Aaron went to the shelves and began hunting, and shortly he said, “Perfect, good.”

Seth refused to sit. He stood by the table like a bodyguard, arms folded. Aaron and I settled across from one another.

“Okay, Mr. Snow.” I gestured. “Wow me.”

“Read the draft of my article. Here.” Aaron pulled an iPad from his laptop bag, swiped at the screen, and pushed it over to me.

I kneaded my temples. Focus, Hannah, focus …

I squinted and began to read.

The title of the article jarred me wide awake.

M. Pierce, Author of Night Owl

“This is not true,” I said. “Whatever you—”

“Keep reading.” Aaron leafed through the books he’d retrieved from the shelf. They were Matt’s books, including The Surrogate.

I kept reading.

New evidence suggests that Night Owl, a self-published erotic romance relating events in the life of Matthew Sky, was written and possibly published by Sky himself.

Since Night Owl appeared online in January 2014, readers and critics have speculated about the identity of the author, who uses the pen name W. Pierce.

Sky used the pen name M. Pierce throughout his career.

In a revealing interview with Wendy Haswell of Geneva, New York, a woman named in Night Owl …

“Hannah, are you all right?” Seth touched my shoulder. I shuddered.

As I read on, I saw that Wendy—the woman who transcribed for Matt in Geneva, the woman at the farm—confirmed the details in Night Owl as truth.

And there was more. Aaron drew parallels between Night Owl and Matt’s other books. He established the time line of events in Night Owl. He listed legitimate landmarks: Matt’s apartment, our condominium, the Granite Wing Agency, the cabin in Geneva, Lot 49.

The article was rhetoric, and each point built Aaron’s unassailable thesis: that Matthew Sky, M. Pierce, wrote Night Owl.

And maybe that revelation wasn’t a big deal, but the last lines of the article were.

This new information leaves readers wondering: Is Night Owl fiction or autobiography? Is Matthew Sky alive and publishing under the pen name W. Pierce? Was Sky’s ambiguous death a cover for his disappearance?

No Stone Unturned continues to follow the …

I pushed the iPad away.

“And look at this,” Aaron said, passing open books to me. “Here, this phrase from Night Owl, it’s repeated in The Surrogate. Then here, in Mine Brook—”

“Stop.” I covered my face. “I’m … I’m too dizzy for this.”

Seth helped me stand and I let him. I needed the help.

And then, because I was drunk and desperate to throw Aaron off the trail, I said, “You’re wrong. You’re wrong because I wrote Night Owl. I wrote it, you dumb ass.”

Aaron’s eyes widened.

“What?” Seth looked equally stunned.

“I’ll explain later,” I hissed. “Let’s go. Take me home.”

At the door, I turned to take a parting shot. Aaron was smiling and calmly shelving Matt’s books. I frowned. It didn’t work. He didn’t believe me. On the contrary, my rash statement seemed to have given him some private pleasure.

“And if you publish what I just told you, I’ll sue your stupid magazine. I have a good lawyer.” I swallowed. “And you better not publish that article either, because it’s … er … defamation. Haven’t you had enough of your stupid online magazines shut down? Give up.”

Seth guided me out of the agency to my car. I slumped against the door. My heart was leaping in my chest. Fuck. I had to tell Matt what just happened. I had to get home.

“Drive me home,” I said.

Seth didn’t move. He stood on the sidewalk, hands in pockets and eyes narrowed.

“You lied to me,” he said. “You told me you didn’t write that book.”

“Oh, get over it.” I wanted to scream. “I didn’t publish it, okay? I wrote it. It was stupid, silly, whatever. And yeah, it was kind of influenced by Matt’s books. I never meant for it to get online. My e-mail was hacked. I … I e-mailed the story to myself. For backup.”

Seth frowned. Zero belief in that frown.

“That’s what happened.” I groaned. “I didn’t tell because it’s embarrassing, okay? That story was meant for me and Matt and no one else. I don’t care if you don’t believe me, just drive me home or—or don’t!” I threw a hand in the air. “I’ll call a f**king cab.”

