Chapter 55
Ivy was standing outside with Vaughn while Zeke sat on his heels, his wrists cuffed behind him, his chin down. Her heart was still racing, and no amount of deep breathing could coerce it into slowing down.
Zeke had only said one word since Vaughn had taken him down: “Lawyer.”
“Who is he?” Vaughn asked as they waited for backup to arrive.
Ivy briefly told Vaughn about the cheating, about what Zeke had said at the bar. Him standing outside her building and the alleged confrontation between Rebecca and Zeke.
“Jesus, why didn’t you tell me?”
Ivy opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Why didn’t she tell him?
She’d had ample opportunity. And she’d helped him with his case.
Cases.
Tit-for-tat.
She inhaled sharply.
“I don’t know.”
A squad car pulled up and a cop Ivy recognized hopped out. The one from the field.
The one who had pointed a gun at them.
She moved a little closer to Vaughn.
“Who the fuck is this guy?” Delaney asked, hooking a chin toward Zeke. “Is he—”
“Don’t know. Book him for B she didn’t want to be anywhere near this cop.
A knowing look passed over Vaughn’s face.
“Never mind—I’m taking her with me. I’ll bring her into the station after.”
Delaney was about to question this, but a stern look from Vaughn shut him down. Seniority and all that.
“You know where this Rebecca lives?”
Vaughn started to walk toward his car, and Ivy went with him.
“I can find out.”
She called Tristan.
“Tristan, I need—”
“Hey, did you hear from that cop? Detective Ryan? I gave him your address. Wasn’t sure—”
“It’s fine. I need your help.”
“With what?”
“Log into the student database, find an address for Rebecca Quinn.”
“Rebecca? Is she okay?”
“I don’t know. Please, hurry.”
Tristan gave her the address and Ivy relayed it to Vaughn.
“It’s not far.”
Rebecca was a scholarship kid and lived in a cheap apartment that was part of student housing. First floor, motel style.
Vaughn double-parked in front of her door.
“Stay here, okay?” Vaughn said, placing a hand on her arm.
Ivy nodded.
“I’ll be right back.”
Vaughn exited the car, drawing his weapon as he did.
Ivy watched for a moment, saw that like hers, Rebecca’s front door hung open.
This is my fault. I should have pushed Dr. Moorehead harder. Forced him to call the cops. And if he refused to do it, I should have done it myself.
Without thinking, Ivy found herself getting out of the car just as Vaughn ducked inside Rebecca’s apartment.
It’s all my fault.
Ivy pushed open the door.
The air was heavy with the smell of blood.
Coppery, thick.
The apartment was small, maybe seven hundred square feet, with an open layout.
She found Vaughn in the kitchen, hunched over. A chair had been knocked to the ground and a rectangular kitchen table was askew.
Something in the back of Ivy’s mind told her to get out. To not look.
To do anything but look.
She couldn’t help herself.
Ivy took three steps to her left, and her line of sight cleared the laminate countertop. Vaughn was pressing the first two fingers of his hand to the side of Rebecca’s neck.
There was blood everywhere—sticky puddles on the ground.
Rebecca’s eyes were wide open.
When Vaughn exhaled and pulled his hand back, Ivy gasped.