"I can help you save your sister. But I need something from you...." Sisters Bree and Alissa Walker share a special bond. Neglected by their parents, they have always looked out for one another. But one day, 16-year-old Alissa goes missing. When Bree discovers her green backpack with all her belongings abandoned on the steps of their run-down trailer, she knows that something bad has happened.... Then she receives a chilling text message. Someone has Alissa. But Bree will have to give up something very precious in exchange. Desperate to save Alissa, Bree looks at everyone close to their family. She’s sure that Alissa’s best friend is keeping something back about her little sister and a boy at school, and why has their estranged uncle, who they’ve not seen in years, been hanging around again? It soon becomes clear that the person behind the message knows a lot about the dark truths within the Walker family and will go to any lengths to get revenge. And as the search for Alissa continues, Bree discovers something about her brother Tyler that she wishes she hadn’t, a dangerous secret, which is also the key to bringing her little sister back home.... A gripping and addictive thriller about family secrets and lies and the lengths people will go to protect them. Perfect for fans of Teresa Driscoll and Louise Jensen.
Release date:
April 12, 2019
Publisher:
Hachette UK - Bookouture
Print pages:
350
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Bree suspected she was biased in this determination (as any proud, eighteen-year-old sister would be), but on Alissa’s eighth birthday, Alissa could be anything she wanted—especially with a face as adorable as hers.
Freckled nose? Check.
Missing front teeth? Double check.
Blonde, curtained bangs that were constantly pushed away by tiny hands with pink fingernails?
How could anyone not love this kid to death?
“Tell me again how many times of Sandy Spider until my party starts?” Alissa asked.
Bree glanced up from the mixing bowl to check the clock. Alissa was in the early stages of learning to tell time, and for the most part, time was still measured against thirty-minute episodes of her favorite television show.
“It would be like watching four episodes,” Bree told Alissa. “That’s when the party will be.”
“Awww,” Alissa said, dropping her shoulders. She instantly perked up when their brother Tyler walked into the room carrying a brightly wrapped present with a flattened pink bow.
“That’s mine!” Alissa squealed in delight, rocketing toward Tyler, who did what any respectable thirteen-year-old would do in the same situation: held the package over his head and out of Alissa’s reach.
“Back off, squirt,” Tyler said, grinning through a mouthful of shiny new braces—one of the many financial reasons they were hosting Alissa’s birthday party home at their trailer, as opposed to somewhere that had pizza or games or annoying singing animals. “Your birthday isn’t until eleven o’clock tonight, so technically you can’t have it until then, and that’s way past your bedtime.”
“Technically” had become Tyler’s go-to word these last few months, and Bree was two seconds away from adding it to the forbidden-words list, where it would join the ranks of “not fair” and “this is crap”—one of their mother’s favorite utterances, which had been picked up by Alissa at an early age.
“Breeeeeeeeeeeeee,” Alissa moaned. “Tyler’s teasing me and won’t give me my present.”
Tyler lowered it just enough that Alissa could almost grab it. “It’s not my fault you’re not taller. Did you grow at all this year?”
“Just give it to her,” Bree said, feeling the stirrings of a headache. It would be her fourth this week. “And don’t whine, Alissa. You don’t have to wait until eleven tonight, but you do have to wait until after dinner.”
Alissa snatched the gift and carried it gingerly to the kitchen table, where she set it with the other two and began rearranging by size. Bree felt a pang of guilt that there were so few this year, but that guilt was replaced by annoyance when Tyler dropped onto the couch and stretched for the remote.
“No way,” Bree said, carrying the dripping whisk to the sink over her cupped hand. “You promised you’d clean the bathroom if I made the cake and got the ice cream.”
Tyler shook his head innocently. “That doesn’t sound like something I’d agree to. And technically—”
“Bathroom,” Bree said firmly. “Go.”