I rummaged through my purse hysterically.

“Get in the car,” Seth said. He snatched my keys.

Finally. Seth Sky doing something useful.

I gave drunken directions to the condo and Seth drove in silence. After a few wrong turns, we pulled into the lot.

He climbed out of the car with me.

“Wait—what are you doing?” I backed away, bumping into another car.

“Walking you to your door.”

“No, no, no.” I staggered away from Seth. “I appreciate the ride, but—”

“Would you quit your whining?” Seth seized my shoulders and hauled me toward the complex. I stumbled along.

I told Aaron Snow that I wrote Night Owl.

Matt was in my condo.

Seth was walking me to the door.

And I was too drunk to process the implications of all this. My mind stalled.

I started to laugh. Everything was so f**ked-up. So many lies. A castle of lies. And Matt was its king, and I was the queen, holding together our elaborate deception.

“Darling, you’re going to be feeling this tomorrow,” Seth said. He helped me up the stairs to my door and unlocked it for me. My fine-motor skills were gone.

“Hey, so…” I blocked the doorway. “What—how much longer are you in town?”

“I’m leaving tomorrow. Our show was last night.” Seth peered into the condo. “Hannah, did you leave candles burning in here?”

“Huh?” I turned. Oh, shit.

Matt was nowhere in sight, but he’d lit a dozen candles on the coffee table and several more in the kitchen. The prelude to a romantic evening, under any other circumstances.

“You’re crazy. You could burn this whole f**king complex down.”

“What’s up … what’s up with your tattoos anyway?” I braced my hands against the doorframe. Seth didn’t seem to notice me grasping at straws. He kept looking into the semidarkness of the condo, then looking at me.

“Goldengrove is … from a poem. So is ‘the penny world.’ It’s nothing.” Seth narrowed his eyes. “It’s about stuff we leave behind.”

“Stuff?” My voice trembled. I wanted to slam the door in Seth’s face, but I felt that if I lowered my arms, he would walk right into my condo.

“Yeah, stuff. Youth, innocence, ignorance. The best times, like—” He hesitated, his dark eyes fixing on my face. “Like when my parents were alive, and our family was normal.”

“Normal but loaded.” I laughed shakily. Wow. Inappropriate Comments 101.

“Hannah, did … did you do all this for me?” Seth nodded toward the candlelit living room. “Did you know I would be at the party tonight?”

“What? No. God, no.”

“You did, didn’t you? And that’s why you’re drunk. A little too much liquid courage, right?” Seth smiled, wonderment and disbelief on his face. “Hannah…”

He leaned down and crushed his lips to mine. The kiss stunned me to stillness—the heat and hunger of it. The loneliness behind it.

“Kiss me,” he mumbled, pressing me into the condo with his body.

When Seth slid his tongue between my teeth, I bit down—hard.

“Fuck!” He reeled away.

I backed into a wall. Oh, shit. I could see the night cohering into Seth’s deluded reality: I was the oversexed author of Night Owl, I was falling for him, and I was sending him signals with my drunken bumbling and candlelit condo. Shit, shit …

Seth cringed and touched his mouth.

“What … is going on here?” At the sound of Matt’s voice—dry, measured, and low with rage—I collapsed. I slid down the wall as he materialized from the hallway. He looked like he could kill.

Seth blanched. His expression was horrible to see. First emptiness—a face devoid of emotion—unable or unwilling to comprehend. Then hurt and a flash of confusion. How could this be? Eyes wide, mouth open in fear. Am I seeing things?

Finally, anger and understanding. Seth’s features resolved into a mask of hate.

“You son of a bitch,” he said. His voice shook with emotion. “You son of a bitch.”

Shadows darkened Matt’s face. He looked around, as if there might be a fourth guest, and then between me and his brother.

“What is this?” he said. “Don’t touch her. Don’t you f**king touch her.”

“Matt, it’s nothing,” I said. “Seth just—”

I don’t know who moved first, though both men were on the edge of violence. Hands clenched. Jaws tight. Eyes wild.

