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  “Nicholas’s family belonged to the club,” Mrs. Rawlins said. She lowered her voice, as if to confide in them. “The country club we belong to. But Tyler’s family didn’t run in the same . . . circles. A different stratum of society, if you know what I mean. Nice family, though. Wholesome.”

  Jade let the last word hang, the Rawlinses unaware of Christian’s relationship with the Thompsons. Or if they did know, they didn’t care.

  Or maybe they just didn’t want to live long.

  “What about you, Mrs. Rawlins?” she said. “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m an executive’s wife. I plan our social calendar. Entertain George’s business guests. I volunteer. Serve on a few charity boards.”

  “It doesn’t sound like much,” Mr. Rawlins added, “but it’s a full-time job.”

  Jade stared at him a beat too long. “Can you think of anything else that can help us figure out who did this to your son?”

  The murdered boy’s parents looked at each other before shaking their heads.

  Jade cast a glance at Christian, “Anything?”

  He turned to a clean page in his small spiral notebook. His words came out terse. “We’re going to need the names of everyone Zach encountered that day.”

  After the interview, Jade strode to the car, Christian close behind her. She opened the driver’s side door. “I’m driving. What did you think of the Rawlinses?”

  He looked at her over the top of the car. “He’s an ass.”

  “So is she. Don’t let what she said get to you.”

  As she shifted into drive, his phone rang. “Yeah? . . . Are they sure? . . . Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He disconnected.

  At the next stop sign, Jade turned, raising an eyebrow. Christian looked shell-shocked. “That was Matt. It turns out Tyler didn’t commit suicide after all. The coroner said he died from blunt force trauma to the head.”

  The questions swirled in Jade’s mind like a programmer’s computer code scrolling out of control. She pressed the gas pedal as the light changed. “Tyler was murdered. Is that what these other murders are all about?”

  Christian nodded absently, staring out the windshield. “He’s ruled it a homicide.”

  Part II

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The White House, Washington, DC

  “Emma.”

  “Mom!”

  Her daughter’s unwavering enthusiasm for life never failed to bring a smile to Whitney’s face.

  “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you,” Whitney said. “How’s school?”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been sooooo busy. Finals are coming up in a couple of weeks.”

  “I miss our talks every day.”

  “Well, Mom, you’re a little busy, too. Running a country and all.”

  She could imagine Emma now, lying on her stomach on her dorm room bed twirling her long straight hair with her finger. Her lower legs sticking up, scissoring back and forth.

  “Besides studying, what else have you been up to?”

  “Not much.”

  “Met any interesting young men?”

  “Sure, Mom. With my Secret Service escort shadowing me wherever I go? Not exactly a come-hither signal, you know? No, I haven’t met anyone, and even if I had, it wouldn’t be serious enough to talk to you about it.”

  Her daughter dated. Or did before Whitney became president. It was rare for Emma to introduce her boyfriends to her parents. Perhaps, Whitney and Grayson were too intimidating. Just a little.

  “But I have been . . .”

  Staring out at the Rose Garden from her chair in the Oval Office, the sound of her daughter’s voice jolted her. A tone she had not heard before.

  “What?”

  Emma didn’t answer right away. “Do you remember that income-inequality rally in Philadelphia a few weeks ago?”

  “I saw it on the news.”

  “I was there!”

  “You. Were. There.”

  “Yes!”

  “Doing what, exactly? Watching from the sidewalk?”

  “No, Mom, I was participating! I marched along with everyone else.”

  She tried to absorb her daughter’s words. The political implications. Her safety.

  The order of Whitney’s thoughts was not lost on her. Why hadn’t someone in the Secret Service told her? She made a mental note to follow up with the director.

  “Sweetheart, are you sure that was a safe thing to do? Remember who you are now.”

  Whitney was referring to Emma’s status as the First Daughter, neglecting to mention that as a member of the Fairchild family, Emma belonged to the very class of people the protesters were rallying against.

  “It was amazing! Sitting here in my dorm room, I realized I could no longer stand by and do nothing. During the march, I felt like I was doing something. People are working two jobs—sometimes three—and still unable to make ends meet. I talked to this one woman who works full-time without benefits and needs—but can’t find—a second job. She has no savings. What if she gets sick or loses her job?

  “I have a wonderful life. I never worry about anything. Where I’m going to sleep. What I’m going to eat.”

  “I know, darling, but—”

  “I don’t need to worry about finding a job when I graduate. Do I?”

  She was right. Whitney remained silent.

  “Mom, we’re on the verge of a revolution. We’re going to take the power away from the wealthy and the corporations and give it back to the people. I have a voice. And a platform. I want to speak for those who can’t.”

  When did Emma start using words like “platform”?

  “How did you get away from the Secret Service?”

  “I can’t tell you all my secrets.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I went into a friend’s room. I put on one of her wigs, and just walked out with another friend.”

  “Don’t do that again. I can’t lose you.”

  A pause. “I’m sorry, Mom. I get it.”

  “Did you tell your father about the protest?”

  “He’s going to freak. I thought maybe you could tell him.”

  Some revolutionist.

