Jaden (Jaded #3)

“A lot of people are scared of you, Sheldon.”


The urge to snicker threw me to the side. Why would I want to laugh at that? Then it clicked. Officer Patterson had told me one time, ‘Use their first name. It starts to establish a connection. When they want to pee their pants and you’re offering the one bit of sympathy their way, they’ll start blabbering like you’re best friends. We use it in interrogation tactics.’

The woman detective had started to tap a pen against the table, but she stopped now. And waited.

They would wait forever.

Then she sighed in disgust. “Come on, Sheldon! We’re not the enemy. We just want to know what happened. We know you were there that night. We’ve got your purse, and there’s some of your hair on the couch. We have your DNA. One of the wineglasses had a thumbprint, too. You were there, Sheldon!” She smacked a hand on the table. “Tell us what happened.”

“Molls.”

“What?” she snapped at him. Then, a moment later, she started again in a calmer voice. “You guys had been friends since high school, right? We have her confession on tape about what she did to you. That must’ve made you mad, huh? She was your friend. From what we’ve been told, you don’t have a lot of friends, but that’s because you intimidate people. Don’t you, Sheldon? You scare them away before they can hurt you. Isn’t that right? Or maybe I have it all wrong. You tell me.”

My eyes were still clasped shut, but I envisioned her. She said her piece, threw her arms in the air, and folded them behind her head as she leaned back. She was in control again.

Something died in me.

They sounded so sure of whatever their accusation was. I tried to remember back to the classroom and what they had said when they put the handcuffs on . . . “Sheldon Jeneve, you are under arrest for the murder of Grace Barton . . .”

The rest faded from memory. It happened twenty minutes ago.

“Look . . .”

The guy detective must’ve gotten bored. A tone of impatience was clear.

He continued, “Let’s cut the bullshit, okay? You and Grace were friends. We know that. You had a falling out. We know that, too. Then the night she admitted that she was the one who pushed you into a glass table, we found her dead. She died in her home, but I bet you knew that. Right? She was there because we think she was scared of her sorority, the sorority that wanted you to pledge. They wanted you, you bartered for her too, and then you backed out. They were stuck with her. They wanted you, not her. Grace knew that. She was trying to fit in with them. She was desperate for friends—”

My voice cracked as I choked out, “How do you know that?”

He stopped for a second and then leaned forward. His voice was excited. “How do we know that she wanted friends? Or—”

“How do you know she was desperate?”

“She told us in her statement when she confessed about the hazing.”

“Oh.” And then I felt foolish. I knew that. I’d always known that.

“Witnesses told us that you had a confrontation with her. A sorority you were friendly with was caught pranking her sorority?”

His partner added, “Denton Steele was a witness as well.” She sighed. “I’d like to get his witness testimony.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, right. I’m sure his lawyers will open their doors for us.”

I held my breath as they fell silent. I knew what they were doing. I was in a vulnerable state. They attacked me and gave me an olive branch. They gave me something I thought they wanted or I could provide for them. I was supposed to jump on that. I was supposed to look up, eager, and tell them that I could call Denton. He’d give his account of that night. I was supposed to think he’d come in with support for me, but they’d use that to question him about my relationship with him.

Denton was a celebrity. He used to be my neighbor. Our parents were best friends, and once upon a time, we’d had sex, twice. One of those times was when I cheated on Bryce. Not a stellar reputation for me, but they knew that. What they didn’t know was that I wasn’t stupid.

I knew how to play the game. I’d been doing it since I was a child.

People feared me, but it was because I spoke the truth, and I went for the jugular. I knew how to take anyone down, except for friends . . . well . . . I took Grace down that night. I lashed out at her and humiliated her in front of her sorority friends. I enjoyed it, and I had plans to do it again, but then she shook me. She apologized and seemed to mean it. Not many did that. It was always fake. Everyone lied to cover their bases, but no one really changed.

That night, I thought Grace had changed.

Why would I want to harm someone for that?

They were wrong. It was a matter of time before they found the real killer. I had to believe that. I had to hope for that, otherwise—I drew in another shuddering breath—what else could I hope for?

An awkward silence filled the room, and I waited until the lady detective started to tap her pen again. It would happen—and then it did.