Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Still, I don’t like it.
Some more of my confidence slips away when I catch sight of Lara at the top of the stairs, watching me being ushered out the door.
I stop and look up at her, heaviness descending around me like an iron prison.
Her seeing me this way feels even worse than my mom knowing. My wife should be able to trust in me to keep this kind of shit away from her. I should be able to control every situation to avoid this kind of embarrassing scene. I somehow missed something tonight, but I have no idea what.
“Let’s go,” the cop says, pulling my arm to urge me through the front door.
I glance back as I walk out, but someone shuts the door behind us, blocking the view of my wife.
At the station, I’m ushered into an interrogation room. I swear I glimpse Chancellor Ogden talking with a man in a black t-shirt and jeans in the doorway of the room next door, but they disappear before I can be sure.
I sit down at the table in the seat the detective indicates and lace my tattooed fingers. There’s a mirror positioned on the wall opposite me that must be a two-way. Which means Chancellor Ogden is watching this interview.
My stomach turns sour. Whatever this is about is important enough that the chancellor of Thornecroft University was brought in. Does this go beyond Titan House’s vendetta against us? Is it bratva related? Does it have something to do with the Rostovs?
Fuck, I need more information to problem-solve.
The detective sits on the opposite side, opens a file folder and produces a photo, which he pushes across the table. “Do you know this woman?”
I glance at the photo and adrenaline crashes through my system. The warrior in me surfaces, ready to kill or die. To battle for her safety.
Now I understand why the Chancellor would be involved.
I lift my gaze with my eyes blazing. “What happened to Melinda Tracy?”
“So you are acquainted.”
My brain tumbles down a cliff. Was she kidnapped? Murdered? I need to know so I can fix it.
I look at the two-way mirror and lift my chin in its direction. “So he’s secret service? Or secret ops?”
I hear the bang of a door, and the guy stalks in. He’s the type who wears his t-shirt two sizes too small, so it shows off the muscles on his torso. He yanks a chair up and turns it around to sit backward, like a cowboy. I imagine he thinks he’s a bad-ass.
“When was the last time you saw Ms. Tracy?” he demands.
My mom would tell me not to answer questions without an attorney present. I should call her. Or at least call the young law professor who occasionally purchases drugs from me. I’m being stupid by answering their questions, but I need to know what happened to Melinda. “Two hours ago at Baranov House. Is she missing?”
She may still be there. Maybe Anders took her to his room after they played in the dungeon. Is this just about her not returning to her dorm last night? I try to slow my pounding heart.
She might not be dead. Not murdered and lying in a pool of her own blood. I might not have to live with the anguish of failing to protect someone else I care about.
“Was she in your company at Baranov House?” the detective asks.
“No. I didn’t even talk to her. I just saw her toward the end of the party.” I scrub a hand across the stubble on my face. “Is she hurt? Dead? Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“How would you define your relationship with Ms. Tracy?” Black Shirt asks.
I wouldn’t care to.
“We’re friends.” That’s as accurate as any definition gets.
“Did you leave Baranov House at any point during the night?” the detective asks.
“No.”
“Did you give Ms. Tracy a drink tonight?”
“Me personally? No.”
“Did you have sex with Ms. Tracy tonight?”
“No. I’m married.”
This seems to surprise both men.
Well, yeah, it was a surprise to all of us.
My eyes narrow. Why would they ask that question?
“Would you be willing to give a DNA sample to clear you as a suspect in this case?”
I sit and stare at both men, showing nothing on my face as I process the magnitude of what’s going on here. It sounds like Melinda was raped or murdered.
What if I could have prevented what happened? I’m the one who left the party unsupervised in favor of playing in the dungeon with my wife. What if in neglecting my duties, something slipped by the rest of the team? Some danger that resulted in something terrible happening to arguably the most important young woman–at least politically–on campus?
I try not to picture Melinda crumpled in a pool of blood.
Not like Valentina. That’s over.
We’re not there anymore, as Lili would say.