“Are you sure you have enough time?”
“This is important.” Jarod Cross gives me a cursory scan and motions to the chairs across from his desk.
Gingerly, I sink into a chair.
This is my first time in a recording studio. The office is well-decorated with a thick rug, frames of Jarod Cross’s best-selling albums, Billboard Charts topping awards, and a host of other trophies.
“Hand me the folder,” Jarod says, a hint of authority in his tone.
My fingers, instinctively, tighten on the document.
After I asked for his help, Jarod wanted to get started right away. He offered to look over the materials I’d gathered and promised to send it to his private investigator friend.
Everything fell into place so perfectly.
And yet, there’s something deep inside that tells me not to release these files into his hands.
“Grace?” Jarod arches a brow.
My throat bobs as I swallow. “We really don’t have to do this now.” Jarod turns those dark eyes on me, clearly seeing through my B.S. “I mean… you said you had a sound check.” I glance at the time on my watch. “I didn’t mean for you to set your schedule aside.”
He aims a tight smile at me, but there’s something sharp about it. Calculative. It’s like a severe and disapproving frown is hiding right behind those perfect white teeth.
“You’re the one who asked for help, Grace. Isn’t that because you have nowhere else to turn?”
He’s right. Every avenue I’ve taken has led to a dead end. The security guards from six years ago have all been fired, their information wiped from the Redwood Prep files. The teachers who were working at Redwood six years ago clam up when I try to bring up Sloane’s murder.
It’s like chasing smoke.
Every time I think I’m close to the truth, it disappears without a trace.
As a last resort, I reached out to Jinx. The blackmailer wasn’t around when Sloane and I attended Redwood, but I figured she had access to a network of information. Maybe there was something that could help me.
Unfortunately, Jinx isn’t just a blackmailer.
She’s a trader of secrets.
For access to her information, I need to give up some of my own. But confessing my connection to Zane could ruin my career and any chances of working undercover at Redwood.
Jarod Cross is my last shot.
The silence stretches as the rockstar waits. The longer I hold out, the more he looks at me like I’m a misbehaving child who took the cookie without asking. Thinking fast, I slip my thumb in the crook of the folder and offer it to him. At the last second, I drop my thumb and the folder splatters to the ground.
“Oh no.” I gasp.
Jarod rises staunchly.
“I got it,” I say, holding a hand out to him and kneeling next to the mess.
He remains standing for a long beat, eyes narrowing. Slowly, hesitantly, he sits back down.
Hunkering close to the desk, I sweep the files up while laughing. “I’m so clumsy. Every day, I spill books just walking down the hallway. It’s ridiculous.”
Quickly, I tuck my personal notes into my bra.
“Here,” I say, shoving the messy folder over the table.
Jarod Cross turns his dark eyes over to mine and assesses me. It’s an awful feeling to be under that pointed stare, and I shiver.
“Can I use the bathroom?” I ask.
One corner of his lips etches up. It’s a smile that promises he’s running out of patience with me. “Sure.”
I hurry to the bathroom with the papers I stashed chaffing against my skin. The moment I’m alone, I hunker over the sink and grip the edges tight. My brown knuckles turn red as I squeeze.
What was that? Why do I keep getting weird vibes from him?
The folder I left on Jarod’s desk is filled with newspaper clippings and online articles—things anyone could glean with a deep Google search. They won’t do him as much good as the janitor interviews and police reports currently stuck to my breast.
Hands trembling, I tuck the papers more securely in my bra and wash my hands. Wetting my curls to give them a little refresh, I re-do my lipstick and smile.
There.
I look like a confident woman and not the nervous wreck I am inside.
I return to the office and Jarod Cross is waiting.
He nods at me. “You okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” I stammer.
As I return to my seat, I notice him eyeing my blouse as if he can see the papers through the fabric. It takes everything in me not to squirm and check that the documents are out of sight. I know I hid them well. Looking down now would just give away the fact that I hid something.
“Is something wrong?” I prod, holding his stare.
He breaks eye contact first and slips a pair of glasses over his nose. Nodding to the folder, he says, “This isn’t much to go on.”
“It’s all I have so far.”
He arches an eyebrow. “That’s not true.”
My blood runs cold.
Heart racing, I run my tongue over my lip. “What do you mean?”
He juts his chin at me and leans back in his chair. “You.”
“W-what?”
“You were there when this student was attending Redwood. Even if she didn’t personally tell you anything, you would have heard the gossip.”
My nostrils flare. I choose my words carefully. “I have my suspicions, but I don’t know if they’re warranted or not. Ultimately, I’d like closure for Sloane and her family.”
“Were you friends?” He temples his fingers.
“Yes.”
He nods slowly and I wonder what kind of conclusion he’s arrived at. “I’ll forward this to the PI and call you when he has an update.”
I hear the dismissal. “Thank you.”
Rising, I push my chair back in toward his desk and walk to the door.
“Miss Jamieson.”
I freeze.
His eyes are hot on me, two lasers drilling into my face. “If you remember anything else or have any information you’d like to add, let me know.”
My throat closes up. Why does that sound like a threat more than an offer to help?
I slip out of the room.
And then I run.
I don’t stop until I’m home.
There, I lock my bedroom door, checking twice.
My hands press flat against the wall as I wilt and catch my breath.
I’m being ridiculous.
Jarod Cross is my mom’s husband.
My step-father.
A member of my family.
But beyond that, he’s also a household name, a worldwide legend and a public figure.
There’s no way he’s a bad guy… right?
