The Lookalike Murders

Prologue

Fairview, Missouri

Ten years earlier

Keep running.

The words tumbled in Claire’s head as the field stretched before her, the stars a million pinpricks in the sky above. She’d made it this far—she couldn’t look back now. Not when freedom was so close she could taste it like honey on her tongue.

It didn’t matter what would happen after.

She’d heard horror stories about the way girls like her could go missing when they ran away from home, wind up in the back of the wrong man’s car, but nothing could be worse than back there.

All she had to do was make it past the green to the cornfield ahead.

She’d be safe in the corn. Hidden. Like when she was a kid, during those frenzied games of hide and seek with her sister.

No one would find her there. She was so sure of it.

Her burgundy Converse shoes—high tops, flat-footed—weren’t fit for running, and the soles of Claire’s feet burned as they pounded the earth.

Her backpack was just bulky enough to throw off her balance.

Every muscle in her damn weak legs screamed at her to collapse.

She should’ve taken the high school beep test seriously.

Maybe if she’d kept up with the other girls in class, she’d be strong like them, not cursing every foot forward.

But Claire was alone now, so she had to be her own best friend.

C’mon, keep going. You can do it. Don’t give up.

Her lungs heaved, each breath a cloud of glass.

She’d almost reached the half point when a sound—like wheels on asphalt—screeched somewhere behind her.

No.

No, no, no!

Claire kept running, but soon it wasn’t just the moon and stars there with her.

Two beams of light cut through the field from behind.

High beams that stretched so far, they lit up the cornstalks in the distance, created a shadow shaped like her.

She refused to look back, even when the sound of tires over mud filled the air.

The grumble of an engine roared like a grizzly.

Then: “Claire, get back here!”

Marty’s voice. Cold panic.

She dared a glance back. Marty’s pick-up truck, that rusted hunk of junk, gained on her. The lights created splotches in her eyes. Claire’s feet slipped on the wet grass, but she caught herself and kept running.

The truck sprayed mud beneath its wheels as it flew across the field and cut in front of her.

A strangled yelp escaped her throat. She tried to take her chances in the field behind them, but Marty was on her in an instant.

His weight tackled her to the ground. She screamed and writhed as she was crushed between him and the earth.

“Calm down, Claire, Christ!” Marty hauled her to her feet and held her back by her elbows. Claire kicked and yelled with everything she had; all she could see was black. Hopeless, furious black.

“Stop—let me go!” Her throat burned, raw. Marty was too strong. She was a ragdoll in his arms. That didn’t stop her from kicking and flailing like her life depended on it. It did.

“Let her burn her energy out,” another voice said, and Claire’s blood turned to ice.

Slowly, she lifted her eyes. And there was the shape of her father, illuminated by the light from the truck behind him: a wide frame, unbearably tall, a cut-off vest that exposed the dark edges of a Celtic cross tattoo wrapped in thorns on his bicep.

He stepped toward them till Claire could make out the cool blue of his gaze, the silver stubble that lined his jaw.

He had the look of a curious lion—not angry, but amused. And that scared her more than anything.

He was right in front of her now as Marty held her elbows back. Her dad’s smell of firewood and beer nauseated her, but his face softened—almost like he cared—as he let out a gruff, “Aw, hell.”

Maybe he could be reasoned with.

Maybe, somehow, she could still get out of this.

“Let me go, Daddy. Please, please let me go. I don’t wanna live here anymore. You’ll never have to see me again, I swear—I won’t cause any more trouble.”

He smiled down at her. Claire’s heart pounded as she tried to read any kind of emotion on him, any sign of love for her. When he ran his thumb over her cheek, it burned, pure acid.

“Oh, sweetie,” he crooned, “I’m gonna teach you a lesson, and it’s gonna be the most important lesson I can ever teach. You never leave family behind. Never. You got that?”

With a nod at Marty, her dad turned away. Cold sweat trickled down her spine.

“Please, don’t—Dad!” She tried to resist, but Marty yanked her toward the back of the truck. “Marty? Please, stop!”

She screamed so loud it charred her throat, but they were in the middle of nowhere—no one could hear her, and no one cared. It had all been for nothing.

Claire should’ve known she could never leave Fairview, dead or alive.