“No. She had it already.”

“Where did she get it?” Vaughan asked.

“I don’t know.”

Of course he didn’t. “Open it.”

“No.” Neil puffed out his chest in a show of defiance, and Vaughan could not decide if the kid was a patsy or a master manipulator. So far, none of this case made sense.

An old air-conditioning unit hummed as Vaughan let his size crowd the boy. “I don’t want to toss you in a jail cell, but I will.”

The boy blinked and shifted his stance. “You can’t just arrest me.”

Vaughan reached for his cuffs. “You are a material witness, and I can hold you in the city jail for up to twenty-four hours.” He leaned forward. “Do you have any idea of what kind of guys comes through that jail on any given night?” He grinned as the boy’s eyes widened with worry. His comment had intended to summon frightening images, and it had.

“I’m coming right out!” Sky shouted. “Just wait!”

That last comment told him she did not want the boyfriend alone with the cops too long.

“Agent Spencer, why don’t you talk to Sky when she gets out of the room? Neil and I are going to the dumpster to catch up and get that bag of clothes.” He clamped his hand on the boy’s shoulder, feeling the kid’s muscles flinch.

“I want to stay with Sky,” Neil said in a show of fresh bravado.

“How old are you, son?” Vaughan asked.

“Eighteen.”

“And Sky is seventeen.” Vaughan shook his head.

“She’s only six months younger than me,” the boy protested.

“But in the eyes of the law, you’re an adult and she’s a minor. Right now, those six months mean you would be tried as an adult in court.”

“For what?”

“Hiding a material witness, for starters. Aiding and abetting. Perhaps statutory rape. Give me a little time, and I’ll come up with other charges.”

“I want to call my mom,” Neil said.

“Once we find that bag, I’ll let you call your mother. For now, it’s just you and me, chatting as we walk to the dumpster.”

The bathroom door opened, and Sky appeared. She’d dressed in faded jeans and a high school sweatshirt, and she’d attempted to run a comb through her hair but appeared too rushed to have finished the job.

As Sky moved toward Neil, Agent Spencer blocked her path. “I need a word with you.”

“I want to go home,” Skylar said. “I want to see my parents.”

Spencer exchanged a glance with Vaughan and then said simply, “First, we talk.”

The girl folded her arms and managed a pout likely perfected when she was a toddler. “Why do I have to stay here? Why can’t I leave? I’ve done nothing wrong,” she insisted.

“A lot of people have been looking for you,” Spencer said.

“Why?”

“You and I are going to talk about that.”

Vaughan pushed the boy outside a little more forcefully than he intended. He turned back to the motel door in time to see Spencer close it.

Zoe again blocked the girl’s exit as she tried to follow Vaughan and Neil outside. “We need to talk.”

“You can’t hold me here,” Skylar said. “I want to see my mom and dad, too.”

“I’ve called an ambulance for you. And now we’re going to wait.”

“I don’t need an ambulance,” Skylar said. “I want to see my mom and dad.”

Zoe took the girl’s hand, noting the shallow slice across her palm. It wasn’t a bad cut. The edges of the skin were already knitting together, and she doubted it would leave a scar. “How did you get that?”

The girl snatched her hand back. “I don’t know.”

“How could you not know?”

The girl pressed her fingertips to her temple and closed her eyes. “I’ve been asleep for so long. I just woke up, and I’m really confused.”

“Have you been here since yesterday morning?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“How did you get here?”

“I’m not sure. It’s all really confusing. I’ve barely been able to keep my eyes open. Where are my mom and dad?”

Hadley’s stabbing would have been horrific to witness and certainly could have affected the girl’s ability to recall. The likelihood that this state of confusion would last was slim. There was also the possibility that the girl knew exactly what had happened and was lying. At this stage, she couldn’t determine which scenario was more likely.

“I know you’re rattled, Skylar, but I need you to tell me about yesterday.”

She closed her eyes, her brow scrunching, like a little girl playing hide-and-seek. “Dad brought me coffee.”

“Did he always bring you coffee?”

“Yes.”

“Where was your mother?” Zoe asked.

“Out for a run. She runs a lot.”

“And then what happened?”

She closed her eyes. “I had a bad dream.”

“About?”

“My mother was screaming.” She opened her eyes, studying her palm, and traced the red line that slashed across her pink skin still wrinkled from the shower. After a pause, she looked up at Zoe. “Was it a dream?”

“No.” Her tone was soft, but she was keenly aware of the girl’s reaction.

An anguished cry escaped her lips as she sat down on the edge of the unmade bed. She ran a trembling finger through her damp hair. “Where is she?”

The air stilled. “Do you remember yesterday morning? Do you know how you got the blood on your clothes?”

She traced the red line slashing across her palm. “I thought the blood was mine. It’s from the cut on my hand.”

“Why was your mother screaming?”

“She was in pain.” Skylar pressed her fingers to her temples and shook her head. “I remember hearing Dad shouting. He told me to run. To save myself.”

“From what?”

“There was a man.” She drew in a stuttering breath. “The man attacked Mom.”

“Who was the man?”

“I don’t know. I’d never seen him before.”

Zoe shifted to more detail-specific questions. “How tall was he?”

“Taller than Mom.”

“What was he wearing?”

“Black, I think. He was a white guy.”

“What color was his hair?”

“Like sandy. And he had a weird tattoo on his hand. But I never got a look at his face.” She closed her eyes, her head jerking slightly as if a vivid memory had assailed her. “He kept asking for money. Dad said he could have whatever he wanted as long as he left us alone.”

“How did you cut your hand?”

Again, she studied the gash. “I couldn’t just leave Mom. I ran past Dad toward the man and Mom. I guess that’s when I got cut.”

“You were close enough for him to slash your palm. Do you remember what he smelled like?”

Her nose wrinkled. “He didn’t smell good.”

“What did the knife look like?” Zoe asked.