“The detectives need to speak with both of you,” Gabriel said. “I’ve asked them to begin with Ricky, as his should be a very short interview.”

—

My interview wasn’t nearly as brief as Ricky’s. I got the impression that they thought Gabriel and I had sent each other the messages as some kind of alibi. As for why we’d want to be the ones to discover James’s body if we’d killed him, well, maybe that was part of our defense strategy. Which was preposterous. At last Gabriel suggested that a proper interview should be conducted later, at the station, and the detectives agreed.

As Gabriel led me back to the car, Ricky came over.

“I’d like to get Liv out of here.”

Gabriel nodded. “If you could take her to my office, I would appreciate that.”

“I’d rather—” Ricky began.

“We have things to go over, and it’s best done there. It won’t take long.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “I’ll pick up some work, since it looks like no cabin for us—I’ll be stuck in Chicago.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to work—”

“It’ll help. I’ll see you there.”

—

As we neared the office, Ricky hit the brakes, his free hand going to my knee, bracing and warning me. A TV van rounded the corner ahead.

Ricky continued to the next intersection and took the back route. There were three cars and two news vans outside the office. Seeing that, Ricky pulled a U-turn and idled at the curb. We both checked our phones. Ricky lifted his to show me a call and a text from Gabriel. I had three of the first and two of the second, plus one of each from Lydia. The upshot was the same: don’t go back to the office.

I texted Gabriel and Lydia both a quick Got it. Thanks! Then I typed in another message and held the phone up for Ricky to read.

How the hell did the media hear about it already?

“Scanner,” he said, raising his helmet shield. “We’ll go—” When he stopped, I followed his gaze to a car turning the corner. He lowered his shield.

The car reached us and then veered, a guy in the passenger seat jumping out even before it stopped. A camera flew up, snapping shots.

“Eden!” I saw the cameraman mouth. “Rick!”

We were already tearing away from the curb, but the fool tried to jump in front of us. Ricky steered around the reporter and roared off, one hand raised in a middle-finger salute.

When he kept his hand raised, I figured out what he was really doing—making it impossible for them to get a photo they could use.