I couldn’t breathe.
He didn’t hesitate.
He squeezed my hand and nodded.
“Let’s go.”
We were halfway to the gym doors, with the crushed roses behind us, when the doors flew open.
Several police officers walked in.
The music stopped instantly.
Conversations d*ed mid-sentence.
The officers moved purposefully through the crowd.
Straight toward us.
My stomach twisted.
One of them stopped directly in front of Jonathan.
He was tall, gray at the temples, with a badge that said Ridgeway.
“Jonathan Ziegler?”
Jonathan’s face turned ghostly pale.
“Yes, sir.”
“We need you to come with us.”
The entire gym fell silent.
Even Tatum’s mouth hung open, the Cartier bracelet still glinting on her wrist.
“What happened?” I asked.
Detective Ridgeway looked at me, surprised.
“You don’t know?”
Know what?
Jonathan wouldn’t look at me.
His eyes stayed on the floor, on the crushed white roses.
And his hand moved slowly to the stiff spot inside his jacket, as if to make sure it was still there.
