His lips are soft against my skin. The intimacy of it trills through me. I’m so distracted by the kiss—on the cheek, but still!—that I almost miss the tug of pressure on my coat pocket. As Gabriel jogs away, I push my hands inside. The flash drive is there. Yes.

I turn for the door, ready to spin excuses for the sheriff, but he’s not the only one looking at me with confusion.

Ben appears to have some questions, too.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Shit, fuck, and damn.

“Ben! Hi! And Maura. And Suzanne. Here for the keynote?”

My grandmother removes a pair of oversized sunglasses, surely superfluous in overcast Northern California in October, her expression bemused. “And what a way to kick off the day. Again.” She smirks. “Benjamin, I’ll meet you in the ballroom,” she says, and she swans off, Suzanne in tow. My grandmother loves an entourage.

Even Sheriff Morrow defers, saying he’ll wait for me outside. I pull Ben to the side of the lobby, away from Deputy Shields, who is gawping on the couch.

“It’s not what it looks like,” I start.

“Well, it looked like a brush pass, so I hope that’s what it was, because I prefer that to the alternative.”

“Wait…what?”

“He put something in your pocket, no? What was it?”

I’m baffled. Ben…doesn’t appear to be jealous or upset. Dear God, he’s perfect. Giddiness rises up from my stomach. “It’s a thumb drive with video footage from the ballroom last night. All the comings and goings of everyone, so we can figure out who has an alibi and who doesn’t.”

“Wow. Solid assist from Escano. I have to finish up with Maura, and you apparently are going with the sheriff, but let’s meet up later to go through the video. Make a date of it?”

“How romantic! Combing surveillance footage together.”

“Better than you doing it alone.”

“Definitely.” I lean in, and out of obligation or want, or maybe something in between, I kiss him on the cheek. A mirror of a moment ago, reversed. I ignore how perfunctory the gesture feels. I’m saving the best of our firsts for when a lobby full of hotel guests and police personnel aren’t staring.

I join Sheriff Morrow outside, and we make the short walk to the police station in silence. Amber gestures at me from behind the check-in desk.

“Hi, Cecelia,” she says, proffering a clipboard and pen. I have to sign in.

“Holding down the fort, sweet pea?” her dad addresses her, to a hearty eye roll.

“Dad, I’m on the clock. Call me Amber at least. Miss Morrow is better.”

“Well, Miss Morrow, we are going to be in interview room B, and I think we would both like some fresh coffee. If you wouldn’t mind.”