Page 64 of Prince of Control

She might not be dead. Not murdered and lying in a pool of her own blood. I might not have to live with the anguish of failing to protect someone else I care about.

“Was she in your company at Baranov House?” the detective asks.

“No. I didn’t even talk to her. I just saw her toward the end of the party.” I scrub a hand across the stubble on my face. “Is she hurt? Dead? Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“How would you define your relationship with Ms. Tracy?” Black Shirt asks.

I wouldn’t care to.

“We’re friends.” That’s as accurate as any definition gets.

“Did you leave Baranov House at any point during the night?” the detective asks.

“No.”

“Did you give Ms. Tracy a drink tonight?”

“Me personally? No.”

“Did you have sex with Ms. Tracy tonight?”

“No. I’m married.”

This seems to surprise both men.

Well, yeah, it was a surprise to all of us.

My eyes narrow. Why would they ask that question?

“Would you be willing to give a DNA sample to clear you as a suspect in this case?”

I sit and stare at both men, showing nothing on my face as I process the magnitude of what’s going on here. It sounds like Melinda was raped or murdered.

What if I could have prevented what happened? I’m the one who left the party unsupervised in favor of playing in the dungeon with my wife. What if in neglecting my duties, something slipped by the rest of the team? Some danger that resulted in something terrible happening to arguably the most important young woman–at least politically–on campus?

I try not to picture Melinda crumpled in a pool of blood.

Not like Valentina. That’s over.

We’re not there anymore, as Lili would say.

Would my mom advise me to give a sample? No. She would tell me not to answer any questions without a lawyer present. She would tell me I’m being set up.

This definitely could be a setup.

I blow out my breath. “Sure.”

Black Shirt nods at the detective, who goes to the door and says something to the people outside.

“Is she alive?” I try to sound cool, but my voice cracks.

Black Shirt studies me. After a long, agonizing moment, he nods. “She’s in the hospital. She was drugged and sexually assaulted at your party.”

Chapter Eighteen

Lara

I huddle with the members of Baranov House in the kitchen. It’s five in the morning, and no one has slept. I made espresso and steamed milk for everyone with the Italian espresso machine they have. The police searched every room in the house, possibly looking for drugs or drug paraphernalia, but they also seemed to be doing wellness checks on anyone who seemed inebriated. Leo, Alex, and Feliks followed them around like silent guard dogs waiting to be sprung. Except their owner wasn’t here to command any action.