Last Light(55)

We all glared at one another.

“Then I’m coming,” Seth added. “You’re not going to be alone with this freak.”

“Look who’s talking,” I muttered.

We moved into one of the libraries, which was more like a sitting room where Pam and Laura stored books by their authors. I left the door ajar.

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*cking 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.”