The Scammer(77)

Loren stops short, clutching her bag. Then her eyes go wide.

“What’s wrong? Did they find her? Did they?”

I push the article in her line of sight. She scans the top line, her eyes narrowing.

“Where’d you get this?” she snaps, trying to grab my phone but I snatch it away.

“He was a suspect in a murder investigation,” I explain, with rasping breaths. “A girl went MISSING and was eventually found, beaten to death. They didn’t have enough evidence to prosecute him.”

Even as I say this aloud, my chin trembles at the thought of what could have happened to Kammy.

Loren hesitates, nostrils flaring. “You know how they have fake news articles. What do we keep telling you? You have to do your research. That’s not even his name!”

I grip her arm, noticing how fragile her wrist feels in my hand. “He CHANGED his name! This is REAL, Loren! There’s a case number! You have to believe me. I wouldn’t lie about this.”

Loren wiggles out of my hold, glaring at me.

“Stop,” she says, her voice cracking. “Jordyn. Just . . . stop.”

I watch her walk off, realizing it’s too late. She’s gone. Just like Kammy.



* * *




We only have a few weeks of school left before fall semester is over. Spring can look one of two ways, depending on what happens with Kammy.

I glance at the chair propped up against the door to ensure it stays locked. But the strange chanting music thumping through the walls makes it feel like Devonte’s meeting is happening in the middle of my room. How is he just able to carry on like normal? Why doesn’t campus police do anything? He’s probably in their ears as well. I look at Devonte through a terrifyingly different lens now, imagining those soft, gentle hands wrapping around my throat. Would he even break a sweat?

All I know is that I haven’t slept in forty-eight hours since finding that article and I may not be able to hang on for much longer. But I can’t leave Loren alone.

My phone buzzes. Nick.

“Hey.”

“Hey? What’s that sound?”

I scoff. “My roommates.”

There’s a brief pause. “I’m coming up.”

“What? No! Don’t.”

But Nick’s line is already dead. I stare at the chair propped up on my room door. Should I make a run for it, meet him halfway? I don’t want him in here. I don’t know what Devonte is capable of. People are missing. He could be next!

A pounding on the suite door makes me freeze. He must have already been on his way when he called.

The humming stops.

“Oh, you bold to be walking up in here again,” Kareem says.

“Is Jordyn home?” Nick asks in a playful voice.

“No,” he snaps. “But we can make another call to her parents for you.”

I swing my door open, finding Nick and Kareem facing off. Nick raises an eyebrow, and slides right by him, walking into my room.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I snap, slamming my door shut.

He smiles at me. “Hey you.”

I chuckle, unable to resist him.

“Hey you,” I gush.

He holds up a plastic soup container. “Brought you some gumbo.”

“Gumbo. Who made it?”

“Me, of course. Food is my love language.”

I snort. “That makes entirely too much sense given you are a man of few words.”

“You have to eat something,” he insists. “You can’t survive on twigs and berries.”

“Everyone else eats twigs and berries and they’re just fine.”

He shakes his head. “If everyone jumped off the roof, would you jump too? You need some meat on your bones.”

I giggle. “You know, these little proverbs sound funnier now knowing who raised you.”

The corner of Nick’s mouth tugs into a grin. “Yeah, yeah.”

He slips off his jacket and tosses it on the chair.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m staying.” He gazes around the room. I did my best to put it back in order after the search but there are still traces of it on the walls, the dresser drawers crooked and out of place.

“No way. I’m already in enough trouble with you here.”

“You’re not in trouble with someone who doesn’t belong here,” he gripes.

“It’s not about him. It’s about . . . my new reputation,” I say, grimacing. “I don’t want it getting on you. You have a campaign to run! You’ve already done enough for me.”

“I’m staying,” he states, resolve in his eyes.

I open my mouth to argue but can’t find the strength. Mentally, I’m all over the place.

“Fine. Take the floor.”

He glances down and chuckles. “Aren’t we past that?”

I sigh in defeat and scoot over on the bed. He holds up a finger and grabs the container of stew.

“First, eat five spoonfuls, then I’ll leave you alone.”

I snarl at the container then huff. “I’ll only eat if you talk.”

“About what?”

I narrow my eyes. “You know what.”

Catching my meaning, he sighs and pulls a plastic spoon out.