“At the grave?”
“In a tree above it. Hidden. Motion-activated. Somebody got tired of that grave being messed with and set a trap.”
I looked toward Destiny.
She was sitting on the edge of the lounger now, one leg tucked beneath her, head tilted down while she pretended to read something on her phone. Sunlight ran along her shoulders. A breeze lifted her hair. She looked like any other girl by a pool.
She wasn’t.
She had never gotten the luxury of being any other girl.
“Caught them?” I asked.
“All of them,” Callum said. “Rich girls. Boyfriends. A few hangers-on. Faces clear enough to ruin futures. One of them held the camera while the others sprayed the stone. Another laughed about Destiny. Another said if Destiny wanted to act like Mandy, she deserved Mandy’s ending.”
The beer in my hand was suddenly a bad idea.
Too breakable.
Too tempting.
I set it down carefully.
“Names?”
“JD has them.”
“Edge?”
“Not yet.”
I closed my eyes. “Smart.”
“Temporary,” Callum said. “Nobody’s stupid enough to keep that from him long.”
No.
They weren’t.
And when Edge found out exactly whose daughters had stood over Mandy’s grave and painted filth across his dead woman’s name and his living daughter’s bloodline, there wouldn’t be enough lawyers in New Mexico to keep bones inside bodies.
“Judge?” I asked.
“Pissed as shit,” Callum said. “Warrants were supposed to put pressure on us. Instead, JD flipped the table. They thought Destiny was going to hang, and now we’ve got their kids, their clubs, their college futures, and about thirty family reputations sitting under a lid JD can blow off whenever he wants.”
I glanced toward the villa doors.
Regan moved past the glass, barefoot, phone in hand, looking calm enough to command an army.
“Crime for a crime,” I said.
“More like leverage for leverage,” Callum corrected. “They wanted to make Destiny the story. JD is about to make them the story. He said no Ivy League dean wants to touch a kid tied to hazing, drugging, bullying, and defacing a grave.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
“That sounds like JD.”
