He looked up as she entered the room. “Lil. You’re back.”

“I wanted to check on you. I promised Raven’s dad I’d spend the week at the Holloways’, to help with the funeral planning, but—”

Her father choked out a sob. “Lily, I’m so sorry.”

“Stop. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She crouched in front of him. His shaggy brown hair was sticking up every which way, his five-o’clock shadow darkening into a beard. She pushed the hair back from his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Everything’s going to be fine. I got your file from Mom’s office, and I’m going to destroy it in my stepdad’s shredder. Then I’m going to clear Belle’s name.”

“What?” Her father pulled away from her, pushing to his feet. “You broke into your mother’s office? Why would you—”

“Because of what you did for me. You protected me when the police came to question us. All I’m doing is returning the favor.”

“You need to stay out of trouble.” He pulled her into his arms, clinging tightly. His flannel shirt smelled of old milk and sweat. “I can’t lose you, Lily. I’ve been trying to get you back for so long. And everything that happened the other night… it’s my fault. I should’ve known you would—”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the window, and Lily slapped a hand over his mouth. She hadn’t realized the window was cracked. “I didn’t do anything,” she whispered to her dad. “You didn’t do anything. There’s nothing left to talk about, all right?”

He nodded, and Lily strained to hear movement outside the house. There came a slight rustling, like someone backing away from the window in sneakers. The grass would muffle their movements. If Lily didn’t act fast, they’d be gone before she could catch them.

“You know what?” she said suddenly, allowing her voice to carry out the window. “There is one more loose end I need to discuss with you. Something the police might figure out, if we’re not careful. I left it in the kitchen.”

Loudly, Lily plodded toward the kitchen, plucking the gardening shears from the table. But instead of returning to her father’s side, she slipped out the back door, creeping around the side of the house. She was the hunter now. She refused to keep up the role of the wounded animal, constantly looking over her shoulder. Waiting to be caught. When she saw the couple crouching in front of the living room window, their bodies half-obscured by a hedge, she tightened her grip on the gardening shears, creeping up behind them. “Hear anything interesting?”