ran lukewarm on the guy she planned on marrying either. No way was that relationship real. Sierra couldn’t figure out how to make those two ideas fit together.

“Everybody, back up,” Dylan said. “Those weapons you’re holding? Drop them. Nice and easy on the table.”

Will frowned. “Why?”

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