“If either of you makes a phone call, or leaves this dock, the prosecutor gets the file.”

Helen looked at Arthur, her face contorted in anger and helplessness.

Arthur looked down at the wet wood of the deck, his shoulders slumping.

“Emily, take my car,” Evelyn said, tossing me a set of heavy keys.

“Go to the restaurant. Stop Gavin before he burns the evidence.”

I caught the keys, the cold metal biting into my palm.

I ran toward Evelyn’s sedan, the gravel crunching under my boots.

The rain poured harder, blurring the windshield as I climbed inside.

I started the engine, the headlights cutting through the dark coastal mist.

As I backed out of the marina lot, I saw Helen and Arthur standing under the single streetlamp, frozen.

The drive downtown took twelve agonizing minutes.

The streets were empty, the neon signs of closed businesses reflecting off the wet asphalt.

I pulled into the alley behind the downtown restaurant.

Gavin’s sleek sports car was parked crookedly near the kitchen entrance, its engine idling.

Exhaust fumes rose like white ghosts in the cold air.