Wanted. (Book Eight)

Twenty-One: Blush, Bonding, And Breakdowns.

An hour later, Spencer, Ali, Emily, and Hanna were gathered in Spencer's bedroom. Bottles of foundation, trays of blush, and a variety of makeup brushes were splayed out before them. The room smelled better than the inside of Sephora, thanks to their recent raid of the Saks perfume counter. The TV played softly in the background.

"It's not like I threw myself at Wren," Spencer was telling the group, applying a second coat of Bobbi Brown mascara to her top lashes. "We had this instant...connection. He wasn't right for Melissa at all, but of course she blamed their breakup on me." Ali had asked each of them to fill her in on what had happened while she was away. They had a lot of ground to cover.

Ali splayed her fingers out to admire her freshly applied manicure. "Were you in love with Wren?"

Spencer twirled a tube of mascara between her fingers. Her affair with Wren felt like a million years ago. "Nah."

"What about Andrew?"

The tube of mascara slipped out of Spencer's hand. She felt Hanna's and Emily's eyes on her, too. Part of her still felt certain Ali was going to make fun of Andrew, just like she'd made fun of him in the past.

"I don't know," Spencer answered hesitantly. "Maybe."

Spencer braced herself for Ali's laughter, but to her delight, Ali grabbed Spencer's hands and squealed.

Hanna pressed one of her bed pillows to her chest. "What about you, Ali? Do you miss Ian?"

Ali turned back to the makeup table. "Definitely not."

"How did you guys get together, anyway?" Spencer asked.

"Long story." Ali tested a shade of Chanel lipstick on the side of her hand. "I've moved way on."

"Totally," Hanna piped up, spreading white eye shadow across her eyelids.

"Ancient history." Emily nodded.

Ali laid the lipstick on the dresser. "So are you guys ready for the Poconos tonight?"

"Absolument," Spencer trilled.

"I wish Aria were game," Ali said sadly, pressing her thumb into some spilled powder on the dresser.

"She's been through a lot lately," Emily said, uncapping a bottle of nail polish. "I think she finds it really hard to trust people."

Extreme Makeover suddenly cut out, and the words Breaking News flashed across the screen. Spencer looked over, a queasy feeling in her stomach. Every time there was a breaking news segment, it had something to do with her life.

"The new developments in the Rosewood Serial Killer case throw William Ford's guilt into question," a reporter said in an authoritative voice. The Polaroid of the ghostly face in the window of the Hastings barn filled the screen. "Could this be the face of Ms. DiLaurentis's real killer?"

The camera switched to a close-up of Officer Wilden. There were purple circles under his eyes and his skin looked papery. "Our forensic experts have done facial analysis on the new photo found two nights ago. There's a strong chance this is not Mr. Ford."

The news reporter popped back on screen and assumed a grave frown. "This data brings up questions about the photos discovered in Mr. Ford's car and on his computer and just how they got there. If anyone has information, please call the police immediately."

The news alert ended, and Extreme Makeover resumed. Spencer and the others remained silent. Worry hung over the room like a soupy fog. A chain saw growled in the backyard, followed by the thud of a branch crashing to the ground. A bunch of ducks in the nearby pond quacked.