“I won’t,” I say. “And I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me.”
He gives a nod and slides the papers over. “This is the guest list for the club and for our group that night. The list is long, but only the ones with check marks beside their names were there. The rest reserved a spot and most likely didn’t show up.”
My heart is going a mile a minute as I pore over the list. It’s pretty long. People had reservations from six o’clock in the afternoon until four in the morning. I’m trying to focus on the check-marked names, wishing this list was in alphabetical order when I freeze on one. Titus Fletcher. Knowing he was there is one thing, but what gets me is seeing that he's on this list at all. My heart stops for a moment.
“If someone just showed up, would they be on this list?”
“If they were granted entry, yes.”
I let out a relieved breath. Four names above Titus’, I see his client’s name—the one he was dragging out of there—and let out another relieved breath. I knew he wasn’t lying, but having solid proof makes me feel a little better.
I glance up and find Leo looking at me, which gives me pause for a moment, before I ask, “Is there any way to get footage of this night? Right before or after the fire?”
“I tried,” he says.
I tear my gaze from his and look at the side of the industrial coffee machine. I’d already told him I didn’t remember anything, but I feel like I should tell him the reason for my lapse in memory. Being drugged is something I’ve thought about sharing with my followers multiple times. I haven’t, because I hate bringing people down and sometimes what I’m going through would do exactly that. The drug thing feels like something that’s important to share.
The issue is I don’t remember what happened, and sharing my experience would lead to questions I don’t have answers for. My stomach twists when I think about Tate. He said he’d beendrugged the night he ran into Gracie, and after forcing myself to watch the video again, I believe him.
“I was drugged that night,” I say, looking at Leo, whose eyes widen. “That’s why I don’t remember it.”
“Are you okay? Did anything happen?” he asks, and he seems genuinely concerned.
“I don’t think anything happened,” I say.
It’s another thing that would drive me crazy if I think about it too much. The rape kit proved I wasn’t raped, but that doesn’t mean other things didn’t happen. The thought makes me want to throw up. This is why I don’t dwell on it.
He frowns. “You don’t think anything happened?”
“There’s no telling. I really don’t remember any of it. I was at the bar at Onyx drinking water, and that’s as far as my memory goes. That’s why I want the footage.”
He’s still frowning as he nods slowly. “I’ll get it for you.”
“I thought you said?—”
He waves a hand, suddenly looking determined. “I’ll get it for you.”
“Thank you.” I offer a small smile and go back to the papers.
Johnny Matthews
Paul Rose
Erin Cain
Laura Erickson
Tate Ford
My breath catches.
“Did you see one you recognize?” Leo asks.
My heart is in my throat, in my ears, as I nod. I flip the pages in a daze until I finally reach the guest list for their exclusive group, and bring both shaking hands up to cover my mouth when I see Mallory’s and Tate’s names on the list.
“What is it?” Leo asks urgently, sliding the papers so he can see.
I look around for Olivia, but I only see her bag and laptop. I spot her outside on the phone. I lower my hands and point a shaky finger to Tate’s name.
