“She died. Just like the rest of them.”

Lane swallowed. “What do you mean ‘the rest of them’?”

“Sydney didn’t want to paint anymore. She was scared.” His grip tightened over the tool in his hand. “I didn’t protect her.”

“Miguel, do you know what happened to Sydney?”

“It was—” His eyes grew round. He slipped his hands along with the tool into his pockets. “You need to leave. Now.”

Lane shifted, grimacing. Miguel looked rough and fidgety. She had to convince him to come with her, but unless he came willingly, her body was in no condition to force him. Would he trust her? “Okay, but I need your help. I don’t think I can make it by myself. We’ll go see the sheriff and you can tell him—”

A dark silhouette appeared out of the shadows, making the hairs on the back of Lane’s neck rise. Annika’s sudden presence chilled the summer heat and drained the color from Miguel’s face. “You know, you really should listen when people try to warn you about something.”

Lane scooted back. “What are you doing here?”

Annika’s eyes narrowed as she looked down at her. “I guess I could ask you the same thing. Unless what they’re saying is true. Did you kill your husband?”

Heat climbed its way up Lane’s neck. “No.”

Annika crossed in front of them. She paused next to Miguel, who shifted from side to side and rubbed his arm. “I knew I’d find him out here, but I didn’t think I’d find you too.” Her gaze snapped to Lane. “Walton’s two killers hiding here in the woods—”

“That’s not true. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but I do, my dear. I mean, your situation is slightly different since you didn’t actually drive your husband’s truck off the road and into the tree, but he’d still be here if you hadn’t swallowed a bottle of pills and called him.” Annika’s accusation swam around Lane’s head, making her dizzy. “And now, here you are hiding out with the man who killed Sydney.”

“What is she talking about, Miguel?”

Miguel swayed.

“Don’t tell me that handsome deputy boyfriend of yours didn’t tell you? They found Sydney’s phone in Miguel’s house.”

Lane’s heart stopped. That was the evidence Charlie had been talking about. The evidence that made Miguel a suspect. She was wrong. Lane looked at Miguel. How could she have been wrong? “Miguel?” Lane’s voice cracked. “Did you—”

“No. I didn’t kill her.” Miguel shook his head and then clarity reached his eyes as he focused on Annika. “It . . . it was you. You did it. She was scared of you. She didn’t want to paint anymore, but you . . . you killed her.”