Stalked. Elizabeth Heiter
narrow cobblestone streets lined with hickory and maple trees. Students darted out in front of the car in laughing groups as they chatted and hurried to their next classes.
“Aren’t any of them worried about getting hit by a car?” Evelyn muttered.
“At Neville U? Probably not. On campus, pedestrians think they have the right of way no matter where they are. You’ve got to be careful driving through here, especially at night.”
“So, tell me more about Jordan Biltmore,” Evelyn said as they drove along at a maddeningly slow pace, deeper and deeper into the small college campus.
All Evelyn knew about Neville U was its reputation as being the go-to college for kids from wealthy Virginia families with decent-enough grades. To balance out the rich kids, there was a hefty scholarship fund that brought in out-of-state students with fantastic grades and not-so-fantastic funds. A degree from Neville wasn’t quite Ivy League level, but that didn’t matter for top-level job hunting if you had the right last name.
And Jordan Biltmore, a sophomore and Haley Cooke’s boyfriend, had the right last name. The son of billionaire CEO Franklin Biltmore, Jordan probably could have gotten into Neville with grades bordering on dismal. But according to the brief stats she’d seen on Jordan, he was actually close to a straight-A student.
“Jordan and Haley had been dating for about six months when she went missing. Apparently they met when Haley went to a party on the college campus,” Sophia said, making a slow turn into the parking lot of a building way nicer than any frat house Evelyn had ever seen.
“Haley’s friends seem to like him—or seem to be jealous that she’s dating a billionaire’s son who’s in college. Her mom seems lukewarm, but isn’t so crazy about the idea of her high school junior dating a college kid.”
“What about Bill? And Pete? What do they think of Jordan?” Evelyn asked as Sophia squeezed her sedan into a parking spot meant for a coupe.
“Pete grunts about the age difference and what college boys are really after when you ask him, but otherwise, he doesn’t seem to have anything bad to say about Jordan specifically. Bill—as far as I could tell—had never met Jordan. To be honest, I’m not sure he even knew Haley was dating this kid until she went missing and Jordan’s name was in the news.”
“Hmm,” Evelyn mused. “That says a lot about his relationship with Haley if she’d been dating Jordan for six months. And yet, he’s acting pretty damn certain that she wasn’t abducted. Kind of strange for someone who doesn’t seem to know as much as he should about her life in general.”
“Yep,” Sophia agreed, shutting off the engine. “I can’t be sure he didn’t know. Bill acts as though he was aware they were dating, but just hadn’t met Jordan. But the impression I got? He was lying. He wanted me to think he was a more involved father, especially with the news attention. But today, I’d love your take on Jordan. He’s been extremely cooperative, and honestly, since a squad full of cheerleaders saw him drop her off and then drive away that day, I’m not sure how he could have done it. But he’s just—” her lips pursed, and finally she settled on “—too smooth.”
Evelyn shifted to face her. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe it’s just the rich-kid, son-of-a-CEO thing, but the vibe I’m getting is someone who’s happy to help, because he’s sure we’ll never catch him.”
“Huh. All right.”
“I mean, his alibi is solid. But he just bothers me. Have you ever gotten that feeling about someone in a case?”
“Oh, yeah.” Plenty of times, with her job.
“What happened when you got the vibe?” Sophia asked.
“Sometimes you get that feeling for the obvious reason—because they did it. Other times there’s some other thing they’re guilty of, related to the case or not. And sometimes it’s just a person who’s using what happened to get in the limelight. The bad feeling we get is because they feel guilty they’re enjoying their fifteen minutes of fame—which they wouldn’t have gotten if a person they loved wasn’t missing or dead. Let’s go chat with Jordan and see why you’re getting that impression from him.”
She followed Sophia up a well-groomed pathway to the front door. When Sophia knocked on the door, it swung open by itself, revealing an interior as ornate as the outside. Except that there were brightly colored bras hanging off the enormous crystal chandelier in the entryway, empty pizza boxes piled on the antique table in the living room and a pair of frat boys curled up asleep, one on each end of the dirty but obviously expensive couch.
“Here we go,” Sophia said. “Neville’s most notorious frat house.”
“What are they notorious for?”
“Being awesome, mostly,” someone said from much closer behind her than anyone should have been able to get without Evelyn sensing a presence.
She spun around and craned her neck up at the college student giving her an “aren’t I charming” grin. His dark blond hair was perfectly groomed, his low-slung jeans and Neville U sweatshirt just a tiny bit rumpled and his dimples were on full display. He held a cup of coffee in one hand and tucked a pair of keys with an Audi key chain into his pocket with the other.
As Sophia spun around, the flirtatious grin dropped off his face, replaced by sudden worry. “Detective Lopez. Do you have news? Did you find Haley? Is she okay?”
“We don’t have anything new,” Sophia said.
“Jordan Biltmore?” Evelyn guessed.
Disappointment—or maybe relief—slumped his shoulders, then he studied her again, as if he was assessing her role or importance, and he stuck out a hand. He gave her the kind of handshake more appropriate for a business meeting than standing on the threshold of a frat house that stunk of old beer and dirty socks. “That’s right. And you are?”
“Special Agent Evelyn Baine, from the FBI.”
Her title should have made an impression on a kid his age, either concern about the FBI’s involvement if he was involved, hope for more resources on his girlfriend’s case if he wasn’t or just plain awe if nothing else. But he simply nodded at her, the strength of his handshake revealing power in his lanky frame.
“If there’s nothing new, what’s going on?” he asked Sophia.
“Let’s find a place to sit and chat.”
“Sure.” Jordan angled his head around them and yelled, “Brent! Jim! Get lost.”
The pair of students sleeping on the couch jolted awake. One looked ready to snap back at Jordan, but at the sight of Sophia—who held up her detective’s shield—they both shuffled off into the cavernous house.
Evelyn glanced around as they walked in, seeing a kitchen off to her right, fully stocked with gleaming stainless appliances she doubted the frat boys used. There was even a pair of vending machines neatly lined up next to the fridge. She assumed the bedrooms were off the hall to her left and up the giant staircase beside the entryway.
“Take a seat,” Jordan said, gesturing to the couch.
As soon as they were seated, instead of doing the same, he planted his free hand on his hip and stared down at them. “You must have news if you’re back here.” Before they could answer, he added, “If it’s about that crazy video her dad released, let me tell you, Haley didn’t run away.”
Evelyn looked up at him, wondering about his background besides the wealth and the important father. For a nineteen-year-old, he had a lot of confidence to usher two law enforcement officers into seats and then stand in a symbolic position of power himself. Was he doing it on purpose or subconsciously?
“Why do you say that?” Evelyn asked, staying comfortably seated. Let him believe he was in charge.
“About her dad? Because how would he know what happened