Burned (Pretty Little Liars #12)

“I still think mud-wrestling is the way to go,” Mike said, turning back a page to look again at a supermodel in a high-cut string bikini.

“Thanks for the suggestion,” Hanna said. “I just don’t really want a confrontation. She caught me looking at her computer, and she’s pissed. I want to go back into the room when she’s not around, that’s all.”

It was almost the truth. Hanna didn’t feel it necessary to add that she wanted to go back into the room so that she could look at Naomi’s computer again. Or that Naomi was probably extra-pissed at Hanna because she’d ditched out on her without an explanation.

“You were going through her stuff?” Mike said. “What’s gotten into you? First you stalk Colleen, now it’s Naomi …”

“Would you stop asking questions?” Hanna hissed, feeling more and more exasperated.

Mike laid down the magazine. “God, fine.” He stood up and stretched. “I’m going to find Noel so we can run through our talent show song one more time. Call me when you’re done playing Stake-Out.”

As he stormed off, the door to her stateroom opened, and Naomi sauntered out, dressed in a white eyelet dress and blue sandals. Several chunky bangles lined her wrists, and she carried a small red leather bag under her arm.

Hanna held her breath as Naomi walked by the library, praying she wouldn’t stop inside. She didn’t. As soon as Naomi stepped into the elevator, Hanna crept down the hall toward their room. When she was almost there, a figure passed through the intersecting hallway, and she froze. It was Jeremy. His fingers were entwined behind his back, and he was whistling “Yankee Doodle Dandy.”

She leaned against the wall, her confidence shaken. As the elevator dinged, a horrible thought struck her. What if Naomi forgot something and came back?

She scuttled back to the library and dialed Spencer. “It’s Hanna,” she whispered when she answered. “I’m right outside my room, and I want to look at Naomi’s computer, but I don’t want to get caught. Can you be a lookout?”

Spencer groaned warily. “I don’t want to piss her off even more.”

Hanna glanced at the elevator again. Hopefully Naomi hadn’t just taken a quick jaunt down to the gift shop. “Please, Spence? It’ll take five minutes. We need to nail her.”

Spencer let out a long sigh, then hung up the phone with a clunk. In less than a minute, the elevator chimed, and she limped out. Her face was pale, and one side of her hair was matted. Spencer caught Hanna looking and said, “There was gum in my hair. It was a bitch to get out.” Then she gestured down the hall. “Let’s make this quick.”

Hanna let herself into her room. Inside, Naomi’s bed was neatly made, her clothes folded on the bureau. Hanna looked right and left, and finally spied the laptop underneath Naomi’s desk. Her heart did a flip as she lifted the cover. She found Naomi’s photo folder quickly and opened it. Her gaze went immediately to a folder titled Vacay. She opened it up, then clicked on the first icon. The same photo that had been on Aria’s phone appeared. It had almost been too easy.

“Oh my God,” Hanna whispered. “Here they are.”

“Really?” Spencer ran from the doorway and peered at the screen. “Jesus. Delete them!”

“I will.” Hanna highlighted the images and dragged them into the trash. “Go back to the door and make sure she isn’t coming!” she instructed.

Spencer did as she was told, though after a few seconds she’d wandered away again. She poked her head into Hanna’s bathroom. “Hey, your shower’s nicer than mine.”

“How do you think Naomi got those pictures, anyway?” Hanna murmured, answering yes to a prompt that asked if she was sure she wanted to delete the photos.

“I thought we covered this. The second A must have sent them to her.”

“Do you understand the implications of a second A?” Hanna wished the photos would delete a little quicker. “It means someone else hates us, too. It also means someone else has these photos. That’s the person who saw what happened in Jamaica.”

“I know,” Spencer said gravely.

“Who do you think it could be?”

“Hanna, if I knew, maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess!” Spencer sounded exasperated.

Hanna didn’t know either, but the possibility of a second A was really starting to sink in, and it was terrifying. Even if they took Naomi down and found proof that she was Gayle’s murderer, they wouldn’t be safe. This alleged second A could still nail them for everything.

Finally, a message popped up saying that the photos had been removed. Phew.

“Holy shit,” Spencer cried. She emerged from the bathroom carrying a bottle of baby oil, Ex-Lax tablets, and a large package of bubble gum. “Look at what I found in Naomi’s bag!”

“Don’t mess with her stuff!” Hanna hissed, jumping up.

“Don’t you see?” Spencer waved the bottles around. “This proves without a doubt that she’s the one who’s torturing me! She used the Ex-Lax to make me think I had food poisoning. She spilled the baby oil so I’d slip. And she put this”—she held up the gum–“in my hair!”

