“Yeah, Gwen left me about a thousand messages. I didn’t listen to all of them, but after about three or four I got the gist.” He leans his head into the spray, scrubbing with both hands. Suds scatter against the wall, fat white bubbles trickling down the foggy glass. “I’ll see what I can figure out tomorrow, but...” He sighs, flips off the water. “Right now I’m too tired to care.”

And clearly, too tired to shave, as well, but at least he’s clean.

I pull a towel from the rack and hand it over. “Are you going to tell me what happened, or are you going to make me guess?”

“Honestly, there’s not much to tell. Jax wasn’t at his cabin—and before you ask, yes, I knew he had one, and, yes, I went inside. From what I could tell, the cops hadn’t been there yet, but if they dust for prints, they’ll find a million of mine. I drank some water and ate some of his food, and I rifled through his things. If anything of hers was there like Micah said, I didn’t see it, but I wasn’t looking for it. The only thing I cared about was refueling and finding Jax.”

“It was her coat and scarf, apparently.”

“Oh, then maybe? I might have seen something hanging over a chair, but I don’t remember. I was only inside for long enough to catch my breath, and like I said, I was distracted.” Paul drags the towel across his back, swipes it over his hair, the necklace glinting gold against his wet skin. “After that, I tracked him around Balsam Bluff for hours, until I figured out he was messing with me. Snapping branches, putting down footprints where I’d find them, then doubling back and pointing me the other way, getting me all turned around. He used to do that when we were kids, too. I can’t believe I fell for it.”

“He was here, Paul. Jax, I mean. He was on the back deck.”

Paul’s fingers pause on the terry cloth, and his gaze whips to mine. “He was? What for?”

“I don’t really know. He said he’d seen you—he knew about the cut on your forehead—and he wanted me to know he didn’t put it there. He told me to watch my back.” Paul’s face pales around the bruises and cuts. “Paul, why are you protecting him?”

“Because he didn’t do it. He’s not the reason Sienna ended up in the lake.”

He says it without hesitation, without pausing first to think, which is how I know he’s telling me the truth—or at least his version of it.