Page 37 of The Guilty One
I click on it and read through, shock flooding my system.
In the days after Matteo’s disappearance, the police were called to campus after a few students found a body they believed could be Matteo’s. It was charred beyond recognition—that’s the actual word the article used, charred. But it later turned out to be a professor. A female professor named Aubrey Vance. Between Matteo’s disappearance and Professor Vance’s murder, two crimes happening so close together on the same campus, the atmosphere on campus had begun to get unsettling, and students and families alike were feeling unsafe. The article doesn’t say anything else about whether they discovered what happened or caught the culprit.
When I search her name, I find several memorial articles about her, mentioning what a wonderful professor she was. Though it was just her first year teaching, it looks like the school dedicated a library to her after her death, but as far as I can tell, her killer was never caught.
On a whim, I look up the writer of one of the articles, and when I find an email address for someone I believe to be him on LinkedIn, I send him an email, letting him know I have some questions about her and would love the chance to chat with him.
I spend the next hour looking for anything that might help me figure out if Tate had anything to with any of this, but there’s nothing. He had to have known, though, right? They were in school together. He would’ve known them both most likely. If he didn’t have a class with the professor, he would’ve at least heard about her death.
I can’t believe he never told me about any of this.
The more I learn about my husband’s past, the more I realize how little I ever really knew him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TATUM
Highland University
Twelve Years Ago
“Party’s here!” I shout, cupping my hands around my mouth. I step out of the car and pop the trunk. The thing is loaded to the brim with boxes of beer, Mad Dog 20/20, Boone’s Farm, and 99 Bananas.
Stupid fruity shit for the girls and beer for us.
The house is packed already—loud music blaring, lights inside flashing every color. A group of guys rush over on command and unload the car, bringing it all inside after me. Dakota has some girl on his lap on the couch, and Aaron is close by, playing video games with a group of nerds. It takes me a minute to find Bradley, but eventually I see he’s already passed out on a chair in the corner. I grab a girl’s arm as I pass. “Sharpie,” I bark.
It takes her too long to realize what I’ve said, but eventually, she nods. “Oh, sure. Just a sec.” When she comes back, she hands me the Sharpie, and I cross the room, drawing a cock on Bradley’s cheek, the tip near his lips. Stupid fucker.
I toss the Sharpie at the girl, not checking to see if she catches it.
“Hey, Tatum. Wanna play?” Aaron calls, holding out his controller.
I ignore him, making my way into the kitchen. God, I wish my friends weren’t such losers. I’ve got to get out of this shithole town.
“Tate, my man! What’s up! You killed it at the game the other night!” some idiot calls as I walk through the kitchen.
I spin on my heels, glaring at him. “What did you call me?”
The kid stops, his eyes shifting to the friends surrounding him. “Um, Tate?”
I grab the front of his shirt, balling it into a fist just under his chin. I would slam his head into the wall if I was in a bad mood, but he’s not worth it. “Do I know you?”
“Hey! Hey! I didn’t mean anything by it, bro.” His hands are up in surrender.
“Do not shorten my name. Nicknames are for lazy punks and little girls, dickwipe. My fucking name is Tatum.”
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
I shove him backward, releasing his shirt at once. “Don’t ever fucking speak to me. Do you hear me? Don’t even look at me.”
He nods, eyes on the ground at my words, and like lightning, the group scatters. When I turn around, the rest of the room parts for me. People are so easy, man. Just one little conversation, and suddenly, we’re all on the same page.
I walk through the room without a look toward any of them, but they’re all looking at me. They don’t exist, and I’m the entire world.
My dick aches, and I need to get off, so eventually I start scanning the crowd, trying to decide who the lucky lady will be tonight. I’ve had most of these girls already and want fresh blood.
Jogging up the stairs, I listen at the first door, and when I hear the sounds of moaning, I push inside, flipping on the light.