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)
“So someone roofies Melinda at the party and maybe calls for help, and the police find her drugged and covered in bruises with someone’s DNA all over her,” Leo finishes.
“Exactly. It has to be setup, or they wouldn’t have shown up at our party looking for me. I never said one word to her the whole night,” I say.
“What if it was that guy I thought roofied Lili?” Leo asks.
I shake my head. “He had a flask of vodka. That was a coincidence. Or your gut telling you something bad was going to go down.”
“Who found her and called for help?” Lara asks.
“I don’t know. The newspaper article didn’t say anything about how she was found,” Leo says.
“Newspaper article?” I shove my fingers through my hair. “This went nuclear fast. Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Leo says. “I got a New York Times breaking news alert on my phone. That’s how I knew to look for the security footage.”
“So now the attention of the entire country will be on this case. Even if they can’t bring charges, the Chancellor would probably do anything to make it go away, including expel me and shut down our house,” I groan.
“Or me,” Anders says miserably. “If that dude who works for her dad doesn’t kill me first.”
“Did you tell him the truth?” I ask. “About what you and Melinda did?”
Leo pulls up in front of the hospital, but none of us get out. This conversation needs to be finished in the privacy of our vehicle.
“I… said we had sex,” Anders says. “But I didn’t want to out her about the pain-play. I mean, the whole world could find out. Her dad could find out. He’s probably going to have me killed.”
“No one’s getting killed on my watch,” I growl. I can probably take that Black Shirt guy. He looks well trained, but so am I.
“What if Melinda doesn’t remember that we had sex? Does the memory loss and confusion go back farther than when she took the drug?”
A chill fills the vehicle as we all consider that question.
“I don’t know,” I say quietly. “But I think Melinda is smart enough to put together the truth if we present the facts to her.”
I hope. But Anders was probably right not to “out” her, and depending on how important it is to her to keep that part of her life a secret, there is a possibility she throws Anders under a bus to do it.
But I won’t let that happen.
“Best-case scenario, we find the fuckers who did this and make them pay.”
“Bring them to justice,” Lara corrects. “Otherwise, you won’t clear your name.”
The hospital is swarming with press, and when I ask at the front desk for Melinda’s room, the receptionist tells us they aren’t releasing information about Ms. Tracy to anyone.
“Fuck. I’m going to send her a text. Christ, what do I even say?” Anders asks.
“Tell her you heard what happened and ask if you can see her,” I advise.
A familiar figure in a tight black t-shirt cuts through the crowd and heads down the hall.
“Look.” I lift my chin. “I’ll bet he knows where Melinda’s room is.”
The four of us take off down the hall, following the government agent. He takes the stairwell, and I follow, hanging back in the doorway of the first floor and listen to how many flights he goes up. When the door on the third floor closes, I motion to my friends to follow.
On the third floor, I crack the door and peer out.
Gabe Tracy stands in the open doorway to a hospital room, flanked by two secret service members. He’s listening to Black Shirt. His henchman spots me, and they both look our way.
Fuck it. I push the door from the stairwell open and stride out holding Lara’s hand. Anders and Leo flank us.
“Benjamin Baranov and Anders Hansen,” Melinda’s dad says. His expression is a dark glower. Who could blame him when his only daughter was attacked?
I’m guessing he knows our names from Black Shirt. I can only hope he already filled him in on our presumed innocence.
My mom worked to get him elected, but now is probably not the time to mention that. He probably knows.
“Senator Tracy.” I can’t decide whether I should stick out my hand to shake or not. I decide not to because he doesn’t look like he’s in the hand-shaking mood. “This is my wife, Lara Baranov, and my housemate, Leo Popov.”
Black Shirt watches me with an assessing look. I don’t imagine he misses much.
“Why are you here?” Senator Tracy looks as tired as I feel. No one slept last night.
“To support Melinda.” I peer past him into the room, but the bed is empty.
“She’s resting.” The senator gives us all a hard look. I realize the secret service members flank the door next to this one. That must be the one she’s in.