‘Well, it looked that way. I saw Justin in his office a lot. You know how Ogden works. He keeps us walled off, so he can dodge the blame if things go wrong. Why? What’s going on?’

Peach shrugged. ‘It’s nothing,’ she lied. ‘Annalie was wondering if she needed to follow up on any of Justin’s projects.’

Deacon hesitated, as if deciding whether to believe her. Then he slapped her on the leg. ‘Okay, I’m going to bed.’ He got up, tightening the knot of his towel. ‘You mind if I take Sexpot to my room? I like it when she watches me.’

‘Ewww,’ Peach said.

Her brother laughed. ‘I’m kidding. Get some sleep.’

‘I will. Hey, Deacon?’

‘What?’

‘Do you know anyone named Alison?’

He scrunched his mouth and thought about it. ‘Alison? I don’t think so. Who is she?’

‘It’s a name Justin mentioned.’

‘Well, there’s an Alison Kuipers at the law firm that Ms Fairmont uses. She signs off on legal questions for some of the jobs we do.’

‘So if Justin had concerns about something, he would have called her?’

‘Yeah, could be.’

‘Thanks,’ Peach said. ‘It’s not a big deal. I was just curious.’

Deacon mussed her hair, which he knew she hated. ‘Go to bed, Fruity. It’s late.’

‘I will.’

Peach waited as Deacon returned to his bedroom. He turned off the light behind him, leaving her in darkness. The pale glow of a streetlight down the block made Sexpot’s white limbs shimmer. Peach wondered what it would be like to be empty at the core, dressed up so that people saw whatever they wanted to see.

Maybe that was her.

She waited half an hour without moving. It was past one in the morning. When she stood up, her twisted ankle protested, but she limped toward the front door. Not making a sound, Peach slipped out of the house, past the warped gates and the No Trespassing and Beware of Dog signs. She crossed the street in the humid haze and crept beside the fence guarding Seminole Park. The ground under her feet was damp. At the gate, she slipped into the bug-infested woods and slapped away insects that tried to fly up her nose. They swarmed her, as if they were trying to warn her away.

She ran to her Thunderbird.

She knew there was no going back now. She was all in.

*

The monitor on Peach’s desk glowed in a rectangle of white light. Around her, the foundation research office was dark. She’d left the overhead fluorescent lights off. Her T-Bird wasn’t parked in its usual spot, number 52, across from the Tampa mural. Instead, she’d parked outside an apartment building two blocks away, which wasn’t visible from the office’s double doors.