Perhaps there was a cosmic reason Seneca had been so attracted to Helena’s case. Like the universe was trying to tell her something. Like there was a horrible bridge between the two deaths.
She looked up at Aerin, her eyes full of fear. ‘My mother’s pelvis was smashed, too. In the same exact way. And I bet if we look up Vera Grady’s report, we’ll find the same thing.’
The train screeched up like a banshee, but Seneca barely registered its presence. She kept staring at Aerin, and she stared back, the eeriness and weirdness and utter wrongness of this washing over them. It was only after the train came to a full stop that Maddox dared to speak.
‘Did we let him go?’ he whispered.
Seneca could only nod. Maybe, horribly, devastatingly, they had.
AFTER
It was rather nice being Brett Grady, he thought as he sat down in the diner across from the Restful Inn for one last cup of coffee. Brett Grady had gotten the job done. Brett Grady had tricked everyone, even Seneca, who acted like she missed nothing. In fact, he might as well continue to call himself Brett for a little while longer. Why the hell not? The name had clout.
And so, Brett Grady, real name not necessary, glanced at his reflection in the dingy window. He’d already cut his hair shorter in the hotel room, and he’d pulled off that ridiculous baseball cap he’d been wearing all week. He’d put his glasses back on; it was nice to see well again, finally – contacts had never been his thing. He’d taken off the garish, thuggish oversized jersey and pants and replaced them with a striped button-down and khakis. Popped the button-down’s collar. Slid on loafers. He’d turned back into the Connecticut Everyman – preppy, bland, unnoticed. The kind who blended in too well. The kind who women stared through instead of at.
It really, really pissed him off when they stared through him. And when he got pissed off, he got himself in trouble.
A train whistle blew. It was the southbound Metro-North, probably. All’s well that ends well, Brett thought. He wasn’t crazy about the wife taking the blame instead, but it was close enough. It was comfort knowing Skip Ingram would be behind bars. Everyone knew now that he was a child molester. No more fancy party invites for him.
Still. If only people weren’t so foolish to start with. If only people weren’t such assholes, this world would be a better place. Bad things wouldn’t have to happen.
‘Want a refill?’
The waitress who stood over him was the dishwater blonde with the saggy boobs who’d waited on him every day since he’d come here. She never had a smile for him. Never laughed at his jokes. And yesterday morning, when she saw him come in? She’d rolled her eyes.
‘That would be lovely,’ he drawled. And then, slowly, he placed his hand on top of hers. ‘The coffee here is really quite good. What’s your secret?’
The woman flinched. ‘Um … I don’t know …’
She tried to move her hand away, but he pinned it there. Fear bloomed over her face. Finally, he lifted his hand as if nothing had happened. She shot away, cradling her hand like he’d branded it. When she peeked back at him over her shoulder, he gave her a bland smile.
Brett downed the rest of his cup, dropped a couple of quarters on the table, and stood. Little did that woman know she’d skated on thin ice. Had she been a little prettier, had she been more his type, it could have gone very badly for her. He shut his eyes, savoring the delicious way tendons and tissue and bone gave way when you compressed a neck. That satisfying crack of the spine. That triumphant feeling knowing that his hands and his hands alone were the only things standing between her life and death. If I changed my mind about you, he said silently to the waitress’s receding back, you would plead for your life, and I’d just laugh.
But he would spare the waitress – he had a new victim lined up. A girl who’d rejected him even though he was perfect for her. A girl he’d gotten to know quite well, inside and out. A girl who wanted someone else, someone undeserving of her love.
Aerin Kelly, that cruel, icy bitch. Hell, maybe he’d go after her new little boyfriend, too.
He couldn’t wait.
THE AMATEURS WILL RETURN
Summer 2017
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book has been a long time in the making, and I have many to thank. First, to those brilliant minds at Alloy Entertainment: Josh Bank, Les Morgenstein, Sara Shandler, Lanie Davis, and especially Annie Stone, whose careful and thoughtful guidance turned this from a cool idea into a real story. Huge thanks, too, to the editorial team at Hyperion, Emily Meehan and Julie Moody, and my copyeditor, Jackie Hornberger. Much appreciation to the marketing, publicity and design team: Marci Senders, Mary Ann Zissimos, Seale Ballinger, Jamie Baker, Holly Nagel, Maggie Penn, Dina Sherman, and Andrew Sansone, and thank you, Hyperion sales team, for believing in me and in this story. Also a big thanks to Andy McNicol at WME, and Romy Golan, Theo Guliadas, Elaine Damasco (who created the gorgeous cover) and Stephanie Abrams at Alloy for your confidence and support. Go team!
Thanks also to Michael, who suffered through probably the most of my angst in getting this book off the ground, and to my parents for many wine-soaked dinners. Thanks to Mike Gremba for your real-world insights on police records and blood stains. And most of all to Kristian and Henry. I hope none of the things in this book happen to you – well, except for finding friends who truly understand you, and in that case I hope you find dozens.
Sara Shepard
For as long as she can remember, Sara Shepard has been writing. However, when she was young she also wanted to be a soap opera star, a designer for LEGO, a filmmaker, a claymation artist, a geneticist, and a fashion magazine editor when she grew up. She and her sister have been creating joint artistic and written projects for years, except they're pretty sure they're the only ones who find them funny.
She got her MFA at Brooklyn College and now lives in Pittsburgh, PA with her husband and two children. Sara Shepard is the author of two New York Times bestselling series, Pretty Little Liars and The Lying Game, as well as the series The Perfectionists.
Visit her at www.saracshepard.com and follow her on Twitter and Snapchat at @sarabooks and on Instagram at saracshepard.
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First published in Great Britain in 2016 by
HOT KEY BOOKS
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Copyright © Alloy Entertainment and Sara Shepard, 2016
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
The right of Sara Shepard to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 9781471405648
This eBook was produced using Atomik ePublisher
Hot Key Books is an imprint of Bonnier Zaffre Ltd,
a Bonnier Publishing company
www.bonnierpublishing.co.uk
Sara Shepard, The Amateurs
(Series: The Amateurs # 1)
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