Someone swung and they began to grapple. Matt got Seth around the middle and slammed him into a wall. A picture fell. Glass shattered. He hit Seth across the face once, twice, then Seth kicked and Matt fell. He kicked again, driving his foot into Matt’s gut. Matt groaned.

Matt rose and they collided, huffing and shouting as the sickening thump of blows filled the room. “Stop it!” I screamed. “Stop it, stop!”

I scrambled to my feet and launched myself at the brothers. Between inebriation and the flashing candlelight, I couldn’t see a damn thing. I hit hot muscle and tangled limbs.

“Stop!” I shrieked.

A fist plowed into my face. My head belted back. I heard a wheeze and a crunch like the sound of a broken accordion. White spots exploded before my eyes.

Someone said, “You hit her! You son of a bitch, you hit her!”

Another voice. “You hit her! You f**king hit her!”

I tried to protest, and then the world went black.

Chapter 30

MATT

I sat in the back of the Civic with Hannah on my lap.

“Little bird,” I whispered, “wake up.”

I stroked her hair and cradled her head. Shallow puffs of breath told me she was alive, but the muscles of her face were lax. Her breath hitched as the car went over a bump.

“Slow down,” I spat.

“Fuck you,” Seth said.

He was driving Hannah’s car, the nearest vehicle at our disposal.

The tires squealed as he swung into the ER parking lot.

He leapt out of the car and opened my door.

“Give her to me,” he said, reaching toward us.

“No, I’m taking her in. Get out of my way.” I clutched Hannah’s body.

“You’re wasting time!”

“Go f**k yourself.” I scooted along the seat with Hannah. “You’re going to tell everyone I’m alive anyway. I’m taking her in.”

Seth blocked the open door.

“I’m not saying jack shit about you being alive, Matt. I wish you were dead, all right? Why don’t you f**king die for real and do me a favor? You think I’m going to tell Nate and Uncle and Aunt Ella you’re alive and break their f**king hearts, you stupid shit? You’ve f**ked with this family enough. Be dead, if that’s what you f**king want. Give her to me!”

I hugged Hannah’s warm body to my chest and nuzzled my nose into her hair.

Be dead, Seth said. Die for real.

An ambulance blew past us, wailing and flashing.

“Matt, for f**k’s sake!” Seth crawled onto the backseat and clasped Hannah. I let her go.

Seth was going to keep my secret; I could see, even through his rage, that he was telling the truth. And it hurt that he wanted me gone for real, but I deserved it.

I snagged Seth’s wrist as he backed out with Hannah.

Her head lolled over his arm. Her legs dangled.

“What happened … between you two?” I said.

Seth wouldn’t look at me. After this, I knew he wouldn’t speak to me.

“Nothing,” he said. “She’s devoted to you, God knows why.”

He slammed the car door and carried Hannah into the ER.

* * *

I waited in the car all night. Seth had the keys, and anyway, I didn’t want to go back to the condo. I wanted to wait. I wanted to be there for Hannah.

I curled up on the backseat and shivered as the night cooled.

Around midnight, I broke down and called Mel. I told her where I was—not why—and gave her directions. “Bring blankets,” I said.

“Sure! Of course…”

A tense silence followed, and I was tempted to hang up. I didn’t.

Mel and I had to fix things. I needed her, and what happened earlier—Mel coming on to me—was girlish infatuation fueled by alcohol.

And it felt insignificant now, with Hannah in the ER …

I winced.

Hannah …

“We’re fine,” I said abruptly. “What happened in the car—don’t worry about it. We’re okay, Mel. I can forget about it. Can you?”

“Yes. God, yes, I can. I’ve been kicking myself. Are you angry at me?”

“No, I—” I channeled all my anger into beating my brother. “I’m not angry. I’m cold.”

Melanie showed up twenty minutes later with two fleece blankets from the dollar store.

“What are you doing here?” She sat next to me in the back of Hannah’s Civic. She looked like a child in her fuzzy pajama pants printed with stars.