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you.”
    Forgotten emotions of grief and regret spun through him until he mentally shook them off. “If I’d known buying you lunch would make you forgive me, I’d have bought you one a long time ago.”
    “I’m serious. I hope we can be friends.”
    “Okay.” Why was he irritated with her? Maybe because he wasn’t sure he trusted her. It was obvious she was interested in news about her brother’s death, not in him. Was she fishing for more information by asking for forgiveness? Then he remembered the online picture.
    “Luce, I’ve more to tell you.”
    “I’m ready,” she muttered.
    “Someone posted a picture of Ryan’s casket online. It’s gone viral.”
    Her shoulders rose with tension as she picked up a spoon and gripped it in her fist. “A sports car drove through, and the driver took a picture. I couldn’t identify who was in the car because of the tinted windows. You must have seen it. Do you know the driver?”
    “Sorry, I don’t.” He’d been too busy watching Lucy. “Maybe the school can delete the picture, and it’ll give the police a lead in the investigation.”
    His phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the ID. Great timing . “I’ve got to return this call. I’ll be a minute.”
    She pulled out her cell. “I’ll talk to Sullivan about the posting.”
    Liam went into his office in the rear of the building for privacy.
    On the walls, he’d hung framed clippings and reviews of the Moose’s recent grand opening. He paced in front of the suede couch where a customer who’d had too much to drink or had argued with his wife often sacked out for the night. The sofa was empty for the moment.
    He rested a hip on the desk in the center of the braided rug. He hit the Call Return button and waited until the voice answered.
    “Did you find out the damage?” Liam asked.
    “He missed his last two payments.”
    Hell in a hockey puck. What did you do, Ryan? “Okay, thanks for the information. I appreciate it.”
    He clicked the off button and was glad Lucy wasn’t here to hear the truth about her reformed brother.

Chapter 6

    Matt Hastings dug the paper out of his jacket pocket. The coat was too big, but it covered the padding of the fake stomach under his shirt. He didn’t bother to remove his outerwear or knit hat while he ate at the soup kitchen. The chicken slid past the cheek inserts that changed the shape of his face. His days in local plays and hanging around the makeup room had paid off. He looked nothing like his former self.
    Smoothing the wrinkled article on the Formica tabletop, he stared at the photo the press had printed of Lucy Watson on the day she was hit by a car. Her dark hair hid most of her features. Lovely features he had loved. He remembered the media flocking to the hospital and hovering there. They had been waiting for Lucy to regain consciousness and give them the name of the driver who had run her down and left her for dead on Hawick Falls’s Main Street.
    In the next column, the paper ran a story stating the police were frantic for a break after discovering missing teenager Kara Linn’s burned body in the park. He inhaled, recalling the acrid odor of burning flesh mixed with wood smoke.
    He trailed a finger along the edge of Lucy’s image and imagined touching her soft skin, kissing her lips. Ah, when he found Lucy again, he’d set fire to her like he had to Kara. Ashes to ashes.
    “Enjoy the barbecued chicken?”
    He snapped his head up to find a middle-aged woman running a cloth over the opposite end of his table. Volunteer , Matt thought. He folded his memento. “Cooked to perfection. Brings up memories of home.” He stuffed the paper in his pocket and shoved to his feet. “Wish I could go back,” he said, gathering his backpack.
    Thanks to his childhood spent skipping out on the landlord, he was always packed and ready to move. His “emergency bag,” his mother had called it.
    With his belongings, he’d stayed ahead of the police and fled from