A mischievous grin touched Tyler’s lip, and Bree could only imagine what was coming next. Tyler was infamous for dragging out chores, and his current favorite was faking a sudden, inexplicable injury—anything from a sprained pinky toe to whiplash. Bree didn’t have the time or patience for it today, and fortunately for her, Tyler seemed to sense this.
“Okay, girl,” he said. Calling everyone “girl” was also a new thing, one Bree could tolerate but one their mother, Cassie, could not. “I’m just playin’.”
Bree almost told him to stuff the gangsta talk, but he was off the couch and moving in the direction of the bathroom, so she would allow him that tiny rebellion. For now.
“But don’t you ever get tired of it?” Tyler asked, stopping shy of the bathroom.
Bree’s headache throbbed. “Tired of what?”
“Doing everything. The three of us are Mom’s slave labor. How is that fair? We’re kids.”
“You really want to have this conversation again?” Bree asked, only half listening as she fed the cake pan into the oven. “You think Mom enjoys working two jobs? We’re all a part of this family, and we each have our jobs to do—”
“Okay, okay,” he said. “I’ve already heard this speech this month. Sorry for breathing and thinking this was a free country.”
Tyler wisely slipped into the bathroom without another word. The kid had a mouth on him, but when push came to shove, he also knew better than to try to get out of chores. In the Walker household, everyone pulled their weight.
“And you, girlie,” Bree told Alissa, wiping her hands on a towel, “have still not picked up the toys in the living room.”
Alissa’s head tilted. “But… it’s my Special-Eight birthday. And when Julie Melick had her Special-Eight birthday, she didn’t have to pick up any toys, and she got to eat her morning cereal in her bed, and she got a kitty and named it Bump because it bumped into everything.” The injustice of all of this culminated in a tiny, troubled frown. “How come we don’t ever get a kitty?”
“You want to know why?” Bree asked, but before giving Alissa a chance to answer she scooped her up around the waist. “Because it would eat all the toys you leave everywhere on the floor and poop them out all over the living room carpet!”
Alissa squealed in delight as Bree swung her around before depositing her onto the couch and tickling her until she squealed even louder.
“Really?” Tyler was standing at the edge of the hallway holding a toilet brush in a gloved hand. “I try to take a two-second break, but you guys get to lie there?”
“It’s my birthday and we’re reacting,” Alissa said matter-of-factly.
“Interacting,” Bree corrected with a wink. “Sisters always stick together.”
Tyler shook his head. “Whatever. You two are redonkulous.”
“Takes one to know one,” Alissa said smartly, and stuck out her tongue. “So there.”
Tyler raised the toilet brush in protest, but his face went slack as his eyes traveled past Bree.
“What?” Bree asked with a laugh. “Bump the cat got your tongue?”
When Tyler didn’t answer or shift his gaze, Bree sat upright and saw their father, Jack, on the porch, looking through the screen door. In his hands was a scruffy, pink teddy bear that might have been salvaged from a dumpster. Bree scrambled to her feet and warily approached.
“What are you doing here?” Bree asked, immediately regretting her choice of words as her father’s bloodshot eyes narrowed. Rule one was you never questioned Jack Walker, especially in “his” house. When he opened the screen door, it took all of Bree’s resolve to stand her ground. Their father was two heads taller than she was, and despite his strict diet of alcohol and fried foods, he never took on fat, only muscle.
“We just didn’t expect to see you so soon,” Bree added quickly. “That’s all I meant.”
Three days ago, their mother had kicked him out for “loaning” their lot rent to a buddy to pay off gambling debts. Their father claimed he had no choice, because if the guy’s wife found out, she would leave and divorce him, once and for all. Bree didn’t know why their mother didn’t do the same to their father. He was kicked out of the trailer every few months—sometimes peacefully, sometimes not so peacefully—but he was always eventually allowed back… when their mother was ready. As far as Bree knew, that hadn’t happened.
“There’s my princess,” Jack said without a trace of a smile. His tone matched that of someone ordering off a restaurant menu. “The great, big, happy nine-year-old.”
