“What is it?” I ask, my stomach knotting with instant dread. “Loni?”
“There are cops on campus,” she whispers.
“What?” I exclaim. “Why?”
She licks her lips and it’s clear she’s hesitant to tell me. I stare at her insistently, though, and she finally releases a sigh of defeat.
“Jon Eric’s car was found in LA,” she explains. “In a really dangerous area.”
I swallow hard, desperate to ease the panic rising in my throat, but I still sound choked when I ask, “And Jon Eric?”
She shakes her head. “He still hasn’t been found, but…”
When she trails off, my whole body goes numb and I’m suddenly freezing. “Loni,” I snap. “What is it? Just tell me.”
She gulps and avoids my eyes as she says, “They found blood inside his car.”’
19
I’m terrified to return to campus that evening, but I don’t find anyone waiting for me in my dorm when I get back. Not Ghost, not Saint, and not the police. Still, I stay on edge for the rest of the weekend, knowing it’s just a matter of time before questions start getting thrown my way.
Monday afternoon, I get the summons I’ve been dreading.
Campus police hunt me down and pull me from history class because a detective from the real police force wants to speak to me. Thankfully, it’s not Officers Meyers or Fallon escorting me to the administration building this time. I’m taken to an empty conference room, where a petite woman in street clothes with a badge strapped to her belt is waiting for me.
“Mallory Ellis?” she asks when I walk through the door.
I nod. “Yeah.”
Stepping toward me, she extends her hand for me to shake. “Detective Asher. Thanks for coming in to chat with me today.”
Like I had a choice. I glance over my shoulder at the campus police officer still flanking me like a guard.
Detective Asher glares at him. “Thanks. I can handle it from here.”
He gives her a brisk nod then retreats from the room. Detective Asher focuses back on me.
“Have a seat, please.” She indicates the chair at the end of the table in the middle of the room. With slow, hesitant steps, I move to sit as ordered. She occupies the chair adjacent to mine.
“What’s going on, Detective?” I ask, doing my best to keep my anxiety from my voice.
I fail.
Horribly.
She folds her hands in front of her and leans forward.
“Ms. Ellis, as I’m sure you’ve become aware, one of your classmates has gone missing. We know you had an altercation with him a few weeks ago, and I want to learn a little more about that.”
I freeze as the blood drains from my face.
“Altercation?” I carefully say. “What do you mean?”
She looks slightly irritated that I’m not jumping to give up every bit of information I’ve got, but I’ve learned to be cautious when being questioned by police. I want to find out exactly what she knows about that night in the library, and what her angle in questioning me is before I tell her shit.
She reaches for a folder resting on the table next to her and flips it open to pull out a piece of paper. She pushes it toward me. I take a quick glance at it and can see that it’s a transcript of some kind.
“What’s this?” I ask, glancing back up at her.
“Texts messages exchanged between Jon Eric Carr and a friend of his on the night he attacked you,” the detective explains. She drops her finger onto a small image at the top of the page. “He sent a picture of his bruised head, followed by the message Saint’s hillbilly slut is going to pay and that he and his friends were going to pull a “Nick” on you.”
I gulp but maintain a straight face.
“So now you have proof that Jon Eric’s a violent, rapist asshole. What are you going to do with him since he’s implicated himself in Nick Reynolds’s attack last year?”
Detective Asher arches one dark eyebrow. “The Nick Reynolds case isn’t why I’m here, Ms. Ellis. Tell me what happened that night in the library between you and Jon Eric.”
I flare my nostrils, anger bubbling up at how easily she dismissed Nick’s violent assault. Leaning back in my chair, I fold my arms over my chest and shrug. “Not much to tell that you probably haven’t already figured out,” I say in a cool tone. “He attacked me, I fought him off, and that was it.”
“You must’ve been angry with him afterwards,” she said.
I meet her gaze and make my expression appear bored.
“Wouldn’t you be after a guy nearly rapes you?”
She doesn’t appear overly impressed with my response, but I don’t really care. I can see in her gaze that she’s already convinced I’m guilty of whatever happened to Jon Eric. I’m not going to give her anything to reinforce that notion.
“Ms. Ellis, did you have anything to do with Jon Eric’s disappearance?”
I stare at her, my mouth a thin line.
“Where’d you go after you ran from the library? Why didn’t you report him to campus police?”
I stay silent.
“Did you want to hurt him the way he hurt you?”
I’m a fucking fortress.
“Ms. Ellis, the sooner you start answering my questions, the better it’ll be for you.”
Her barely veiled threats don’t faze me. I just keep looking at her, daring her with my gaze to try harder.
She looks frustrated, but she’s a pro at keeping her cool.
“Mallory, talk to me. I want to help you—”
At that moment, the conference room door bursts open, startling us both. A tall man in an obviously expensive business suit and a leather briefcase storms inside.
“That’s enough. My client’s done answering your questions,” he snaps. I stare up at him in surprise.
“Your client?” Detective Asher scoffs.
“I’ll be representing Ms. Ellis from this point forward,” the man announces. “Are you charging her with anything?”
Detective Asher looks like she wants nothing more than to unload her clip into the fancy lawyer’s chest, but after several moments of enraged silence, she shakes her head. “No. Ms. Ellis is not being charged at this time,” she grits out between her teeth.
“Then we’re done here. Ms. Ellis, come with me.” The man turns for the door, and after a few seconds where my brain scrambles to catch up to whatever the hell is happening, I push to my feet to follow him, shooting Asher a confused look.
She glowers back at me but doesn’t try to stop us.
Once we’re clear of the conference room, I blurt out, “I’m sorry, but who are you?”
The man stops and turns to face me. Digging into his jacket, he pulls out a fancy black business card and hands it to me.
“Chandler Branson,” he says. “Number’s on the card. If that detective so much as looks at you again, you call me, okay?”
I stare down at the shiny piece of cardstock for a few seconds before I glance back up and meet his pointed gaze. “Did Carley hire you? Did the school contact her or something? Is that why you’re here?”