Really, she was amazed the food on the table was even edible, because she hadn’t paid one bit of attention to cooking it.

Gabriel had been arrested.

He’d disappeared from math class, but she’d heard about it in the lunch line. It was all over school. The wild stories were completely unbelievable—Gabriel was wanted in three different states, he’d attacked the guidance counselor with an aerosol can and a lighter, he’d been caught running a meth lab. But the most common story was that he’d been arrested for arson, for starting the fires all over town.

The most popular story included the detail that someone had reported him for starting the fire at the farm.

Simon had found her, had demanded answers. Did she know? Did she believe it?

She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t forget that lighter tumbling out of Gabriel’s sweatshirt. The haunted look in his eyes.

She also couldn’t forget the note he’d left her, when she’d admitted she was afraid.

Truth: don’t be.

She’d given Simon the only honest answer she had: I don’t know.

Layne had gone looking for his brothers, but she didn’t know their schedules and had no idea where to search. She’d looked up the number for the landscaping business as soon as she got home, but the phone went unanswered.

So she’d spent the last hour gathering her nerve.

If her imperfections had been enough to drive her mother away, what she had to tell her father might be enough to do the same to him.

As if sensing her gaze, her father glanced up from his iPhone. “You’re quiet tonight.”

She swallowed. “I have a hypothetical legal question.”

He put the phone down. “In my experience, hypothetical questions usually aren’t hypothetical at all.”

She swiped her palms on her knees. “If you had a case where someone could give your client an alibi but that person would get in trouble for speaking up, would you still want the alibi?”

An eyebrow rose. “Define trouble.”

She looked at her plate, pushing the beef in a circle. “Her father would disown her.”

Now she had his full attention. Simon’s too.

“Are we talking about you?” her father said. His eyes narrowed. “Who needs an alibi?”

“Gabriel Merrick,” she whispered.

“For what exactly?”

“For arson.” Her father’s face looked like thunder now, so she rushed on, stumbling over her words, afraid she would cry before she got it all out. “They think he started the fires that have been in the paper, but I know—I know—”

“You know what, Layne?” Her father’s voice was ice cold. “What do you know?”

“He didn’t. I know he didn’t. At least—”