“I said Tara Lambert is an alias. Apparently, she has two others. One is Tanya Bertram.”
“So?” There’s a pound of dread brewing in my chest.
“Through the aliases, we found her birth name, Julian. It’s Angela Lamee.
The world stops moving around me and spots blotting my vision grow to gaping holes. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Angela Lamee.”
“Lamee?” I rasp. The spots darken, threatening to drag me to hell.
“Billy Lamee’s sister.”
That isn’t possible. “Lam was an only child, Hough.”
I knew Lam. Lam never lied.
“From what the records show, Billy Lamee most likely didn’t know he had a sister. He was still a small child when his mother left. She didn’t tell anyone she was pregnant and never allowed anyone to know or see her daughter.”
No. He’s wrong. This is all wrong.
“They lived in Seattle most of Angela’s life until she was fifteen. It’s no wonder she has documented diagnoses of a high form of antisocial personality disorder and impulse control. The kid changed schools seven times by the time she was fourteen, and each time her mother would change her name. Angela Lamee has no idea who she is, Bale.”
Lights turn colors and people rush by, but it all sounds far away in a tunnel.
“Multiple personalities?”
“From the medical records, at least four. I’m not even sure Angela knows what Angela’s been doing.”
Angela Lamee. Ang Lamee. AngLamee.
Angel Me. AngElmie. AngelMia.
“If you want to find a stalker, you need to pay attention to their online name. That’s the one they have a hard time changing.”
I lean into a nearby trash can and throw up.
Billy’s sister sought me out and took revenge. I was right—someone did blame me for his death.
“Bale? You there?”
I wipe my mouth on my sleeve, ignoring the scatter of whispers around me. “I’m here.”
“I’m not sure how to tell you this part.”
“Hough, fuck, no more…please.”
“The other alias I mentioned—one of the three?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s Tanna LeMyre.”
Thirty-Eight
Phoebe
My mind tells my body to move but shock keeps me rooted in place.