“Spence, I need you at the door!” Hanna guided her down the little hall. Then she shoved Naomi’s stuff back into the bathroom and turned back to the computer. Now that she’d deleted those photos, she needed to find something incriminating about Naomi that would connect her to Gayle. An e-mail, maybe. She opened her Gmail account again, hoping to find a note signed A. Maybe they’d get lucky and even find something that gave away whoever it was Naomi was working with.

But when the screen loaded, there weren’t any messages in the Gmail inbox at all. Frowning, Hanna clicked on some of the other folders within the server, but they were all empty. The conversation Naomi had had with Madison was gone, almost like it had never existed.

25

FORGET YOUR TROUBLES

Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.

Emily reached the wall, did a flip turn, and pushed off toward the other side of the pool. Her arms cut rhythmically through the water. Her legs kicked with full power. Halfway down the lane, she had to swim around a fun noodle, then a floating toy that looked suspiciously like a giant penis. The pool technically wasn’t for lap swimming at that time of day—plenty of kids were milling around in the water, soaking up the Bermuda sun. But swimming laps was the only thing that helped Emily think, and she needed to think as hard as she possibly could. She hadn’t yet given Jordan an answer about running away with her, but Jeremy had just announced that they were pulling into Bermuda. She had to make a decision soon.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.

Could she really leave Rosewood forever? Never see her family again? And was it really safe, going off with a criminal? What if someone hunted Jordan down and hauled her back to the States? Then what would Emily do?

But then she thought about Thailand. She’d looked up the beaches online last night and almost swooned. There were tons of posts about the country that said it was easy-going, clean, affordable, and accepting. No one cares what you do here, someone had written. You are free to be yourself. Wasn’t that what Emily wanted? Wasn’t that not what Rosewood—or a swimming future at UNC—could ever provide?

She could wake up every morning next to Jordan. They could go shopping in the Thai markets, travel to remote and amazing villages, make pilgrimages to other countries. Maybe she could teach English, like Jordan was thinking of doing.

Her mother’s scowling face floated into her mind, then her father’s. Carolyn’s appeared next followed by Beth’s and Jake’s. Going to Thailand meant leaving her family behind. All she wanted was for them to love her, and they couldn’t. Maybe it was a good thing to flee from the pain. Maybe Jordan could be her family instead.

She swam to the end of the lane and grabbed the edge of the pool. Hanna was sitting in one of the lounge chairs, and Emily flagged her over.

Hanna looked pale beneath her tan. Emily could tell she was still upset about what she’d found—and what she hadn’t found—on Naomi’s computer.

“What’s up?” Hanna asked.

Emily ran her fingers across the pool’s surface, unable to meet Hanna’s eye. “What do you know about Thailand?”

Hanna frowned. “I’ve heard it’s pretty cool, I guess. Why?”

Emily bit her lip. “If you had the opportunity to go there, to leave all this behind, would you?”

“Sure,” Hanna said emphatically.

All of a sudden, Emily’s mind felt as clear and cloudless as the sky. She pushed out of the pool, hurried across the deck, and grabbed her towel. Hanna followed her. “Wait. What’s this all about? Are you going to Thailand?”

“Of course not,” Emily said quickly. But her voice caught.

Hanna frowned. “Emily. What are you planning?”

Emily gazed at her friend for a beat. All at once, Emily thought of the sleepovers at Ali’s house when she and Hanna would be the last two girls to fall asleep. “Let’s look through Ali’s photo albums,” Hanna had whispered once, and they had turned the pages of the old book by nightlight. “She doesn’t look so great in that photo,” Hanna would say, pointing at one of Ali from fourth grade or one of Ali without any makeup on Christmas morning. Even though Hanna desperately sought Ali’s worst shots, she seemed to understand that Emily was looking through the albums to see Ali at her very best, and she’d occasionally point out one of Ali looking beautiful. “She has the prettiest eyes, doesn’t she?” she’d say wistfully. Or, “She looks like a model.” All for Emily’s benefit.

Her eyes brimmed with tears from the memory. She’d miss all her best friends terribly.

“I’m not planning anything,” she said, running away before Hanna could stop her.

Off the starboard side of the ship, she could see the Bermuda docks. Kids were already jamming the elevator area to be the first to disembark. Was Jordan among them? Would Emily get to her in time?

The elevators were too crowded, so Emily ran down the three flights to her room in bare feet. She flung open the door and looked around hopefully, but Jordan was already gone. Frantic, she pulled a terry-cloth cover-up over her head, then grabbed her suitcase from under the bed and stuffed her things into it. She slung the bag over her shoulder and scuttled out the door, joining the convoy of kids making their way off the ship.

She clambered down the stairs and burst through the door that led to the ramp. The gangplank had been lowered, and a crowd of kids waited to disembark. Emily stood on her tiptoes and searched for Jordan’s dark hair. When she didn’t see her, her heart jumped into her throat. “Jordan?” she called out. “Jordan?” What if she’d missed her? Would Jordan leave without her?

“Jordan?” she cried again.

“Emily?”