Page 13 of Wild Tempest

She cringed. "I wonder what else they didn't delete.” She paused. "I mean, I don't mind being naked on camera. The human body is a beautiful thing, don't you think?" she said, looking at me with those gorgeous eyes, batting her long lashes. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was flirting. She might have been.

I smiled. "It's a work of art.”

"I think so as well."

“Were you there when Trevor showed up?"

Her brow knitted with confusion. "Who's Trevor?”

"Peyton's boyfriend."

“I thought Peyton's boyfriend was the director. What's his name…?" she said, trying to recall.

"Garrett."

"Yeah. That’s it.” She shrugged. "They kinda gave off that vibe.”

"You didn't hear any gunshots?”

Her lips tightened, and she shook her head. "No.”

"You have Draven’s contact info?" I asked.

"Yeah.” Her worried eyes narrowed at me. “You’re not going to bust him, are you?"

"My concern is finding the documentary crew.”

I dug into my pocket and gave her a card. "Text me Draven’s contact information.” Isabella had already given it to me, but it was always good to verify details. “Get in touch if you can think of anything else.”

Summer smiled. "I will. I'm sure I'll remember something that might be useful tonight when I’m about to fall asleep," she said with a flirty glint in her eyes.

She went about her way, and JD and I watched her go. She had a nice step.

"Careful, she might put a spell on you," JD cautioned.

"Maybe she already has.”

9

“Just FYI, the shell casings found near the campsite don’t match the ammo in Trevor’s gun,” Brenda said when she called. “Given the evidence, I think it’s safe to say we’re dealing with a homicide. You need to find those bodies. Give me something to work with.”

“We’re trying,” I said.

I shared the information with Jack after I ended the call.

We hustled across campus to the Founders’ Court, hopped into the Porsche, then drove around the block to fraternity row.

Isabella had ID’d the blond-haired guy in the video. His name was Wesley Allen, and we caught up with him at the Sigma house. It was the typical neoclassical red brick mansion with white Tuscan columns, a triangular pediment, and a second-story balcony with a black balustrade. Greek letters adorned the pediment. The yard was littered with last night’s beer cans.

A fraternity brother answered the door when we knocked. “Can I help you?”

I displayed my badge and said, “Coconut County. Looking for Wesley Allen.”

He just gave us a blank stare.

“Is he here?”

The guy was 19 or 20 with shaggy dark hair and chiseled features. He shrugged. “I don’t know.”