Page 41 of Jett in Jeopardy

While I couldn’t tie him to the break-ins or the fire, I knew for sure he’d lied to get me fired. OMG, and he’d even asked me out. What would have happened if I’d said yes?

A chill shivered up my spine.

I needed to go to the police, but if my experience with Gregg Hargood had taught me anything, I would need proof.

I remembered after arriving home early from work that night, I’d gone to see my father. By then, he’d married Camile and had a new family. I just sort of existed in his life, but was never invited to participate in it. I think we were both counting down the days until I left for college, and we didn’t have to see each other anymore.

That night though, I’d gone to him mostly because I didn’t know what else to do. I was barely seventeen, and nothing like that had ever happened to me before.

My father, to his credit, was troubled after I’d told him. There hadn’t been any emotional displays of concern, but he’d frowned and offered to call the police on my behalf. When a detective arrived at our house to ask me about the incident, he’d even defended me a little when the cop had asked me if I had maybe I misinterpreted Gregg’s actions.

“The man shoved his hand down my son’s pants. How the hell should he have interpreted that?”

The cop’s face had turned red, and he sputtered an apology, but that still hadn’t stopped him from asking a series of questions, implying I had done or said something to lead Gregg on, a man thirty years older than me.

In the end, the cop had been unimpressed with my story, promising to speak to Gregg but also saying, without proof, it would be his word against mine. The truth was, people liked Gregg. He was a family man, coaching little-league, and owned a business, a prominent member of the community. He was one ofthem. They didn’t want to believe he would do anything like I was accusing him of. Instead, they would rather believe the openly gay teenager was just trying to ruin a good man’s life.

The whole thing might have wound up swept under the rug except for other men and boys who came forward, claiming Gregg had done the same to them. In some cases, he’d done much worse and to boys younger than me. Before risking it going to trial, Gregg took a deal for fifteen years, so none of us, his victims, got to testify in court.

Part of me was relieved. Having everything I said or did in my personal life—which at seventeen, wasn’t all that noteworthy—discussed and dissected during the investigation was bad enough. I really didn’t want to have to do it all over again in a courtroom.

Simon’s young, grinning face next to his father’s looked back at me. I now had a name to take the police, but I knew that without evidence that he was involved in all that he’d done over the past few months, it would simply be my word against his.

If I wanted to stop Simon, I needed proof.

Finding the dorm where Simon was living was remarkably easy, and like with his social media accounts, I couldn’t shake the feeling he wanted to be found. A chill blew through me like a February wind.

“Testing. Testing,” I muttered before slipping my phone from my jeans pocket to double-check the app I’d downloaded to record our conversation was working, and so that being shoved in my pocket wouldn’t muffle our voices.

I played back my test recording, and my voice was clear and audible. Good. I slipped my phone back into my pocket and knocked loudly on his door before I would have changed my mind.

The door swung open, and I tensed, only to relax a moment later. The tall, rangy, dark-haired guy who’d pulled open the door was definitely not Simon.

“Can I help you?” the guy asked, frowning.

“Um… maybe. Does Simon Hargood live here?”

“He’s not here.”

Perfect.“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m a friend of his from Denver.”

“Not a clue, man.” The guy shrugged. “Honestly, I haven’t seen him in a couple of days. I figured he’d already gone home for holidays.”

Well, that was a letdown. I’d psyched myself up for a confrontation, and he wasn’t even here. Unless that was what he wanted me to think, that he’d gone back to Colorado, and I’d drop my defenses.

“Did you want me to tell him you came by?” the guy asked.

I shook my head. “Thanks, I’ll look him up after the holidays.”

He started to close the door, but I held up my arm, blocking him. “Ah… Do you know what kind of car he drives?”

“A Corolla, I think. Why?”

“What color?”

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