My shoulders tightened, and I started to turn.

“Don’t look,” he said. “He’s heading this way.”

I felt him coming then, in the shudder of the wooden planks under my feet. Last year, when I was questioned, I had told Detective Collins that Connor and I didn’t talk anymore, and that was true. But here I was, face-to-face with him, seeking him out even—and the detective had probably seen us. I wasn’t sure whether he was coming for me or for Connor, but after our last conversation, I didn’t want to wait to find out. He was looking into the case, yes, but he seemed more interested in how I’d found the phone—as if, once more, I’d been keeping something from him.

That list of names, it meant something, though. And Connor was on it. He’d told me when he arrived at the party, but all I had to go on was his word—and he’d already lied to me once.

I swallowed, stepping down onto the boat. Connor offered a hand without looking, but I steadied myself on the rail, taking the seat next to his behind the wheel, just as he pulled in the rope. He angled the boat away from the dock, no rush, like we had all the time in the world. But his jaw was set, and he kept his gaze on the mouth of the harbor.

I didn’t look back until we were in line with the rocks of the Point to our right. And when I did, Detective Collins was standing there, just a dark shadow on the edge of the pier, hands on his hips, watching us go.

* * *

IT HAD BEEN A long time since I was out on a boat made for function instead of comfort. The thing Connor promised with his charters and tours was authenticity. Nothing had been changed for the comfort of his guests, but that was the excitement. This wasn’t the same boat we’d taken out when we were younger—that had been his father’s—but this one was newer, and slightly larger, and cared for meticulously.

He cut the engine when we were still in the protection of the harbor, with the steady rise and fall of the sea below, and all you could hear was the hull dipping in and out of the water, the water gently lapping against the sides. “It’s nice,” I said, meaning the boat.

“It’s going to turn soon,” he said, looking up at the sky, then back at the water. Both were in shades of dark blue, but the wind blew in from offshore with an unexpected chill. Fall storms approached like that, with a colder current from both the sky and the sea. “What is it you wanted to ask me, Avery?” He sat across from me, bare feet and khaki shorts, arm slung on the back of the seat, every word and mannerism chosen with care. Like he was pretending to be the person I thought I knew.

I knew the dangers of the water, had known them half my life, growing up here. But I had not considered the dangers inside other people. That kept me from trusting myself. Wondering what else I’d gotten wrong.

“Your picture was on her phone,” I said, circling cautiously rather than asking outright.

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t move. “What phone?”

“Sadie’s phone. They found it. I found it. At the Blue Robin.” I watched him carefully as I spoke, looking for a tell in his expression.

His face remained impassive, but the rise and fall of his chest paused—he was holding his breath. “When?”

“When I went to check the property, after the break-in.”

His eyebrows rose sharply. “You mean when I was there with you?” His voice dropped lower, and I knew I’d struck a nerve. I didn’t answer, and he closed his eyes, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

“I expect you to . . . I want you to tell me the truth,” I said, my own voice rising. To anyone nearby, it would’ve sounded like a one-sided conversation: me, growing louder; Connor, falling softer. Both of us on edge. “You told me at the house that you weren’t seeing her. But your picture is on her phone. And you were on this boat together. Someone saw you last year, which I guess you could’ve tried to explain away, but Sadie had your picture. Why else would she take your photo if she didn’t . . .” I took a deep breath, said what I’d come here to say. “You lied, Connor. You lied to the police, and you lied to me.”

“Don’t get all sanctimonious on me, Avery. Not you.” His lip curled, and he stood abruptly, pacing the small open deck. We were alone on a boat in the middle of the harbor. I looked around for other vessels, but Connor had picked a secluded area. To anyone else, we were just a blur in the distance, as they were to us. “I told the police this,” he said. “She paid me to take her out once, for a tour. That’s all.”

“Your number is in her phone. With an asterisk. Try again.”

He stopped pacing, fixed his eyes on mine. “Once,” he said. “Just once,” he repeated, like he was begging me to understand something more. But I wasn’t catching on. He ran a hand through his hair, squinted at the glare of sun off the water. “She found me on the docks. Called me by name, like she knew who I was already.”

“She did know,” I said quietly.

He nodded. “She asked how much it would be to take her on a private tour.” He frowned. “I don’t like to do private tours so much, honestly. Not just one person, and not someone like her.”

“Like what?”

He widened his eyes, like I knew better, and I did. “But,” he continued, “she told me a friend had given her my name. I assumed it was you.” His gaze met mine, waiting, and I shook my head just slightly. “You didn’t give her my number?” he asked.

“I didn’t.” He looked out at the sea again, like he was thinking something through. “You gave her the tour?” I asked, dragging his attention back.

“Yeah. I did it right then. She had the cash on her, more than I usually would’ve charged, but I wasn’t gonna complain. She asked me to tell her about the islands, all the stories from the charter tours, you know?” He shrugged. “Guess that’s why she came to me.”

These were the islands the locals escaped to when we wanted to get away. Anchoring the boat offshore and swimming the final few meters with the current. One of them had an old cabin, deteriorated and rotted, only the walls left standing, last I saw. But at one point someone had carried in the stone and the wood and made themselves a secret home. Connor and Faith and I spent one evening there, waiting out a storm.

“Where did you take her?” I asked.

“I took her to three. The two in Ship Bottom Cove first, because the tourists usually like to see those. But she wanted one that she could explore herself off the boat, said she’d heard there were plenty of hidden places. So we went to the Horseshoe.” I felt my jaw tensing as he spoke. “I stayed on the boat,” he said, as if he needed to defend himself from the implication.

The Horseshoe was what the locals called the horseshoe-shaped band of rock and trees that at one point had been connected to land by a bar, at low tide—so went the stories. The waves broke over the rise of land you couldn’t see, creating a sheltered cove, which made it a favorite of kayakers and locals alike. Any connecting land had long since disappeared, but we used to tell stories of travelers trapped there when the tide came back in.

“She swam there, though?” I asked, confused. Sadie did not like cold water. Or sharp sun. Or uncertain currents. She did not like being alone.

“Yeah, well, she waded out to it, just had a small backpack with her, figured it held her phone, maybe a towel. It was low tide, and I anchored there, it was easy enough. But she was gone so long, I took a nap. I probably would’ve been worried if I hadn’t fallen asleep. I woke up to the sound of a camera. She was standing over me, in her bathing suit, shivering from the cold.” He ran his hand through the air, like he knew the outline of her. Like he’d committed it to memory.

But none of this made sense. Why would Sadie need to come out here, with Connor? I could’ve told her anything she wanted to know about these spots. I would’ve come out here with her myself. Told her the stories, not only about the history of town but my own. Listened to her laugh at my stories of getting stranded; watched her eyes widen at the time we tried and failed to sneak a boat back to the docks at dawn. The parts of Littleport only I could show her, proving my own worth. Did you get in trouble? I could imagine her asking. Feel my smile as I told her we didn’t. We were kids of Littleport, and you protected your own.

Sadie may have forgiven me for turning her in to her father, but she still hadn’t trusted me—not with this. She’d come here alone. Without telling any of us—something she’d kept secret. Something that would’ve remained that way, if Greg Randolph hadn’t seen her and Connor together.