Rachel turned on her heel and walked straight down the hall toward Regan. She almost welcomed a confrontation: she’d found that criminals were more likely to talk when they were angry or felt trapped.

But Rachel just glared at her, then turned to the group of girls only a few feet away. “No one is allowed to see Nicole. I’m responsible for her until her parents arrive, and no one will help me.”

Regan didn’t know if that was true. She supposed that there could be a medical release form that Nicole, as an adult, might have signed when she joined the sorority. Regan hoped if that was the case, her dad had found a way around it.

“I’m heartbroken. They won’t tell me anything about her, and I haven’t been able to find Vicky. I’m worried about her.”

“She’s with Nicole now,” one of the girls said. “I texted her, and she said she’s not leaving until Nicole wakes up.”

The nurse said, “Girls, there are too many of you on the floor. You can leave your gifts here, I’ll make sure that Ms. Bergamo receives them.”

Rachel turned to Regan and said, “What are you doing here? You and Lucas Vega did this. You know you’re responsible.”

Regan didn’t say anything. There was nothing for her to say. She was happy to let Rachel dig her own grave.

Her silence angered Rachel, but the advisor had enough self-control not to lash out. She turned to the girls and said, “Let’s go. I’ll take you all to lunch.”

The girls left their gifts with the nurse. Rachel let them enter the elevator first, then as she passed Regan, the former marshal said quietly, “I will prove you killed Candace.”

One of the girls heard what Regan said and did a double take.

Regan watched the five of them leave together. If looks could kill, Regan would be dead. Rachel was losing control. That could be good, because she might make a serious mistake—or it could be trouble, if she thought she could get rid of potential witnesses. Regan texted Lucas and Lizzy both and reminded them to be careful, stick together, and let her know if they left the apartment.

Then she went down the hall to where the deputy stood. Nicole was in a room with windows, but blinds offered complete privacy. She said, “I’m looking for my dad, John Merritt.”

“He’s in with the patient. I’ll get him for you.”

The deputy opened the door. Regan peered inside. Nicole was in the bed, hooked to monitors. Vicky was sitting next to her, her head on the bed, her pale hand holding Nicole’s darker hand. John was keeping watch. When he saw her at the door, he came out.

“You didn’t answer my text,” she said.