Page 7 of Amethyst

Mom pushes through my bedroom doorway, jolting me from my thoughts. She grabs me and hugs me, rubbing my back like she used to do when I was little girl. “You have all the time you need,” she says against my hair. “All the time in the world. Dad and I are here for you with whatever you need.”

“I know,” I say against her.

And they will do whatever they can. They’ll move mountains for me.

The only problem is?

None of that is what I need.

But one thing I do need. I need to see Max. My safe place.

I pull away from Mom.

She raises her eyebrows. “Honey?”

I inhale deeply. “I’d like to see Max.”

3

MAX

I’ll find her. I will find her if it’s the last thing I do.

The gallant words of an eighteen-year-old boy in love. And in denial.

I didn’t find Jenna, of course. But I tried. I distributed flyers, set up internet search parties, made hundreds of phone calls the summer before college.

Before I finally let myself mourn.

The floral scent of the white roses I’m carrying wafts toward me as I stand at the doorway to the Hollands’ two-story. Through the window next to the door, I see the formal living room—the room Jenna and I never sat in when we were growing up. The room that was always pristine, always ready in case Dick—an attorney—had to bring clients home for dinner at the last minute. The ivory suede sofa is still there, along with the marble-topped coffee table and the Ansel Adams book sitting atop it just so.

After Jenna disappeared, I came over to see Dick and Susanna a few times, but every time I did, all I could see was the Jenna shrine they set up for her memorial service. They never took it down. So many photos of Jenna throughout the years, most of which included me. I watched myself grow up right alongside Jenna in that shrine.

So I stopped coming over. It was too painful.

And I wasn’t sure I’d ever love again.

Then I found Mimi.

Blond and boisterous Mimi, who’s a lot like the girls I dated in high school before I fell in love with Jenna.

I put a ring on her finger six months ago, and the wedding date is set for next summer.

She knows about Jenna—that is, she knows about my best friend who disappeared the day I was supposed to take her to the senior prom.

Shedoesn’tknow I was going to profess my love to her that evening.

My Jenna…

What she’s been through.

Seven years of being hunted and abused on an island owned by a billionaire who is now dead.

Dead and rotting in hell. He’d better be, anyway.

I still can’t think of it without my stomach twisting up in knots, without nausea threatening to overtake me.

When the news broke nearly a year ago that Derek Wolfe had been murdered and that his children had uncovered his secret island where he kept women to be hunted and preyed upon, I never imagined Jenna could have been one of those women.

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