The question is a valid one. Micah’s house is at the top of the cove, and though it’s tucked behind some trees and sits back farther from the waterline, the back deck offers an uninterrupted view down the length of the lake. If anybody’d been out there on the water, or even smack in front of our dock, he would have seen and heard it, too.

“No. Didn’t see anything, either. No boat lights, or the flickering of a flashlight.”

Again, I shake my head. “But we went upstairs earlier than usual. I don’t know what time, exactly. It was dark, I remember that much.”

Dark falls early behind the pines, but still. Thanks to our champagne celebration, we went to bed soon after supper.

Micah is gearing up for his next question when the front door opens and in runs Paul, covered in sweat and mud. He sees me and skids to a stop, leaving orange and brown smears on the hardwoods. The mud is caked down his entire right side, from his hair all the way down to his shoes like he slid feetfirst down a clay slide, and there’s a cut above his right eye, smack in the middle of a nasty purple lump.

“What happened to you? Are you okay?”

“Are you?” He takes me in with wide, bulging eyes. “I saw the cars outside and I thought...” A tremor makes its way up his spine, and he slumps against a table, leaning on it with a filthy palm. “Jesus.”

Paul’s reaction might seem extreme, if he hadn’t been here before, returning from a run to find a horde of cops fishing a body out of the water. Only the last time it happened, it was summer and the body belonged to his wife. She drowned during an early-morning swim.

“Are you okay?” I say, moving closer. “That cut looks—”

The words dissolve into a squeal when he snatches me to him, jerking me against his body, hard with cold and fear. “You could have warned me, asshole,” he says to Micah over my head. “Those cars out there about gave me a heart attack.”

I press my palm to Paul’s chest, where his heart thumps hard against the skin. His remark may have carried a hint of jest, but his tone didn’t. It came out sharp and angry, but Micah doesn’t take the bait. That’s another great thing about Micah Hunt; he never takes the bait—except maybe with his father.

His voice is calm and matter-of-fact. “I had my father send someone out looking for you, but I’m guessing by your reaction they didn’t have much luck. Take your phone with you next time like a normal person, so people can reach you in case of an emergency.”

Paul’s eyes narrow on the last word. He releases me, sending me a look heavy with meaning.