  After the call, Whitney speed-dialed the director of the United States Secret Service.

  “You need to fire the detail assigned to my daughter the day of the Philadelphia protest and replace them with your best team.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Fairfax, Virginia

  “Ethan’s going to kill us,” Christian said the next day, as he parked the car. “Coming out here. Without official jurisdiction.”

  Jade placed her hand on the door latch. “You worry too much. Besides, he can’t kill us if he doesn’t know where we are.”

  “Seems like career-limiting logic to me,” he said, getting out of the car.

  “Bosses love employees who take risks.”

  “Said no boss ever who really meant it.”

  She waited for him on the other side. “We’ll be back in the office in a couple hours. Thanks for arranging this.”

  “You’re the one doing me a favor.”

  He held open one of the many blue doors to the William Randolph Secondary School. They immediately faced a massive, glass-covered trophy case filled to capacity. State championship trophies in golf, soccer (girls), football, basketball (boys and girls), cross-country, wrestling, baseball, softball, intermingled with pictures of the school’s All-Americans.

  A huge banner dominated the wall next to it: Home of the Warriors

  This was a powerhouse sports school.

  Christian led her to the administrative offices. “And, no,” he said, “I don’t know my way around in here because Mark is called into the principal’s office a lot.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I’ve talked to the kids here a few times about staying in school and what can happen to them if they do stupid stuff.”

  A woman sat at a desk, a sign display
ed on its front: All Visitors Must Sign in Here. She proffered a bright smile. “Can I help you?”

  “We’re here to see Mr. Trussell,” Christian said.

  “Is he expecting you?”

  He nodded. Waving her hand at the clipboard with a sign-in sheet, she picked up the phone.

  A minute later a man with a brown, buzzed haircut and a slight tan—unusual for Virginia in April—came out to meet them. He smiled and offered his hand. “Bobby Trussell. You must be Jade Harrington. Good to see you again, Merritt. Y’all come on back. We’ve set up a room for you.”

  Trussell led them down a short hallway and entered a conference room. Standard school chairs were pushed in around the exterior of four tables arranged in a square.

  Jade walked to the other end of the room and sat in a chair facing the door. Trussell pulled out a chair and parked next to her. Christian leaned into a corner, crossing his arms.

  “Thanks for allowing us to use this room,” she said.

  “So, what are y’all trying to accomplish here, exactly?”

  “We want to talk to the teammates of Tyler Thompson, Zach Rawlins, and Nicholas Campbell. And, possibly, some of the other students.”

  “But that’s not telling me what you hope to accomplish.”

  “Aren’t you concerned that three of your students have died in the last few weeks? Three players on the same team? Seems like a lot. Even for a school of this size.”

  Trussell sat back. “Of course, I’m concerned. Do you think I like all the media attention? The police presence? I can’t wait for things to get back to normal. It’s been difficult for the team. For all the students. We’ve brought in grief counselors on a full-time basis. What a tragic set of coincidences.”

  “Coincidences?” she asked, disbelieving.

  “Look. We’re a big school, with the largest student population in Virginia. At least one of our students dies every year.”

  “And now a baseball player has died every week for the last three weeks. All murdered.”

  He flinched. “Tyler, too?”

  She nodded. “What’s going on with your baseball team?”

  “Heck if I know.”

  “Can I speak to the coach?”

  “He’s not here. At a coaches’ conference. Down in Richmond. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

  Christian sat on the other side of Trussell and pulled out his notebook. “What’s his name?”

  “Daniel. Lane Daniel.”

  “Tell me,” Jade said, “do you think bullying is a problem here?”

  Trussell flinched again at the shift in topics. Holding the lapels of his suit jacket, he glanced at Christian for help. Christian offered none.

  “Not more than any other school. Kids will be kids. Some kids think it’s fun to torture other kids. Some may not realize it’s bullying.” He spread his hands. “I know. Doesn’t make it right. Anti-bullying policies are in place. But as I said, this is a big school. A lot of places to hide here. Lots of nooks and crannies. We can’t cover the entire building. Even with cameras. And that doesn’t address the verbal bullying that goes on, or anything that takes place beyond these walls. Or on the Internet.”

  Trussell’s face, flushed, looked as if it would burst if Jade poked it with a pin.

  Christian gestured with his pen. “Nice ring.”

  Trussell stared proudly at the Harley-Davidson ring on his right hand. “Try to ride every weekend. Helps me get away from it all.” He stood. “I’ll go tell the assistant coach that you’re ready. We sequestered the team in the locker room. Okay if I bring them in a few at a time? Otherwise, you’ll be here all day.”

  Jade would have preferred to interview the boys individually, but he was right. They didn’t have all day. Technically, she and Christian weren’t here. “That’s fine.”

  Trussell closed the door behind him.

  “He’s a pretty good principal,” Christian said. “The kids love him.”

  “He can’t be happy with all the negative publicity.”

  “This is a great public school. Not only in sports, but academically. That’s why Mark goes here. Why all my children will go here.”

  “He’s pretty protective of his school.” Jade stood and stretched. “Maybe there’s a reason.”

