“I heard that in the course of your…errand, you also found the time to speak with Chris Wang. I can’t have you interfering in this investigation, Cecelia. You’re both witnesses. That’s the kind of thing a defense attorney can run wild with.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I genuinely am. The last thing I want to do is hurt Natalie’s case, but the cops don’t seem to be investigating the right things. “I didn’t know. I was…trauma bonding,” I spit as an excuse. “Needed to go over it again with someone who was there.”

“Well, then, I’m glad you had that opportunity. But know that if I see you again talking to any persons of interest, I’ll have to take you down to the station and charge you. And those sorts of things don’t look good on college applications, I hear.”

Sipping tomato soup as I press my lips together and nod, I try to look unfazed, despite his threat. And he is threatening me, which means he’s smarter than I gave him credit for. Yes, yes. He won’t see me.

That’s what the back door is for.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The back door is locked. Hotel Seaview takes security seriously, it would seem. And the lobby is clearly out of the question. I could sneak past the valet, but Sheriff Morrow’s deputies are camped out in the lounge. I’ve waited nearly twenty minutes by the dumpster behind the building for an employee or even a con-goer to pop outside for a smoke, but no luck. While this is a low-traffic alleyway, it’s not even a hundred yards to the sand, and the employees from the beach-facing stores could come out at any moment, finding it suss as fuck that I’m here. One can only pretend to play on their phone, waiting for someone, for so long.

I could come back later, but I’m right here, and the con ends tomorrow. Time is precious.

I pace the alley, eyes searching the building, grasping for a brilliant idea but only finding doubt. Like Ben said, I’m a seventeen-year-old, not a police detective. But the fog of purpose pulls at me. If you’re doing something, you don’t have to think too hard. Feel too much.

I spot a window that’s cracked open an inch and sprint toward it. The sill sits slightly above my head, so it takes some serious stretching to get my fingers purchase on the window to push it up. I reach. Come on, come on, come on.

“What are you doing?”

I lose my footing and careen backward, but instead of hitting asphalt, a pair of hands steady me. I whirl around, tracing hands up to biceps up to…Hello.

“Gabriel, um, this isn’t what it looks like?”