Page 14 of Shark Cove

“That’s it,” Malia whispered. Could Regina William have accidentally gone too far with one of her “treatments” and killed Camille? Or, decided to put her in an institution or something, and pretended she ran away so she could get attention?

How could Malia explain the photos she’d taken in the house and share them with her mom? Maybe just push her mother to get a search warrant for the house . . . but what if Regina William hid the evidence by the time Harry searched it?

Malia checked the Wallflower burner phone. Sure enough, texts had come in—but nothing new on Camille. On the Wallflower site, reactions to Malia’s “missing person” post about Camille were shocked, surprised, and questioning, but there were no new leads.

Malia was too upset about Camille to do more than glance at the attention her new graphic with Blake Lee as Cupid was getting, but she needed to keep things going on the website—she had her own reputation to maintain, such as it was. She was setting up a contest for nominations to go to prom with Blake when a chat window opened in her Messenger account.

“Hello, Wallflower.”

Malia, lying on her belly on her bed, blinked in disbelief and read the message again.

The Messenger account currently open was in her own name, Malia Clark. She’d been hoping Camille would find a way to contact her. She had one for Wallflower business, too, but this wasn’t that account.

“Who is this?”Malia typed back.

“More importantly, I know who the Wallflower is. And I’m going to tell everyone unless we can meet.”

Blood roared in Malia’s head. Her whole body went rigid and hot.“What do you want?”

“I want to talk with you about a missing person.”

Malia froze.

What she should do was go tell her mom—and she couldn’t, without revealing the existence of the Wallflower. She was too deep in deception to call for help, and things were spinning out of control.

“I’ve got nothing to say,”she typed.“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”Deny, deny, deny, her lawyer father had drilled into her head. Never admit anything. That’s how criminals got off. It was horrible that she felt like one.

“I’ve tracked your nasty little gossip site to your computer’s IP address. You’re the cyberbully known as the Wallflower, Malia Clark. Meet me or I’ll turn you in to the cops and your school’s administration.”

The frozen feeling dissolved into panic.

Malia jumped off the bed, sweat breaking out all over her body.

She wanted to slam the laptop shut, but if she did, would this person get on the phone? Call the MPD and ask for her mom? Call her principal on the emergency after-hours school hotline?

“What is this about?”She typed again.

“I know where you live. Meet me in front of your house in half an hour.”

“Holy crap!” Malia exclaimed, jumping up off the bed again.

“What?” Kylie yelled from her bedroom.

“Nothing. Just saw a spider,” Malia yelled back.

Lying was getting easier, but it still didn’t feel any better.

What didyou wear to meet a blackmailer? Malia slid her feet into socks and put on a pair of clean jeans, pulling on her invisibility sweatshirt, and lifting the hood up over her head.

She did have one thing whoever-it-was wouldn’t expect—pepper spray.Harry had given her a thumb-sized can of it on a keychain as a stocking stuffer. She felt bad remembering the eye roll she’d given her mom, the irritated comment about being “overprotective.” If only she could walk to Mom’s bedroom two doors down and tell her everything—but if she did, she’d be grounded for the rest of her life. Lose her laptop, phone, and any ability to help find Camille.

Malia stopped at her mom’s doorway. Harry wore her comfy bedtime sweats and was propped against pillows with Kylie and Doodlebug. They were eating more of that bagged popcorn and watching a movie. “I need to take a walk. I’m too upset about Camille.”

“Oh honey. Worrying isn’t going to speed anything up. Come get in bed with us.” Harry patted the duvet beside her.

“I can’t. But don’t worry; I won’t leave the area.” That was the rule. Malia could walk around outside in the overgrown yard, howl at the moon if she wanted to—but she wasn’t to walk far down the narrow road in the dark.

“Okay. I’ll look for you in an hour or so if you’re not back,” Harry said.

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