BRETT KNEW IT was crazy to think Aerin would be happy to see him, but he was disappointed when she screamed. Where was the flirtatious friendliness she’d once felt toward him? Where was their old cozy bond?

He pointed at her sharply before she could do it again, his foot still firmly on the gas pedal. “Quiet.” And then, lightning fast, he grabbed her phone from her trembling fingers and shoved it under his thigh. “You won’t be needing that where we’re going.”

Aerin pivoted toward her door, but he’d expected that, too. He pressed the childproof lock before she could wrench the thing open. “Seriously?” he teased, chuckling.

She gaped at him, pinioned against the seat. Her bottom lip trembled. Her face was ashen. But, oh, how lovely she looked. That blond hair. That perfect face. So beautiful. So vulnerable. All the pieces had fallen into place, and now he had her exactly where he wanted her.

Cruising through more yellow lights, Brett gave her a tight grin. “So…we meet again. It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Wh-what are you doing?” Aerin stammered.

“Driving, naturally.”

She pointed out the window. Buildings whizzed by; soon enough, they’d be on the highway. “I—I have to go. My boyfriend’s grandmother is sick. I need to see him. He’s picking me up.”

“He’s your boyfriend now?” Brett shook his head. “Jesus, Aerin. I thought you were smarter. Like I’m going to let you off at the next corner? Besides, I already told you. Your boy toy’s precious Nana is fine.”

There was a wrinkle on Aerin’s brow, but then he saw the exact moment when it all made sense to her. He had sent that text to Thomas. Brett could hack into anything. He’d set all of this up—more than she could even imagine. The dominoes had finally lined up precisely. He’d gotten them all to Avignon. He’d made them jump through hoops, find Chelsea, and destroy their credibility with the police. And now he could get the final part of his plan rolling.

Brett reached out and touched her cheek. “We’re going to have such a good time together, Aerin. I promise.”

Aerin trembled. A small, terrified noise escaped from her throat. When he touched her, she shut her eyes and winced.

Well. Might as well get to the next part of this. Making a turn onto the beach highway, Brett grabbed his leather bag on the backseat. When he found what he needed, he plunged toward her leg. Aerin saw it coming and thrashed, bumping against the leather, legs kicking high, but it didn’t matter—no one was watching. Brett held her down and thrust the needle into the flesh. She gurgled. Her eyes fluttered back again. Her muscles gave out, and she slumped against the leather. Her eyes were still wide with disbelief, but she was suddenly too paralyzed to speak…or move…or run.

“Better,” Brett said. And he gripped the wheel again, cranked up Bruce Springsteen, and rolled smoothly and gracefully away from the ocean. He had one arm propped out the window and tried as hard as he could to drive casually, almost aimlessly, like he was just out for a nice little drive.

It was a lie, of course. He knew exactly where they were going. He had it all planned out, down to the end.