Page 150 of Faultlines

If she stopped to think, she’d realize she isn’t actually trapped. All she has to do is unlock the door manually.

Ten minutes later, we’re back on the road. I know getting her to eat will be an argument.

When I park outside Juniper House, she seems to realize I’m not leaving right away.

“What are you doing?” she says sharply.

I turn to her. “What?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral as my hand hovers near the door handle.

“You are not coming inside.”

I pull the handle. “I absolutely am.”

“Ethan.”

“Claire.”

She glares at me, her eyes flashing. I return the look. After an intense staring contest, she finally gives in with an exasperated sigh. “You are impossible.”

“Nothing you can do will stop me.” By then, I’m already climbing out of the truck, the door slamming shut behind me.

She mutters a curse I can’t hear as she stomps across the parking lot.

Marisol is waiting near the front office when we walk inside. One look at us, and she sets down the stack of files in her hands. “Oh good,” she says, her eyes flicking between us. “You’re fighting already.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Claire tells her.

“I wasn’t encouraging him,” she replies, her smile widening.

“You were smiling.”

Marisol’s smile widens further, a knowing glint in her eyes. “I smile at lots of things.”

I understand why these two are friends.

“Marisol, did you go home last night?” Claire asks, her voice more serious now.

“Eh, define home?” she replies. The question hangs in the air, but before I can ask what she means, my impatience takes over. I need to know what the police had to say.

Minutes later, the three of us gather around a computer monitor in Marisol’s office. The video quality is terrible—grainy and dark. I don’t know why we’re watching it again. It’s just clear enough to confirm the faint outline of a figure discernible, but frustratingly unclear about almost everything else.

A hooded figure enters the frame from the edge of the darkened parking lot and moves toward Claire’s SUV. The person crouches beside each tire in succession before disappearing back into the inky blackness.

The entire incident takes less than two minutes.

I lean forward. “That’s all we have, I’m guessing?”

She dibs her chin, and her face takes on a grim expression. “Tasha gave the police the note found on your windshield and a copy of the security footage.”

“Any strange vehicle sightings?”

“No.”

“Any witnesses?”

“No.”

“Anything useful?”