I feel a sob in my throat as relief blossoms, sweet in my chest. It’s sharp and strong, and I have to hug my arms around my body to keep from embracing him.

“No, that’s not it.” Ellingham clears his throat, and just like that, my elation wavers, caught on a precipice.

“But, you said . . .” My voice trembles with confusion. “They’ve dropped the charges. That means I can go home, right?”

I look between them for confirmation, but my dad just glances away.

“They’ve ended the investigation into Tate,” Ellingham says, his voice reluctant. “He’s flying home this afternoon. But your murder charge still stands. You’ll go to trial as expected in a couple of months.”

I sink back down onto the hard plastic chair, reeling.

“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “What happened?”

My dad finally speaks. “Tate cut a deal with the prosecutor. He admitted you lied about your alibis.” The disappointed look in his eyes is enough to break my heart.

“I can explain!” I cry. “He asked me to; he said they’d suspect him if they knew he went back to the house. I never meant to lie.”

“But why didn’t you tell me the truth from the start?” My dad looks at me, searching. “We could have done something, found a way . . .”

“I don’t know,” I say helplessly. “He said it would be worse for us, that they’d think we did something wrong.”

“They do.” Ellingham’s voice is matter-of-fact.

I pause, trying to process it. Tate told. After all this time, insisting we had to stick together, he turned around and . . .

“Why did they drop the charges against him?” I ask slowly. “If they knew he was at the house with her, wouldn’t that make him a suspect?”

Ellingham clears his throat again. He looks uncomfortable, as if he wishes he could be anywhere but this small, bleak room under the fluorescent strip lighting. Then I remember: he works for Mr. Dempsey. He was never here for me.

“Our investigators uncovered security footage from the convenience store near the house,” he explains stiffly. “It shows Elise out that afternoon, around 3 p.m.”

I don’t get it. I turn to my dad for help.

“The timeline doesn’t fit,” Dad tells me gently. “She was still alive, after he went back to the house. His alibi still holds, for the new time of death.”

I shake my head. “But why am I still here?” I ask them. “The only reason I was lying was to protect him. And if they’re sure he’s innocent . . .”

“His alibi holds, but yours doesn’t,” Ellingham tells me. “Tate says he took a nap when you were on the beach that afternoon. When he woke up, you were gone. That’s at least forty minutes unaccounted for, maybe more. Plenty of time to go to the house and back.”

“But I was right there.” My voice comes out a whisper. I look to my dad again, pleading. “I was down by the water. I walked a little, along the shore. I was right there the whole time.”

“Tate says he didn’t see you.” There’s no argument in Ellingham’s voice, just plain fact. “That’s enough for Dekker to argue that you had the opportunity and means to kill Elise. And with their affair, he can claim you have motive, as well.”

NOW

You see? How simple it is, how one little piece of information changes everything. How it all just falls into place.

Betrayal.

THEN

I slowly push my seat away from the table. The legs scrape on the tile floor.

“What are you talking about?” I say slowly.

“Elise and Tate.” Ellingham is studying me carefully. “They were having an affair. Hooking up, I believe you would call it.”

“No.” I shake my head. “You’re lying.” I look around. “Dekker’s watching, he’s trying to catch me out. This is some kind of trick.”

“I assure you, it’s not.”

“Tate told the police today,” my dad says gently. “When he came clean about the alibis.”

“No.” My voice is a whisper.

“Apparently they’d been together several months,” Ellingham continues, as if he doesn’t realize how his words are slicing through me. Or maybe he does and he just doesn’t care. “Since January, Tate said.”

“No!” My scream cuts through the room. “You’re lying! He would never . . .” I catch my breath, ragged. “She would never!”

There’s a long silence, then Ellingham stands. “I should go,” he says, reaching quickly for his briefcase. “Give you time to . . . think things through.”

“But you’ll call me later?” My dad rises, looking concerned. “We need to talk about her defense strategy, now that Tate is out of the picture.”

“Of course.” Ellingham’s smile is blank and professional. “You have my number.”

He sweeps out, the guard closing the door firmly behind him. Dad and I are left alone.

“I didn’t know.” My voice breaks. “I swear, I didn’t know.”

“I believe you, sweetie.” Dad reaches across and takes my hand. The guard looks away, and that’s when I know just how desperate my situation is. That a hand held across the table is the only hope I’ve got. “We’ll be okay, I promise.”

“But how?” The full weight of Ellingham’s revelations begins to crush me, so hard I can barely breathe. I look around the tiny room, knowing that outside there’s nothing but metal bars and security gates and guards, armed and ready to keep me here, locked forever. My panic takes flight, and I feel it all the way to my bones. “It’s just me now,” I whisper, disbelieving.

“No, sweetie.” Dad clutches my hand tighter, but I shake my head. The tears I’ve been holding back for weeks finally slip through, a grief so deep I could drown.

“He left me.” I choke on the words and my own, bitter sobs. “They both left me here alone.”

I lay my head on the table and weep.

THE TRIAL

“So you didn’t know?”

Dekker’s question rings out, taunting and full of scorn.

I take a breath, looking for Tate in the courtroom, but he’s not here. “No.”

“The victim was conducting an affair with your boyfriend for months, right under your nose, and you mean to tell the court you had no clue it was going on?” Dekker turns to the audience, his face a picture of disbelief.