“But there was.” Roan laced his fingers through mine, bringing them to rest behind his head and tease those silky strands. “Stella wrote down that they met three times a week.”
I stared at him, trying to connect what he was saying. “Three times a week. You don’t spend that much time with someone you can’t stand, or who can’t stand you. Did he need service hours for his degree?”
Roan raised his brow. “Accounting?”
“Of course not,” I said, mostly to myself. “He spent all that time with Jensen because he wanted to.”
“We can safely guess he wasn’t mentoring a fifty-year-old father of three. Jensen would’ve been younger than him, but now old enough to go to university with us.”
I shot off his lap. “You think Blake Jensen is the Letter Man? He killed Bella!”
“I don’t know what I think.” Roan tugged me back down. “It crosses my mind that someone who spent that much one-on-one time with a sociopath might’ve gotten tangled up in his immoral charm. Young, needy, and desperate for someone to look up to, then Cavendish walks in.
“All that said, there is no Blake Jensen at Bedlam University.”
His words popped my bubble. “What? How do you know?”
“I know everyone who attends or works in my school. No Blake Jensen. No Blakes. But there are two people whose last names are Jensen. I can search the database,” he said to my look, “but it’ll say the same thing. It wasn’t going to be that easy. Nothing ever is. But that doesn’t mean the guy Cavendish mentored doesn’t go to our school. People change their names. Or others change it for them.”
My head bobbed, hope returning. “Cavendish would have no reason to give the real name of his protégé. I can follow the two Jensens that go to the university, but if he lied about the first name, why wouldn’t he lie about the second?” I brought my fist down on the chair arm. “Still, it’s a place to start. And if it’s not them, I’ve got other smoking university students to sort through.”
Roan picked me up and carried me into the shower. I still had blood, dirt, and Cairo on me after the morning’s activities. “Did you ever find out the secret?” he asked.
“Secret?”
“Cavendish told you he killed Douglas Herbert because he found out something he shouldn’t and was going to expose him. What did Herbert discover that no one else could know?”
Roan slid my dress over my hips.
“It has to be that Cavendish was a raving lunatic.”
“Can’t be.” He flicked on the shower, filling the space with steam.
“Why can’t it be?”
“Because he would’ve just said that, sweet lips. ‘I killed Douglas because he found out I get hard killing animals behind the frat house.’ But he didn’t admit to Douglas’s find. He didn’t actually admit to anything.” Something in Roan’s voice stilled me. “Nothing more than what you already discovered, which is that he killed Douglas and sent you the letters. He never told you why.”
“I...” Whatever I planned to say died on my tongue.
“Douglas Herbert knew Cavendish his whole life. They were best friends. For that bond to break, he must’ve discovered something not even the most loyal of friends could excuse. And because of that, Cavendish had to kill him before he could tell anyone else. A secret that important wouldn’t suddenly become so trivial, he dangles it in a twisted game with a girl he doesn’t know.”
“But maybe it didn’t matter anymore,” I tried. “The guy had a death wish.”
Roan shook his head, even as it disappeared behind his shirt. “Someone with nothing left to lose has nothing left to hide. He didn’t tell you what Douglas found out. He didn’t give a straight answer to why he chose you. Rambling on about your ancestors, sacrifices, and running away from the fight. I’d think he really was a lunatic if I didn’t know better. That guy was too smart, Rainey. Everything he did was for a reason. Everything he said had a meaning.”
His gaze pinned me to the spot. “Take it from another manipulator. Use the situation we’re in now as the proof. Cavendish didn’t tell you shit about what’s truly going on here, Rainey. Not why he chose you, why Douglas had to die, or why this isn’t over. You still don’t know who the Letter Man is. Doesn’t matter that Scott Cavendish is dead, and it may not matter if the new one is Blake Jensen. You need to discover the secret that started this all, because they’ve got the whip, baby, and that just may be your safe word.”
Deep, abiding disgust filled me at the Letter Men’s torture compared to a sex game, but the point had landed, and nothing survived in its wake.
Roan scooped me up. “Now, on to the entertainment you denied me. Ride me, cowgirl, and slap me if I don’t buck when you roll.”