West’s voice came out of the darkness: “Bobby! Bobby, what are you—”

But Deputy Bobby was still focused on Gerry, and he shouted again, “He told you not to touch him!”

Out of the flickering shadows, West materialized. He stumbled to a stop, staring first at Gerry, then at Deputy Bobby. He grabbed Deputy Bobby’s arm.

Deputy Bobby’s move was reflexive: an automatic yank to get free of West’s hold.

West held on, though, and snapped, “Bobby!”

Deputy Bobby raised his head like someone waking up. He looked at West and blinked as though he didn’t recognize him. His gaze came to me, and I didn’t know the Deputy Bobby on the other side of the burnished bronze.

“Come on,” West said. And then, more harshly, “Come on!”

He towed Deputy Bobby into the darkness.

“Why don’t we step away?” Fox asked.

I startled at the sound of their voice; I hadn’t realized anyone else was there, but now it seemed like someone had fast-forwarded a movie: Jen was helping Gerry to his feet, and Keme was standing in front of Millie like he intended to be the last line of defense, and more of the surfers and their friends were drifting into a ring to stare at us. With a wild shout, Gerry ripped free from Jen’s support and stumbled away from the growing crowd.

Fox laid a hand on my back to get me moving. We started around the camp’s central building, heading back to Millie’s car, and excited voices exploded into conversation behind us. I tried not to hear the words, and I focused instead on taking slow, deep breaths. As we moved into the darkness, the night air was cold and sweet, free of wood smoke and cannabis vapor and tasting faintly like dew and dune grass and the vodka cran on my breath.

“Well,” Fox said, “that was certainly something—”

“I already told you why!” West’s voice sliced through the night. It came from somewhere nearby—behind one of the camp buildings. “I don’t know why we have to keep having this conversation.”

“That was battery,” Deputy Bobby said. I’d never heard his voice like that, I thought. Like stamped steel.

“And you’re off duty. I want one night, Bobby. One. One night when I get to have a boyfriend who cares about me, who wants to be with me, who is focused on me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You want to know what’s not fair? What’s not fair is that every time we go out, you’re a deputy, and I’m—I’m an afterthought. I’m whatever you’re doing when you aren’t breaking up fights or driving drunks home or—” West’s voice rose. “Or getting in fights like you’re a stupid teenager!”

The night had a heartbeat. My face was hot. Fox sucked in slow, pained breaths.

Deputy Bobby’s voice was strained when he said, “I think we should have this conversation after we both cool down.”

West expressed his feelings about that idea. At length. With words.

When he finished, Deputy Bobby’s familiar tread moved away into the night.

“God,” Fox said, and that seemed to break the spell. They got me moving again. “Poor kids.”

When we got to Millie’s Mazda, Fox tried the doors, but they were locked. “Stay here,” they said. “I’m going to get Millie and Keme, and we’ll head back to town.”

“No, don’t. I shouldn’t have—they were so excited about this party. I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin it. A lecherous old man ruined it.”

“God, West sounded so mad.”

In the dark, it was impossible to make out Fox’s face, but their voice was strangely uncertain when they said, “Dash—” And then they stopped. In a different voice, they said, “It’ll be fine. They’ll be fine.”

I didn’t say anything. It was the first time, as far as I could tell, that Fox had lied to me.

“Wait here,” Fox said. “I’ll be right back.”

Their steps moved off, and the dark bulk of their body dissolved into the night.

I replayed the conversation between Deputy Bobby and West. And then I replayed it again. And then again. I heard in my head, over and over, Deputy Bobby’s heavy steps as he walked off. I went over every instant of my interaction with Gerry. I came up with a dozen things I should have done differently. I should have left. As soon as I caught that weird vibe, I should have left. The first time he touched my arm, I should have left. I should have slapped him. I should have said, If you touch me again, I’m going to call the police. I should have done anything except stand there, petrified by the thought of making a terrible situation even worse by drawing attention to myself.

And because of me, Deputy Bobby was out there, alone—hurt and angry and confused.

Before I could think about what I was doing, I pushed off from Millie’s car. I headed in the direction I had heard Deputy Bobby’s steps moving. Off in the distance, the party sounded like it had returned to normal. A man jeered. A woman screamed with delight. A splash, and then a swell of laughter. My vision was slowly adjusting to the night, and the outlines of the buildings solidified, with tunnels of darkness between them. I followed one of those tunnels, passing clapboard cabins that would stand empty until spring, my steps echoing back from painted doors, the smell of freshly sawed wood hanging in the air.

The cabins stopped, and I climbed a low hill, following a footpath beaten into the dirt through the dune grass. The grass whispered against me, scratching the backs of my hands. On the other side of the dune, the beach opened up. A few jagged tears in the clouds gave enough light for me to make out the arc of sand and, beyond it, the restless shimmer of the water. Against a board-and-batten lifeguard tower, surfboards were racked and ready for the next day. Wetsuits hung on wooden drying racks. A striped beach ball, slightly deflated, nestled in the sand.

Movement to the north caught my eye. The ground there rose steeply into bluffs, and the face of the stone caught the night’s light so that it had a soft, salt-lamp glow. Against the gentle radiance of the stone, a figure was making its way along the beach.

“Deputy Bobby!”

The crash of the waves swallowed my voice. I wasn’t sure the figure—if it even was Deputy Bobby—heard me; if they did, they didn’t look back. But I thought I recognized the way they moved, the cut-out shape of them against the pale stone.

I started after them. The sand gave under every step, slowing me. The sound of the breakers grew as I angled past the wrack line, stepping over tangles of kelp and seagrass and a crusty Fanta bottle (empty, of course). The smell of decay met me, and then the wind whipped it away again.

And then I lost them. The figure, whoever it was I’d been following, was gone. I strained, trying to make out movement in the darkness. Nothing.

“Deputy Bobby!”

My words were lost to the winds and the waves.

Pulling out my phone, I trudged in the direction I’d last seen him. I turned on the phone’s flashlight. It made it easier to see where I was putting my feet, but it ruined my night vision. I turned the flashlight off again, and then I couldn’t see anything. Somehow, the ocean sounded even louder. Maybe the tide was coming in. Was this the right time? I had no idea. I picked up the pace. It was easier going now as I followed the narrow strip of beach along the face of the cliffs. Waves slapped down hard to my left, and the swash rolled up, missing my sneakers by inches. This had been a bad idea, I decided. Deputy Bobby—if it even was Deputy Bobby—wanted to be left alone. That’s the whole reason he’d walked away. He was upset, and he needed some time to calm down, to get control of himself. He wouldn’t appreciate me barging in on him, even if I was doing it out of friendship.

And then, ahead of me, against the pale luminescence of the stone, I made out a shape. The swash came in again, swirling around that dark bulk. It took me a moment to realize it wasn’t a rock. It was someone lying on the ground.

“Bobby?” I started to run. “Bobby!”

But when I reached him, it wasn’t Deputy Bobby. It was Gerry Webb, and he was dead.

It looked like he’d fallen—his body shattered by the impact. I couldn’t help myself; I looked up. And there, on the cliff above me, someone was looking down. They were too far away for me to make out more than their shape. But they were there.

And then they were gone.

Chapter 3

Deputies came. They hauled lights out to the beach, portable generators, protective barriers—to preserve the crime scene, I knew. It was a losing battle; nothing could keep back the tide. I stood there and waited. In the glare of the LEDs, with the waves crashing louder and louder, men and women calling back and forth to each other, it felt like I’d stepped out of my body and into a movie.