Page 102 of Our Last Resort

He takes a step toward me, tentatively. The awkwardness around us is inescapable, like the windless heat right before a storm. We’re still scarred from our fight, our throats still raw from the words we hurled at each other.

That fight. I feel like it happened a hundred years ago. Back when Gabriel’s lies to Harris were my biggest concern.

Before I found Sabrina’s hair clip.

Before Gabriel’s name showed up on her phone.

“Let’s sit,” I say.

Gabriel doesn’t seem to hear me.

“Why are they doing this?” he asks. “What’s their endgame? They have nothing on you or me and—”

The sun is shifting, climbing to its highest point above the patio. A ray lands brightly on Gabriel. His face is half-lit-up, half-hidden in the shade.

“Gabriel,” I say. “Please, will you sit with me?”

He looks at me like he’s just noticed I’m here.

“What?”

I need to know. I need to just come out and say it.

“Your name was on her phone.”

Gabriel shifts. His face disappears in the shade.

“What did you just say?”

“I spoke to Harris. He came to town, asked me to come to the station. It doesn’t matter. The point is, he says they found your name on Sabrina Brenner’s phone. And your date of birth. And your address.”

“And you believe him?”

Frankly, yes.

“Come on, Frida. The cops are allowed to lie. And even if it were true, it doesn’t mean any—”

I step back inside the suite.

“Where are you going?”

He follows me. I walk over to his backpack, pick it up, unzip the inside pocket.

“This,” I say, and take out the hair clip. “This is why I believe them.”

Gabriel blanches. His hands ball into fists.

Here’s what I know, in this moment: He’s tall, and he’s always—always—been stronger than me.

And a dead woman’s hair clip is in his bag.

And he’s a person of interest in her murder.

As am I.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s talk.”

“I’m listening.”

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