Bree didn’t bother to correct him. It was a feat in itself their father even remembered today was Alissa’s birthday. Alissa stayed at Tyler’s side and said nothing.
“Come see me,” Jack said, patting his outer thigh as if summoning a dog. He held out the bear in his other hand. “Get this thing and give me a hug.”
When Alissa didn’t move, Jack started forward, and Bree took a step sideways, positioning herself between them.
“You’ve been drinking,” Bree said softly, “and you know how this works. Mom hasn’t said it’s time yet—”
“I’m not staying long. Phil’s waiting outside in his van. I recently came into some cash, and we’re going to hit the casino and win back your mother’s precious lot rent money.”
Bree wanted to reply with the obvious—it wasn’t their mother’s money; it was family money—but what was the point? Their father never cared for details. It didn’t register that if the rent wasn’t paid, they would all be evicted, or that whatever money he did have might be better served elsewhere. That wasn’t how their father worked. For most people, even as little as five dollars would buy milk and bread for the week. For Jack Walker, it was five pulls of a slot machine and (in his mind) a chance to win big and change his life. The problem was, neither of those things ever happened and probably never would.
Alissa was now all but hiding behind Tyler, who was gripping the toilet brush so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. Jack’s eyes slid from Bree to Alissa, then back to Bree.
“I don’t need this shit,” he muttered. He started for the door, stopped, and looked at the bear in his hand. “I don’t need this shit either.”
He chucked the bear at Alissa, who gave a surprised whimper when it struck the carpet by her feet. It was an asshole thing to do—a Jack Walker thing to do—but he was leaving, and in another few seconds, this would be just another crappy memory for the Walker record books.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Tyler said savagely.
Jack stopped. Turned. Bree’s stomach wrenched.
“What did you say to me?” their father asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
“He didn’t mean it,” Bree said quickly, but it was too late. Tyler, like their father, had a temper that simmered just below the surface, and it didn’t take much to set it off.
“What did you say?” Jack asked again, straightening to his full height.
Bree knew better than to try to talk their father down from something like this; she bee-lined for Alissa, lifted her with a grunt, and carried her into the back bedroom.
“Stay here,” Bree said, setting her on the bed. “Don’t come out.”
Alissa caught Bree by the hand. “Don’t go. I don’t want Daddy to hurt you.”
“He’s not going to hurt me—”
“He will!” Alissa cried. Her voice was almost a sob as she clutched onto Bree. “He’ll hurt you like he did before, but he can’t if you stay here with me. That’s all I want for my Special-Eight birthday. I don’t want my presents, or even a cat, or even a cake!”
Alissa buried her face into Bree’s chest.
“Listen to me,” Bree said. “I need to—”
There was a sharp clap of sound, followed by an unintelligible cry from Tyler. Bree tried to rise from the bed, but Alissa held tight, refusing to loosen her grip. The screen door slammed.
“It’s okay,” Bree whispered to Alissa.
Alissa’s breathing was labored and thick against Bree’s neck. Just as Bree was about to try and pry herself free again, Tyler appeared in the doorway. The left side of his face was pulsing red, and there was a smear of blood across his cheek.
“Tyler,” Bree choked. Alissa tried to turn her head to see, but Bree held it firmly. “Come here. Let me see.”
Tyler drew back, his face caught between anger and terror. He didn’t speak, but his eyes burned into Bree, blaming her, blaming their mother, blaming everyone but their father. He jerked away from the doorway and stormed down the hallway. When his bedroom door slammed, Alissa’s fingers dug into Bree’s skin hard enough to hurt. Her whole body was trembling.
“Did Daddy hurt Tyler?” Alissa asked, her voice laced with tears.
“No,” Bree lied. “Tyler’s just upset. He’s in his room now, taking a nap, so we need to be quiet and stop crying so we don’t bother him.”
Alissa sniffed. “I don’t want Daddy to come back for my birthday party. I don’t want him to yell or hurt us.”
“He won’t hurt us—”
“But he could. He could come back and hurt you or Tyler if he wanted to. He could even hurt me.”
