“No, I’m serious.” He pushes past me, marching up to AK. “Spit it out. If there’s something you want to say, just say it.”
AK stares back at him. “Fine.” His voice is heavy. “Why didn’t you come diving with us?”
Tate stares. “You know why. We were hungover; we just wanted to chill.”
“No, you said you were going, you couldn’t wait,” AK argues. “Then Elise says she’s staying home, and you change your mind.”
“Tate?” I ask. “What’s he talking about?”
“It’s nothing.” Tate glares. “He’s talking out of his ass.”
“We both decided to stay,” I tell AK, putting myself between them. “It wasn’t anything. We just wanted some time to ourselves.”
“Is that why you didn’t check on her?” AK demands. “You were too busy off on your own? Making out, while she was bleeding to death?”
“We texted!” I protest. “We all did. And if you were so worried, why didn’t you check on her, before you left?”
“It was early.” AK looks away.
“It was like, ten in the morning,” I correct him. “Remember, she didn’t come out for breakfast. And you went and knocked on her door,” I add, turning to Mel.
Her face trembles. “You think I don’t know that? You think I wouldn’t go back if I could, and break the door down, or do something?”
“Hey.” Chelsea reaches to comfort her. “Knock it off, all of you. This won’t change anything. Nobody’s to blame.”
“You keep saying that!” AK explodes. “But you don’t know it’s true. None of us do. We weren’t there.”
“But we were, is that what you’re saying?” Tate steps up, getting in his face. I can see the tension radiating from him, his whole body coiled to strike.
“Will everyone just calm down?” I beg. “We’ve got to stick together.”
“Why?” AK shoots back. “Because you’re worried what we might say, if it’ll make you look bad?”
“Because it’s the truth!”
My voice echoes, plaintive, but it’s like a dividing line just got drawn down the middle of the room. Me and Tate on one side, AK on the other. Melanie, Lamar, and Chelsea stranded between us, not saying a word.
“You really think we had something to do with it?” I ask AK, my voice breaking. “That we would hurt her, that we . . .” I catch my breath.
“I don’t know,” AK finally replies, his voice hollow. “I don’t know what the f**k to think anymore.”
“Thanks a lot, buddy.” Tate’s voice is laced with sarcasm.
“He doesn’t mean it,” I say, but Tate just turns and walks out, the door slamming behind him like a gunshot through the suite.
Silence.
“Go after him,” I urge AK. “Apologize. You can smooth this over. We’re all messed up, we’re not thinking straight—”
“I am.” AK looks at me. “I’m probably the only one seeing things clearly.”
I shiver. His eyes seem to burn straight through me, harsher than I’ve ever seen before. AK is the playboy, the joker, the one who suggests we drive out to Alston at two a.m. to find some legendary food cart. He doesn’t get mad; he never holds a grudge. But right now, he’s staring at me like a stranger.
“AK—,” I start, but before I can say another thing, the door opens, and my dad comes bursting in, a couple more parents behind him.
“It’s okay, sweetie.” He crosses the room, pulling me into a hug. “This’ll all be straightened out.”
“What’s going on?” My reply is muffled against his sweater. He’s holding me so tight, I can feel him shake. I feel a sudden chill, blood turning to ice in my veins. “Dad?” I try to push him away. “Dad, what’s happening?”
“Mr. Chevalier, please stand aside.”
Dad releases me, and I look up to see Dekker, coming through the doorway with two more officers behind him. The look on his face is pure triumph.
“Dad?” My voice has a note of terror in it.
“Just stay calm,” he tells me. “We’ll be in the car, right behind you.”
I back away. “But what’s going on?”
Dekker advances. “Anna Chevalier, I have a warrant for your arrest, on suspicion of the murder of Elise Warren.”
The ground falls away.
I stumble back, but Dekker grabs me roughly, forcing my hands behind my back. He shoves me up against the wall, and I hear my dad yell out in protest as I feel the cold bite of metal lock into place against my wrists.
“You do not have to say anything . . .”
His voice drifts away. I can see his lips moving, see the burst of panic and confusion in the room, but everything fades to a dull roar as he hustles me toward the door, blood in my ears beating loud to drown out the rest of the world. All I have are glimpses, snapshots of the scene. My dad’s expression, panicked and powerless. Chelsea, weeping into Lamar’s shoulder. The maid in the hallway, open-mouthed as they drag me into the elevator. Tourists in the lobby, pointing and wide-eyed, cell phones held high. The news crews outside, already pressed up against the front windows, cameras flashing.
The bright lights snap me back suddenly as Dekker pulls me outside, launching me into the middle of the scrum. Reporters lunge at me from every direction. I’m in the center of a storm, every thought drowned out by their yells. The crowd has swelled to ten times its usual size—all of them jostling their cameras at me, hurling their questions, their faces crude and gleeful.
“Did you kill her?”
“Where’s the evidence?”
“Are you pressing charges?”
“Why did you do it?”
I trip, nearly falling, and then Ellingham is beside me, hauling me on toward the police van.
“Don’t say a word,” Ellingham orders me. “Don’t tell them anything until I’m there.”
“But what about—”
My reply is drowned out by a fresh roar from the crowd. Tate is being led out of the hotel behind me, handcuffed between two more police officers. His parents and lawyer cluster behind, in a panic.
“Tate!” I call, pulling against my restraints. “Tate, it’ll be okay!”
They propel him away from me, toward a waiting van. But before he’s bundled inside, he looks up, searching for me in the crowd.