Cross thought about the question for a bit before answering. Kerri wondered if she was putting a story together or collecting her thoughts.

“The DEA and every other law enforcement agency you can name has wanted to stop the Osorio cartel for years,” she said finally. “Walsh wanted to stop the people in positions of power who support the cartel, starting here. Those two goals aren’t the same.”

“Why do you say that?” Kerri asked.

Cross stared at her. “The ones Walsh wanted to stop are people the world around them believes in, respects. Except they have no idea that some of those icons of trust and justice wear masks that conceal the worst kind of evil.”

11

2:30 p.m.

Brighton Academy

Seventh Avenue

Birmingham

Tori kept her head turned down as if reading while she surveyed the other tables in the library.

They were watching her.

All of them.

“I’m terrified for you,” Alice whispered.

Fear slid icy cold through Tori’s body. She turned her head just enough to look her friend in the eye. Alice was the only person who had sat down at Tori’s table.

No one else was speaking to her . . . just watching her. They were all watching her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Alice pretended to read her book, but, like Tori, she wasn’t. Enough. Tori had done nothing wrong. She lifted her gaze and scanned the tables. Faces instantly turned away, heads tilted downward. Tori gritted her teeth. She had gone to school with most of the kids since kindergarten. How could they believe she had done something so terrible?

She lowered her gaze to the printed pages. “I didn’t do anything.”

This was the truth. She’d never laid a hand on Brendal. She’d argued with her, sure. The girl was mean. She loved to hurt people. Tori’s mom had taught her to stand up for herself and her friends. She wasn’t going to stand by and allow some bully to just say whatever she wanted without speaking up.

“Maybe you just need to tell the truth.”

Tori’s gaze jerked toward Alice once more. From the day Alice started at Brighton, Tori had been in awe of her. She was so beautiful. Her long dark hair and intense dark eyes were like exotic or something. She had those lips celebrities paid big money for and extralong, thick lashes. Tori’s stomach cramped. She didn’t remember a lot about her grandmother. She’d died like seven years ago. But she did remember this funny rule she’d always recited. Pretty is as pretty does.

Alice wasn’t as pretty as Tori had thought.

“What do you mean?” Tori said this louder than she’d intended. She lowered her voice. “I did tell the truth.”

“Did you?” Alice’s dark gaze was laser focused on Tori, as if she could see inside her brain. See her thoughts.

“Of course I did. Why would I lie? I didn’t—”

“Everyone knows, Tori.”

Alice didn’t look away, didn’t blink. Her gaze was hypnotic. It drew Tori and at the same time terrified her.

“I . . . I don’t know what you mean.”

Not even a blink. “They know Brendal had figured out your secret. She was going to tell the whole school.”

Impossible. The only person who had known was dead. Tori had confided in her cousin Amelia. No one else in the whole wide world knew.

Unless . . .

Alice nodded as if reading her mind. “Yes. Sarah knows. She’s always known.”

Tori swallowed back the awful taste suddenly filling her mouth. “Sarah is my best friend. She wouldn’t say anything to hurt me.”

“Are you certain?” Alice countered. “She goes to that very strict church. They don’t accept just anyone, you know.”

Tori’s heart beat faster, throat tightened. She struggled to draw in a breath. “You’re wrong.” She stole another covert glance around the library. Some still stared at her and whispered behind their hands to their tablemates. Faster, faster, Tori’s heart pounded. “No one knows.”

“I know. Remember?”

The air stalled in Tori’s lungs as her gaze swung back to the other girl’s. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. No one knows. Not even Sarah.” A tiny burst of anger gave her courage. “You’re lying.”

Tori had seen Alice talking to Brendal. Lots of times. At least for a while. Then Brendal had started her usual mean crap, and Alice had ended up all alone again. Tori had felt sorry for her. She’d invited Alice to sit with her and Sarah at lunch again—despite how Alice had blown them off for Brendal. Sarah hadn’t wanted to. Not at first anyway.

But it was the right thing to do. Wasn’t it?

“I do know. You just don’t remember what happened that night.” Alice smiled. “Doesn’t matter, why would I ever tell? I’m your friend. I love you. But they see it. Anyone who really looks can. It’s so obvious. They probably think you and Sarah—”

“No,” Tori snapped. “Sarah and I are best friends. That’s all.”

“Has anything like Brendal’s fall ever happened to anyone you and Sarah know?”

Tori shook her head. “Things like this don’t happen at Brighton.”

As hard as she tried to focus on the words printed on the pages, Tori’s mind wouldn’t latch on to them. It was like looking at a foreign language. Alice still stared at her. She could feel her gaze burning her cheek. Had something happened between her and Alice one of those times Tori had spent the night with her? She’d had weird dreams when she’d stayed at Alice’s house. But this wouldn’t have been a dream. Worry tore at her. She didn’t dare ask Alice to explain what she meant.

“This is going to destroy your life, Tori. Your family—everyone here—they’re all going to be shocked and believe the worst. That’s what people do. Someone has to take the blame for what happened.”

Terror rose in Tori’s blood. Her throat tightened to the point she couldn’t speak.

“I know you’ve thought about this before. When your father left. And then when your cousin was murdered.”

The whispered words echoed in Tori’s ears as if Alice had shouted them.

“You’re thinking it would be easier not to have to deal with it. I understand. I would be terrified too. It would be so humiliating if they learned the whole story about who you are.”