I bolt up in bed.

The tapping stops. I don’t move. And then it starts again. The persistent rap of a knuckle hitting glass.

“Charlie, get up,” I whisper.

He doesn’t budge.

“Oliver,” a voice comes from outside.

I jump out of bed, struggling to be silent. If I yell, they’ll know we’re awake. I reach back to pull the covers off my brother-

“Oliver, are you there?” the voice asks.

Spinning around, I let go of the blanket. That’s not just any voice…

“Oliver, it’s me.”

… that’s a voice I know. Racing to the door, I ram my eye toward the peephole, just to be safe.

“Open up…”

I twist and unclick the locks. Cracking the door open, I peek outside.

“I’m sorry – did I wake you?” Gillian asks with a soft grin. As always, she can’t stand still. She stuffs her hands in her back pockets, then shifts her weight from one foot, to the other, then back again. Swaying like a folk singer.

“What’re you doing here?” I whisper.

“I don’t know… I just kept thinking about the remote… and the photos and… and there’s no way I was falling asleep, so I figured-” She cuts herself off and takes a fast glance down at my boxers. I blush; she laughs. “Listen, I know you have your own reasons, but I appreciate what you’re doing with my dad. He’d… he’d thank you for it.”

My face only gets redder.

“I’m serious,” she says.

“I know you are.”

Enjoying the moment, she adds, “When’s your birthday?”

“What?”

“What’re you, an Aries or Leo? Melville and Hitchcock were Leos, but…” She pauses, absorbing my reaction. “You’re an Aries, aren’t you?”

“How can you -? How’d you know?”

“C’mon, Stiffy, it’s spray-painted on your forehead – the perfection posture, the scolding dad tone when you talk to your brother, even the spotless white boxers…”

“These boxers are brand-new.”

“They definitely are,” she says, staring down at them. Once again, I blush and she laughs. “C’mon,” she adds. “Put on some clothes – I’ll let you buy me some cheap coffee.”

Over her shoulder, I check the empty street. Even at this hour, it’s not smart to be strolling in public. “How ’bout a raincheck?”

Slinking back, she looks like a hurt puppy.

“It doesn’t mean you have to go, though…” I offer.

She stops and quickly turns back. “So you want me to stay?”

It’s a tease and we both know it. Charlie would tell me to shut the door. But that would just leave me lying awake in the dark. “All I’m saying is, I have to be careful.”

“Oh, because of the… I didn’t even think…” She stumbles in the sweetest way possible. It’s one of those moments that no one could fake. “Of course I want you to be careful. In fact…” A playful smile lights her face.

“What?”

“Grab some sneakers,” she says, already beaming. “I’ve got an idea.”

“To go out? I don’t think that’s-”

“Trust me, handsome-pants, this is gonna be one you thank me for. No one’ll even know we’re there.”

She says something else, but I’m still munching on handsome. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t,” she says, suddenly serious. “Especially when we’re in it together.”

That’s the shove that puts me over the mountain. If she wanted to hurt us, Gallo and DeSanctis would’ve been here hours ago. Instead, we had a whole day of peace. From here on in, the longer she stays with us, the more she puts herself at risk. She doesn’t care. She wants the truth about her dad. So do we. I leave a quick note for my brother, then look back at him to make sure he’s still asleep.

“Don’t worry,” Gillian says. “He’ll never know you’re gone.”

Racing down the dock, I have to hand it to her. In a town that prides itself on being seen, she’s found the one cool place where no one’s watching.

“Abandoned enough for you?” she asks as our shoes clunk along the wooden planks of the Miami Beach Marina. All around us, the docks are dead silent. Back on shore, there’s a security guard making his nightly rounds, but a friendly wave from Gillian keeps him at bay.

“You come out here often?” I ask.

“Wouldn’t you?” she replies as she hits the brakes.

I’m not sure what she means – that is, until she points down to the small, weather-scorched, white fishing boat that’s bobbing up and down against the dock. Barely big enough to seat six, it’s got frayed Miami Dolphins seat cushions and a windshield with a crooked crack down the center. With a flick of her foot, Gillian kicks her sandals down into the boat.

“This is yours?” I ask.

“Dad’s last gift,” she says proudly. “Even godless engineers still appreciate the majesty of catching a fish at sunset.”

As she undoes the ropes from the dock, I watch her thin arms swoop and glow gracefully in the moonlight. I hop in the boat without hesitating. She starts the engine and grabs the steering wheel in a soft but assured grip. It may be four in the morning, but there are still majestic sights at sea.

Making a sharp left as we leave the marina and ignoring the “No Wake” signs, Gillian shoves the throttle forward, guns the engine, and sends us skipping across the water. The bouncing ride is enough to knock us to our seats, but both of us grab the dashboard and fight to stay on our feet. “If you don’t stand above the windshield, you can’t taste the ocean!” she shouts over the engine. I nod and lick the salty air from my lips. When I first started at Greene, Lapidus private-jetted me to St. Bart’s and took me out on one of our client’s personal yachts. They had wine-tasting classes, Thai massage, and two full-time butlers. It sucked compared to this.

Thanks to a foglight on the front of the boat, we can see a few feet through the darkness, but with the moon hidden by a pack of clouds, it’s like driving with your brights on through an abandoned field. In the distance, the ocean fades and the whole world turns black. The only things in sight are the parallel jetties that run along our right- and lefthand sides – a natural guardrail that leads us out toward the ocean.

“Ready to get on the magic bus?” she calls out as we hit the open water. I expect her to punch the engine. Instead, she slows down. At the end of the jetty, she pulls a hard left around the rocks and cuts the engine.

“What’re you doing?”

“You’ll see,” she teases, rushing toward the front of the boat.

We’re a good hundred and fifty yards from shore, but I still hear the faint crashing of the waves against the beach.

“Can people see us?” I ask, squinting toward a barely visible lifeguard stand.

“Not anymore,” she says as she cuts our foglight. The darkness hits quick, swallowing us whole.

Searching for safety, my eyes go straight for the hot pink, sky blue, and lime green neon signs that trace the tops of Ocean Drive’s Art Deco hotels. This far away, they’re like Day-Glo landing lights. Everything else is gone.

“You sure this is smart?”

There’s a loud plop of water and a slight jerk from the front of the boat. There goes the anchor.

“Gillian…”

Flipping toward the back of the boat, she yanks the Dolphin seat cushions from the bench, lifts up the wooden seat, and reveals a storage locker underneath. From the locker, she pulls out two wet suits, masks, flippers…

“Give me a hand here,” she calls out, struggling with something heavier.

I race next to her and help her lift a cold metal canister from the locker. Then another. Scuba tanks.

“Is there something you’re trying to tell me?” I ask her, struggling to sound unintimidated.

She pulls out a flashlight and shines it in my face. “I thought you were up for some adventure…”

“I am,” I say, blocking the light with my hand. “That’s why we came on the boat.”

“No, we came on the boat to get under. The adventure starts here.” Flushed with adrenaline, she props the flashlight on the bench and pounces for the pile of equipment. Reading the gauges, adjusting knobs, untangling a knot of hoses… “Just wait till you see it,” she says, her voice whizzing with excitement.