CHAPTER 29

Bret leans against the outside gym doors and looks me over. “So, you and Beckett, huh?”

“No, I mean…we’re not—”

“Save it,” he says, stealing Justice’s line. “I’ve known for a while now. Wanted to play along for Justice’s sake.”

“It was a onetime thing.” Or two. Maybe three-time thing if you count the girls’ bathroom separate from the classroom. “Moment of weakness.”

“I guessed it during the tuna casserole ordeal,” he says smoothly.

Apparently my classmates aren’t all complete idiots. Note to self: never underestimate the C student who carelessly hands his drugs to whomever.

I look at him. “You don’t seem too upset. Why is that, Bret?”

He laughs. “Justice and her big mouth and self-righteous—”

“What exactly did Simon Gilbert tell you?”

“He told me why he was friends with you,” Bret says. When he sees me standing there, arms folded over my chest, waiting to hear the rest, he continues with a sigh. “Because of your father. And your grandfather.”

“Right.” I nod. “He said that they’re…?”

“Yes, Eleanor, I know your secret.” He grins. “The Wilkenson family. As in the two men who gave five million dollars to the school to build that new wing. Harold Wilkenson, who is about to announce his desire to run in the next presidential election.”

“And you wanted that connection?”

“That’s what people think, isn’t it? That I slither around sucking up to important people for dozens of letters of recommendation?”

Isn’t that what he had said that day in the hall when I overheard him and Dominic arguing about inviting Simon to a party? “So if you’re dating me, then my father and grandfather will help you out with what? Internships? College acceptance?”

“Yeah, no.” Bret laughs. “I learned at a very young age that having dirt on someone is much more useful than a friendly relationship.”

Bingo. And he led me right there. “Dirt? Like compromising pictures?”

He doesn’t admit to anything. Folds his arms over his chest and cocks an eyebrow. I need to get something out of him before Miles turns back into the Hulk and storms out here demanding answers.

“So you have pictures of me,” I conclude from his nonanswer. “Doing what exactly?”

“Buying drugs, drinking,” he rattles off.

“Drugs that you gave me! For free!” I release a breath and remind myself of the goal and the fact that I don’t actually have rich, important family members for him to blackmail. Joke’s on you, Bret; you picked the wrong girl. “Forget it. Doesn’t matter. Because I was using you, too.”

“Oh really?” He looks skeptical. “What were you hoping to gain?”

“Answers,” I say, taking a step closer to him, making sure Miles hears every word. “The night my friend Simon died, you were in the parking lot when he dropped me off after the dance, and I want to know why.”

He stares me down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, I’ve already told the police and Feds everything I know. Like you did, like anyone who ever talked to Simon Gilbert has done.”

“There’s new evidence,” I tell him, knowing I’m making it sound like it’s a game changer when clearly it hasn’t been so far. “Video footage of your car in that parking lot. And I overheard Chantel talking about the spring dance and what happened to her after. Something about your backseat and a long-lens camera…”

Some of the color drains from his face. “And I take it you turned this drunk-girl story over to the police? Should I head home and wait for my arrest?”

“I don’t know, should you?” I challenge. “And no, I haven’t. Yet.”

Bret steps closer. “What do you want, Ellie? Money? That seemed to work with Jacob. What is it you two did together?”

“He paid me a thousand bucks to run a thirty-dollar background check for him. And I already told you what I want. Answers.” The cold air hits me and I suppress a shiver, running my hands up my arms. “Let’s make a deal, Bret. You have pictures of me, I have incriminating information on you. Now tell me why I shouldn’t assume the worst. Why were you following Simon? Did you follow him home?”

Bret’s face twists with anger. “I wasn’t fucking following Simon! I was tailing Dominic. Check your little video again and I guarantee there’s another car there. I thought he was messed up with that wack-job dealer, Davey. I was trying to help him! He’s my fucking best friend and he can’t fucking tell me he’s into dudes? Still hasn’t. Like I’m gonna hate him or something?”

“That’s why you’re tormenting him with pictures,” I conclude. “You want him to tell you the truth.”

The anger falls from his face. His forehead wrinkles. “What? I don’t have pictures of—” He shakes his head. “Okay, I do have pictures but I would never…maybe just for the senator’s eyes but I didn’t…”

My inner lie detector is sensing he’s telling the truth, but it’s hard to know for sure with Bret. He’s obviously got a conniving side. “So you aren’t sending Dominic weekly photos of him and Simon making out the night of the dance under an anonymous email?”

“Why the hell would I do that? You don’t know what I’ve been through with Dominic this summer. The holes I’ve had to drag him from. It’s been fucking hell.”

Truth.

“If you feel that way, why do you even have pictures of them together if you weren’t collecting items to blackmail him with?”

“The senator, not Dominic. I wouldn’t do that to him,” Bret insists. “And it’s kind of become a habit now. I meet people and immediately look for ways to ruin them.”

There’s really not much I can say to that. I mean, seriously? Am I supposed to hate him for playing me? I might be a lot of things, but I try to never be a hypocrite. Instead, I move on to a new question.

“So after Simon dropped me off, Dominic followed him and you followed Dominic?” I prompt. “To where?”

“Dominic’s house,” Bret says. “I saw them together…like together, and all my questions about Dominic were answered so I left. Took Chantel home and the rest is secured by the alibi I gave the police.”

“Simon went to Dominic’s house that night?” I press, my heart pounding, adrenaline rushing. This is a game changer. “You’re positive?”

“I didn’t see them actually go inside. Just outside the house.”

“And you didn’t tell any of this to the police or FBI? Including the fact that Chantel was passed out drunk in your car?” I don’t even need to hear his answer. Obviously he didn’t tell anyone.

And this means I wasn’t the last person to see Simon that night. I wasn’t even the second-to-last person.