Had it been like falling asleep? Did Brooke know what she’d done?

The cops had asked her if Brooke was suicidal. And her foster mother had asked. And Brooke’s parents had asked. Didn’t anyone but her know the type of person Brooke was? She’d never do that. She loved her life. She knew she was getting a new pair of UGGs for Christmas; she talked about going to college in California. Brooke had plans for her life.

Dying in the middle of a forest with a bunch of other girls wasn’t one of them. Trinity was positive of that fact.

Brooke’s parents had been in meltdown mode since they’d discovered their daughter was missing. Trinity hadn’t been in the medical examiner’s office when Brooke’s parents had shown up. Thank goodness. Brooke’s mom’s hysterics would have been unbearable. Not that her mom didn’t have good reason to be upset, but seeing her hang on her husband and crying nonstop at the hospital freaked Trinity out.

Brooke’s father escorted her mother everywhere, holding her up like she had legs of Jell-O.

Jeez, get it together, would you?

Instant guilt flooded her. How would you feel if your daughter was dying in the next room? She asked a short prayer for forgiveness. She talked to God occasionally. She figured it didn’t hurt. Better to be safe than sorry, right?

Brooke was an only child. If she died her parents had no one.

Trinity’s chin lifted. She was an only child and had no one. She’d survived.

Her cell phone vibrated in her back pocket. She studied the text on the screen, her chest tightening.

IS B GOING TO BE OK?

She replied: DON’T KNOW.

She waited and waited for his reply but nothing came. She finally slid the phone back in her pocket, feeling let down. Jason had texted her a few times in the month she’d known him. And all those texts had been questions about Brooke. He was good-looking but clearly not interested in her; he’d wanted to know about her friend. Trinity slumped in her chair and flipped the pages of the magazine. The text had sent her heart pounding one minute and dragging the next.

Why was she interested in a guy who was clearly not interested in her?

Katy sighed as she sat in the chair next to Trinity. “Coffee?” She held a little cup out to Trinity, who nodded and took the cup. Katy moved with quick gestures, reminding Trinity of a sharp-eyed bird. A high-energy, petite woman, her dark eyes missed nothing. Besides fostering, she worked with high-risk women, counseling them on how to get out of abusive relationships. More than once she’d had to leave in the middle of the night to respond to a terrified call from a woman. Trinity sipped, silently gagging at the papery chemical taste of the coffee. She didn’t want the coffee; she took it because Katy had been kind enough to think of her. Katy was like that.

Trinity tried to let her know when the small gestures were appreciated.

“Thanks,” she mumbled into her coffee.

“Who was texting you?”

Katy saw things. Things a typical teen hoped a parent wouldn’t notice. And she had no qualms asking about what she’d seen. Katy had learned to be blunt with her fosters and abuse cases.

“Jason. A friend of Brooke’s.”

“Friend of yours too? I haven’t heard you mention him before.”

See?

“Her friend. I’ve met him once or twice. He doesn’t go to our school. I’m surprised he has my number to text me,” she lied. Why was she lying? Was it because it was about a boy she barely knew?

“Well, that makes no sense,” Katy logically pointed out. “You gave him your number or Brooke did for a particular reason. Which is it?”

Once again, Katy wasn’t one to let the little details slide.

I should have admitted it in the first place.

“I think he got it when we were arranging a ride to meet at the mall a few weeks ago. I’d forgot about that.” That was better. And the truth.

“Uh-huh.” Katy didn’t question any more. In a roundabout way, she’d pointed out that Trinity was lying. And in a roundabout way, Trinity admitted it. Case closed.

A nurse bolted by the waiting area, and two other medical staffers followed within seconds.

Trinity’s heart stopped, and she stood to see where they’d gone.

Brooke’s room.

The uniformed cop who’d sat outside Brooke’s door was on his cell phone, alarm on his face, pacing in and out of Brooke’s room as medical staff rushed the room.

It’s a code.

Beside her, Katy stood and grasped Trinity’s hand, squeezing tight as she watched the personnel fill the room. “Oh, no,” she whispered. Trinity’s heart echoed her words.

Shrieks from Brooke’s mother reached Trinity’s ears. She clapped one hand over an ear, unwilling to let go of Katy’s grip, but the sounds didn’t quiet. They thundered in her head.

Brooke.

He frowned at the article in the newspaper. They were looking at the old cases again? They’d kept the evidence all these years? He’d assumed the bodies had been cremated or buried. How could the medical examiner’s office have room to store unidentified remains for decades? He read the article again, slower this time, squinting in the dim light. It was noon, but the rain clouds and tall trees blocked the sun around his home. And his eyes were old. All of him was old. He hated his old body, the constant pain and unsteadiness. In his youth he’d been strong, a leader people looked up to and asked for guidance.

Now he had only a few followers.