“Listen to me,” Bree said, lifting Alissa’s chin so their eyes met. “I will never let him hurt you. I will always keep you safe, no matter what I have to do.”
Alissa blinked at Bree through her tears. “You promise? Pretty promise?”
“I promise.”
Alissa threw her arms fiercely around Bree’s neck and whispered, “I wish you were my mommy instead of my sister.”
It wasn’t the first time Alissa had said those words, and normally Bree would have told her not to think or say them, but today it was okay. Today Bree could be anything Alissa wanted her to be, because they were family, and the Walkers were survivors.
Nothing would ever come between her and Alissa.
Nothing.
Bree Walker was tired.
She was always grateful for overtime at the grocery, but standing for ten hours and dragging everything from milk jugs to cat litter across a scanner always took its toll on her back and knees, making her feel sixty-six instead of twenty-six. It also didn’t help that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Her lunch hour had been spent running fun errands such as getting an estimate for truck tires she couldn’t afford, arguing with the bank teller over a late fee, and returning an armful of stupid romance novels to the library (for her mother) that were already two weeks overdue. All Bree wanted to do now was eat, drown herself under a hot shower, and relax for a few hours before her mother arrived home from her late shift at the restaurant.
“It could always be worse,” Bree mused, smiling at the dilapidated AUKES TRAILER PARK sign as she drove through the entrance. It was her mother’s favorite saying, second only to “work smarter, not harder”—a slogan more repeated in their family than practiced. But it was the truth. Things could always be worse. Instead of still living at home with her mother and now sixteen-year-old sister Alissa, Bree could be homeless. Instead of a truck with no air conditioning, the truck could have no heat. Instead of contributing her paycheck toward the family fund of groceries and utilities (and everything else it took to sustain their existence), Bree might be forced to choose between spending her money on new clothing, travel, or something else that might be fun and break up the monotony of the day, week, or month. Who needed that headache? Not her. She had learned long ago that good things did not always come to those who waited—another of her mother’s sayings—and you played the cards you were dealt, good or…
“Bad,” she sighed as the truck rolled to a stop in front of their trailer. Alissa’s backpack was sitting on the front step. It had been two days (this time) since Alissa had “run away” from home, and their mother had been nagging Bree to fetch her. Not that Alissa’s whereabouts were a secret. Alissa always went to stay with her best friend Liz, who only lived a few streets over in the newer addition to the trailer park. The “fancy” side, as their mother called it. The side where the majority of the trailers were double-wide, the pipes didn’t freeze in the winter, and the residents didn’t spray-paint their dead lawns green to give the illusion of grass.
Bree killed the engine, feeling a simultaneous sting of relief and dread. On one hand, she didn’t have to go and drag Alissa home now, but on the other hand, she wasn’t in the mood to deal with her—not with the prospect of food and relaxation in her sights. She knew sitting in her truck was only delaying the inevitable, but at least it gave her a moment of peace. Once inside, Alissa would unload her typical emotional speech about how horrible life at home was, and how no one in this family understood how hard it was to be young. And from there, Alissa would deftly segue into the real reason she had left in the first place: Bree shouldn’t have yelled at her, and just because their mother worked all the time and was never home, that didn’t give Bree the right to act like her mother.
It was an old, repetitive argument, and one that Bree was beyond tired of having. Bree got it: Alissa was sixteen and knew everything about everything. It was a teenager’s prerogative to question and defy everything. But Bree never talked back like Alissa did, or sulked inside her room for days over petty arguments. A few months ago, Alissa had invited a boy (Austin? Anthony?) over after school, and then freaked out when Bree wouldn’t let them shut the door when they went into Alissa’s room. That had earned Bree the silent treatment for almost an entire week. Bree had no regrets. Alissa was naïve when it came to boys and what they really wanted, while Bree knew too well. She could count on one hand how many boyfriends she’d had in high school, and she’d given them all the boot when they got too handsy. It wasn’t that she didn’t li. . .
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