White Rabbit(85)

“Then tell them that—it doesn’t even matter!” Sebastian takes a sharp breath. “Don’t you get it? You’re the only one who can implicate Race in Fox’s death—you’re not safe until you tell the cops what you know!”

“I’m not going to prison for something I didn’t even mean to do,” she insists vehemently, not even listening, “and if you guys say anything about all this, I’ll deny it! And how am I in danger, anyway? I’m Race’s alibi, remember? He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“For fuck’s sake,” my boyfriend mutters through his teeth.

“Are you delusional?” I squint at her. “Peyton, you’re only his alibi if you’re willing to cover up a murder! And that means that you’re also the only one who can prove he doesn’t have an alibi. Look around”—I gesture at the swarming mists, the limitless blank that engulfs us—“and ask yourself what the fuck you’re doing out here! Ask yourself what your pissed-off boyfriend needs to tell you that’s so important he doesn’t want to say it over the phone or in front of witnesses!”

“You said he also asked Lia to come,” she argues weakly.

“Of course he did—he thinks Arlo told her what he saw when they went back to the lake house!” I expel an angry sigh, try to will my nerves to settle their clamor, try to sound calm. “Look, Peyton. As far as Race is concerned, you and Lia might be the only two people left alive who can tell the police what really happened to Fox—especially after he slit Arlo’s throat to shut him up—so are you honestly willing to bet your life on the chance that the reason he tried to lure the two of you out here is so you could coordinate your fake stories?”

“He wouldn’t hurt me.” It’s almost a question.

“Yeah? How’s he feel about Lia?” Sebastian interjects, his voice sharp and hot, forcing her to look him in the eye. “He got any reason to think she’d lie for him after he killed Arlo? Because something makes me doubt it.”

She bites her lip miserably, her expression torn—caught between having to accept what we’re saying or trusting what she’d rather believe; and just as she opens her mouth to speak again, she’s interrupted. From somewhere frighteningly close, somewhere just past the point of visibility in the mist, there comes a rustle of leaves and an abrupt thud.

All three of us whirl, briefly pinned in place by fear, our eyes huge as we stare into the gray-blue void spreading around us—and then we spring into motion at the same time. I turn and lunge for the picnic shelter, taking cover in its stubborn shadows with Sebastian a half-step behind me, my heart thudding so hard I can feel it in my jaw. Peyton, on the other hand, spins on her heel and takes off at a dead sprint in the opposite direction, vanishing almost instantly into the fog.

“Peyton!” I hiss, but it’s no use; the soft shush of her track pants brushing together dies out, and the hazy morning fills again with an unbearable, moody silence. Sebastian moves closer, as if to prevent me from going after her; I don’t intend to—stepping back out into the open now could be suicide—but I want to, and the conflict burns in my gut. She’s the way to end this; she is the key to not only stopping Race, but maybe also saving my house from the bank. But if Race is out there …

“What the fuck do we do?” Sebastian breathes almost silently in my ear, apparently thinking along the same track. Even the dark gloom of the shelter won’t hide us for long if Race comes looking; but running off blindly into the expanse of the park—where we can’t even see fifteen feet in any direction—won’t be much safer.

“I don’t know,” I mouth back. Seconds tick by as I wait for something to happen, each moment an agonizing eternity, and cold sweat rolls down my back. Straining my ears, I listen for the sound of footsteps, breathing … but all is deathly quiet.

Agitation roughens Sebastian’s voice. “Do you think that was Race?”

“I don’t know,” I repeat, frustrated by my own indecision. If it was Race, did he go after Peyton? Or is he waiting for us to come out of hiding, so he’ll have a better shot at sneaking up on us? And what if it had just been, like, a clumsy skunk falling out of a tree? How long are we really prepared to just stand around like a couple of assholes while we wait to see if we’re about to die? “We have to get out of here.”

“Okay.” Sebastian nods, but he makes no move to leave the protective darkness just yet, his eyes reflecting the weak, gray light that seeps in under the angled roof. “She’s … Peyton will probably go straight home. Maybe we can catch up to her.”

“No.” I wipe sweat off my lip, still listening to the silence. “We have to go to the police now. It’s time. It’s way past time.”

“But unless Peyton comes with us—”

“We don’t need her. If we report exactly what she told us, word for word, it’ll be enough for them to round up her and Race both. We know they didn’t prepare their alibis together, so no matter what they say to the police, the details won’t match. It’s not perfect, but it’ll divert suspicion from April—and once Race is in the spotlight, it’ll be too late for him to go after Lia or Peyton or anybody else. Everyone’ll be safe.”

“Okay,” Sebastian says again, sounding indescribably relieved. “Okay.”