But what if something more sinister had been required of the other members? Was Sela’s rape part of an initiation? She said one other guy had the tattoo already on his wrist, but on the other guy she didn’t see one. Doesn’t mean he didn’t have one, but what if he was a lowerclassman and his induction into our secret society was to participate in Sela’s rape?

It’s a distinct possibility, one that I didn’t think had existed just a day ago. But now I don’t put anything past JT. I could easily see him duping or enticing like-minded sociopaths to jump in on that plan of action, especially if everyone was high on booze and drugs.

Sela can’t remember much about the other two men involved. One had dark hair, the other pale blond. That’s it, and with only that as a description, I doubt I’m going to be able to identify them through fraternity records.

Still going to try to pull some possibilities though and see if they unclog her memory some more. That’s one of the reasons I want a private investigator.

Speaking of which, my phone chimes with the familiar whoop sound of an incoming text. I pick it up from the passenger seat, and while flicking my eyes between the road and the screen, I navigate my way to the texts.

Robert sent just the PI’s name and number.

I tap my thumb on the blue link of the phone number and the Bluetooth connects the call. After a few rings, I get a recorded message:

This is Dennis Flaherty. Sorry I missed you. Leave your info and I’ll get back to you soon.

After the beep, I say, “Yeah…Dennis…my name is Beck North. You were recommended to me by Robert Colling. I have a job I’d like to hire you for. It’s urgent and it’s big, and money is not an object. I’d like to meet with you today to discuss it.”

I leave my number and disconnect, eager to have him call me back.

I think that before Sela and I can decide what to do about JT, we need to dig up every piece of dirt we can on him. I need to wade through the pile of scummy shit I’m sure he’s been involved in and figure out what I can use to my benefit.

And there’s no doubt…JT probably has a lot of dirty shit out there he’s left behind, probably not a care in the world it would ever be used against him. In fact, I’m sure he’s sitting in his office right now, probably surfing the Net, maybe planning his next rape, whatever.

The point being that I guarantee his ego would never let him consider the possibility that he can be taken down.

I cannot wait to prove him wrong about that.

I enter the condo and see Beck’s keys on the foyer table, so I know he’s home. I wasn’t sure what he did today, but I know he didn’t go into work. He’d said, “Sela, I can’t be in the same building with that scumbag. There’s no telling what I’d do.”

I understand his sentiment exactly. It’s how I felt that first time I came face-to-face with JT at the mixer when I still had murder as my number-one plot to get my vengeance. I remember the actual ache inside me after looking at his evil face, the almost desperate force of willpower not to pull my gun out and shoot him point-blank in front of two hundred witnesses.

Even without looking into the kitchen, I can sense Beck isn’t in there.

Too quiet.

And I can see he’s not in the living room.

So I drop my book bag on the floor and head toward our bedroom. As soon as I turn down the hallway, I see his office door open with light spilling out from the late-afternoon sun that’s also shining through the living room windows overlooking the bay.

I walk softly, the navy blue suede ballet flats I had worn today falling much more silently than my squeaky tennis shoes. When I turn into his office doorway, I see Beck bent over his desk, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck while the index finger of the other hand skims over lines of a document as he reads it.

He senses my presence and looks up at me with a worn smile as I stand hesitantly in the doorway.

“Hey,” he says as he leans back in his chair and stretches his arms above his head. He bends his neck side to side, loosening out kinks that indicate he’s been hunched over that desk for quite a while.

“Hey,” I say back.

“You can come inside, you know,” he says with a quirk of his lips.

“Are you sure?” I tease back, happy that there seems to be not an ounce of lingering resentment that I broke into this place just yesterday.

Beck sweeps his hand toward the filing cabinet. “Dive in if you want. No secrets.”

I chuckle and step into his office, walking around his desk and coming to a stop beside his chair. He swivels it to look at me. “School good today?”

“Yeah, all good,” I say as I look down at the document on his desk.

“The Townsend-North operating agreement,” Beck says with a grimace. He waves his hand at it. “Hell, you should read the damn thing. I’ve been over it ten times. My attorney’s looked at it. Not a single damn thing in there that I can use to get him out.”

I ignore the document. There’s no sense in me reading it if Beck and his attorney have. Still, I have to ask, “Does he own the majority of the company?”

Beck shakes his head. “We’re fifty-fifty. He contributed start-up capital, which he’s already paid back from the first profits. I put in the technical expertise, and got paid an amount equal to his start-up capital. Now we divide everything in half. All major decisions have to be bilaterally approved by both of us.”

“And has that always happened?”

“No. He’s made a few bad investments without running it by me. But they were minor and ended up being good tax write-offs.”

“So you can’t use that?” I prod.

“Nope. Not good enough, but I’m meeting tomorrow with an investigator I’m going to hire to dig into JT’s life. I just know that asshole has to have some dirty dealings. He’s too amoral not to, and I’m hoping there’s something we can use there.”

I nod in understanding, a warm kernel of security starting to blossom deep in my chest. While I went off to school today and played at being a college student, Beck’s been trying to figure out how to bring JT down. While my parents have always been my champions, I’ve never had another single person in my life care about me to that extent. It’s actually quite humbling.

And a turn-on at the same time.

Last night I was dead to the world and Beck slept beside me in our bed fully clothed. He’s not made a single move on me since we’ve been back, and there’s been opportunity. There was plenty this morning before I had to get ready for my afternoon classes, but he remained slightly reserved around me after we aired out all of the dirty laundry.