“God, you believe that, don’t you?” It isn’t even sarcastic. It’s like he actually feels sorry for me. “Think about how much you would have to explain. And how absurd it will sound. By the time you find someone to listen, I’ll be long gone. Besides, then you’ll never know why I came.”

“Why would they let you go?” I ask, but I’m not sure I want to know.

“‘Let go’ isn’t exactly a fair characterization. ‘Were easily misled’ is more accurate. And I did have help,” he says quietly, like he regrets something. “I told you North Point has significant resources.”

“But why would they help you? Why would anyone?”

“I convinced them that there were things only your dad and I knew and that if they were going to make a run at winning the Outliers race, they’d need my exclusive information. That does mean I will need to show them something, or I suspect there will be nasty consequences. I’d like to avoid that, which led me here. To you.”

“I would never help you,” I manage through gritted teeth.

“Not even if I have information that could get you out of here?”

“Did you send that text from Jasper’s phone?” Because all I can think is that this has been his end game all along.

“Text?”

“The one that told me to run. Right after we got back from Maine.”

“Run?” And he is confused for real. “Um, no.”

He didn’t send it. I can read that loud and clear. Kendall maybe. Probably. He’s who I have been thinking.

“You killed Cassie,” I say, pushing myself to my feet. “I would never help you, you sick asshole.”

“If you help me, I can help you get out of here. You said yourself that someone has your dad. He must need you.”

Quentin believes what he’s saying. He is telling the truth. His truth. Of course, his truth doesn’t have anything to do with mine.

“I would rather die in here than help you.”

“And what about your dad, and Gideon? You’re just going to leave them out there with whoever is responsible for you being in here?” The threat is loud and clear. “There are things you don’t know, Wylie.”

“Like what?”

“Like who killed Teresa. And who left that baby for you. And, to be clear, it wasn’t me.”

“Go to hell,” I whisper. But God, how I hate that he knows about that baby. How does he know that?

“I even have proof, which I could give you and you could use to exonerate yourself. Details that would make their version of events far less plausible.” He takes a breath. “Provided you are willing to help me in return.”