  *

  Three athletic boys entered the room. Each reacted differently when he saw her: one’s eyes widened, one’s mouth opened, and one’s face flushed crimson. She ignored their reactions.

  From the second boy: “You’re Jade Harrington! Are you really with the FBI? Like on TV?”

  “Well, TV is supposed to be like us,” she said. “Although they don’t always get it right.”

  From the third boy: “Can we see your gun?”

  “Maybe another time.”

  Second boy: “Can we take a selfie with you?”

  The first boy didn’t ask her any questions. He just stared at her.

  “This isn’t a social visit,” she said. “We’re here to talk to you about Tyler, Zach, and Nicholas.”

  Her words sucked the air out of the room. The boys glanced at each other and sat down across from them. Two of them sported scratches and bruises on their faces just like the victims, the silent boy’s face unblemished. The third had a faded black eye. Either this was one unlucky group of athletes, or something else was going on here.

  “Let’s start with your names.”

  The first boy pointed to himself. “I’m William Chaney-Frost.”

  “Do you go by Will or Billy?” Christian asked.

  “Neither. It’s William.” He smiled, looking at Jade. “With a hyphenated name, what do you expect?” He pointed a thumb to the second boy. “This is Joshua Stewart. And this is Andrew Huffman.”

  “Tell me about your relationship with Tyler, Zach, and Nicholas.”

  William glanced at the other two. Was it a signal to let him do the talking?

  “We all played freshman baseball together last year,” he said. “Won districts. We all got along. We’re all on JV this year. Tyler, too. He was okay.”

  “As a baseball player,” she finished for him.

  “He wasn’t very good.”

  “Everyone on the team got along? No arguments? No fights ever broke out?”

  Joshua’s face twitched. “Fights?”

  William shot him a look before turning to her. “Not really.”

  “Who bullied Tyler?”

  “The cops asked us the same thing. Tyler was such a nerd. Easy to pick on. But I wouldn’t call it bullying.”

  “What would you call it?” she asked.

  “Just messin’ around.”

  “Tell me about Zach.”

  “Z was cool. Funny. A good athlete, although not as good as he thought he was. Always trying to live up to his old man.”

  “Any of them have girlfriends?”

  William laughed. “Tyler? No.” An exaggerated shake of his head. “Nicholas liked to flirt with all the girls. But Zach only had eyes for one.”

  “Who?”

  “Kaylee Taylor.”

  This kid was smart and observant. And handsome in a teen-heartthrob sort of way. She questioned them for another fifteen minutes, including their whereabouts on the nights of the murders, but didn’t learn anything else. The other two boys didn’t say much, only speaking when addressed directly. And not much even then. They stole looks at William Chaney-Frost for confirmation or approval of their answers.

  She stood, walked over to them, and handed each of them her FBI-emblazoned business card. “Three of your teammates were murdered. That should make you nervous.”

  “Tyler committed suicide,” William said.

  Jade shook her head. “No, he didn’t. Any idea who killed him?”

  She got the reaction she wanted. The boys exchanged furtive glances. Only William’s eye contact remained unbroken.

  She waited to see if one of the other two would talk. They stared at the table. They looked scared. She needed to come back and speak to
them one at a time.

  “How did he die?” asked William.

  As if she just thought of it, Jade asked, “Who created the ‘TylerThompsonFan’ Twitter account?”

  Head shakes and shrugs. She wouldn’t get anything more from these kids today.

  “If you remember anything later,” she said, “anything at all, don’t hesitate to call me.”

  William examined her business card, and then held her gaze, as his thumb slowly caressed the raised FBI logo.

  *

  After interviewing the entire baseball team, the woman manning the visitors sign ushered two girls into the room. Although Jade presumed the girls would be around fifteen or sixteen years old, they could have passed for twenty-one. The first girl strode into the room in black leggings, a pullover top, and a light cardigan sweater. A touch of lip gloss her only makeup.

  The girl trailing behind her wore too much makeup, in an inverse relationship to the length of her dress. The dress seemed not only inappropriate for school, but inappropriate for the cool weather outside.

  The girls sat across from them.

  After Jade introduced Christian, she said, “Thanks for coming to talk to us. What are your names?”

  “I’m Grace,” said the girl in the dress, her eyes on Christian.

  “What’s your last name, Grace?” Jade said.

  “Angleton.”

  Jade looked at the other girl. “And you?”

  “Kaylee Taylor.”

  “We want to ask you a few questions. Were you friends with Tyler, Zach, and Nicholas?”

  Grace laughed.

  Jade tilted her head. “Why is that funny?”

  “We were cool with Nicholas and Zach, of course.” Grace glanced coyly at Kaylee and back at Jade. “You could say one of us was more than friends with Zach. But I’m single.” She checked out Christian and waited for him to look up from his notes. He didn’t. She turned back to Jade. “We weren’t friends with Tyler. He was a geek.”

  “We only knew him because we’re cheerleaders,” Kaylee agreed.

  “And you were more than friends with Zach?”

  Kaylee glared at her friend and back at Jade. “Zach and I were cool.”

  “You were dating?” Jade asked.