The Life and Death of Lauren Conway: A Companion to Without Mercy Page 4

  Tonight.

  He thought of her laughing eyes, sultry smile and quick wit, none of which he had anticipated.

  You know what you have to do.

  His own damned edict ricocheted through his brain. Pounded through his blood. Mocked him as he pulled up on the reins and dismounted, his boots crunching through a thin layer of frozen snow and ice.

  All traitors must pay with their lives.

  How many times had he said those words aloud? To the group? To her?

  He swept away a low-hanging limb and stood at the canyon’s rim. From this ridge he heard the rush of the river as it snaked through the surrounding hills. Even a hundred feet above the tumbling white water, he smelled the cold fresh scent of it, knew that the swift current would pull her down. With dizzying speed the rush of frigid water would drag her body under, smash her bones against submerged boulders and logs as it rushed her downstream.

  The river would become her grave.

  No one would find her until the spring thaw, if then. There was always a chance that the animals that inhabited these rugged hills would get to her first. Wolves, coyotes, bears and cougars to start with, then the smaller beasts, raccoon, lynx, even vultures would take their turn with her remains.

  His jaw clenched at the thought and for the first time he second-guessed himself, then stopped that line of thinking. He had to remember his mission; his destiny. He couldn’t be distracted. Through the steep canyon a hundred yards to the north came the soft hoot of an owl.

  An omen?

  He checked his watch.

  Eleven fourteen.

  Plenty of time.

  You can back out. It’s in your power. You don’t have to do this…

  He kicked at a pebble with the toe of his boot and sent it sailing into the dark abyss. Never before had he felt self-doubt and he didn’t like it.

  As he had dozens of times before, he wrapped the leather reins around his hands and urged the his horse up a path to the back of the decrepit building. With only a pale wash of light from a half moon and the thin beam of his flashlight illuminating the deer trail, he rode through a copse of oak and madrona.

  God, he’d been a fool. A damned fool.

  For a woman.

  A classic mistake.

  And stupid.

  A student of history, he’d known better than to trust any female completely. Cleopatra, Mata Hari, Wallis Windsor. Prime examples of seductresses who changed the course of the world. And yet, he had let down his guard.

  Not that she was any woman, Lauren Conway. Oh, no.

  She was a beautiful girl just on the threshold of womanhood, or so he’d thought. But, of course, he’d been wrong. Her treachery had been so disguised in innocence he’d come to trust her. Completely.

  Madly.

  Stupidly.

  He’d allowed her into his inner circle.

  For all the wrong reasons.

  Mainly because of his ego.

  And his dick. His damned dick.

  Just like all those screw-ups in history who’d lost wars, given up thrones, changed the course of civilization: all for a woman.

  She is Eve with the apple.

  Delilah with her shears.

  Jezebel with her idolatry and witchcraft!

  Pushing aside an ice-laden branch, he felt the cadence of betrayal burn through his blood. If he could, he’d wring her perfect, long neck.

  Pull yourself together.

  You have work to do.

  Yes, there is the woman to deal with.

  And a very big mistake to fix.

  Another one. And the school can’t afford any more scandal.

  No time for recriminations. Just do what you have to do.

  Urging his horse forward, he rode through the undergrowth to a rusted metal gate. He dismounted, unlocked the gate, then led his gelding deeper into the stands of old growth timber and thick scrub oak.

  How had he been so stupid? So gullible?

  He, the wise one, the leader with all the answers. The gloom surrounded him and the moonlight faded beneath the canopy of branches.

  In his mind’s eye, he saw her face. Tanned skin, eyes as blue and seductive as a mountain lake, sculpted cheekbones and a small, pouty mouth that promised the most intimate of favors. Her hair was brown, but thick and dark, almost black, as it curled and feathered around her face.

  Jezebel.

  With that hot, supple body.

  He’d trusted her.

  She’d betrayed him.

  And now she would pay.

  It was just that simple.

  Near the graveyard, he wrapped the reins of his horse’s bridle to a pine tree’s low-hanging branch then took off at a quick jog.

  Sacrifice purges.

  Sacrifice teaches.

  Sacrifice is necessary.

  His own words echoed through his brain as he cut through the cemetery, his swift strides taking him past familiar, graying headstones that were nearly illegible, their names and dates and flowery scriptures slowly erased by time and now glazed with snow.

  A few he remembered:

  Abigail Monroe, Beloved Wife and Mother

  Nathaniel Robbins, forever with The Lord

  Pearl Edwina Jefferson, Darling Daughter

  Lily Carver, In Loving Memory

  There were others, of course. Sixteen graves still marked. People buried a hundred and fifty years earlier and long forgotten other than as notations in family Bibles or filled-in blanks on genealogy family trees.

  No one had placed a flower on the unkempt graves in nearly a hundred years, no one visited the tiny chapel since the pandemic had swept across the globe and the “Spanish Flu” had wiped out the preacher and his small flock in 1918.

  This decrepit church, hidden three miles from the campus, was a perfect cover.

  He slipped his key into the back entrance, then shoved on the old door and stepped into a room that was little more than a closet. Six-by-ten, it backed up to the main body of this small church. He used the rear room for storage as well as his own private entrance. Dark and drafty it offered little protection from the storm that was brewing. Graying timbers, boards planed by hand, and a roof of heavy shingles that was finally giving way to the forces of Mother Nature were all that was left. The steeple had collapsed years before and the church bell, rusted, its clapper long missing, was half-buried near the broken fence of the cemetery where it had become home to a family of ground squirrels. Brambles and berry vines covered most of the walls, snaking up to the church and offering thorny protection while helping to keep the hand-hewn boards upright.

  You have to give the order. You’re the leader. They all look up to you, depend upon you.

  That familiar, icy current of deception slid through his veins again as he remembered seeing something Lauren had written on her computer, what he’d thought was a paper about obedience. However as he’d passed her work station, she’d quickly changed her laptop’s screen. Later, when he’d gone back to her desk and coded in a password to check, she’d not only erased the document, but somehow wiped it clean from the hard drive in the buried files he knew how to access.

  What was she hiding?

  Unfortunately, he knew.

  And it burned him to his soul.

  Chapter Four

  She surreptitiously slipped the flash-drive into her bra and glanced at her computer. It killed her to destroy everything as she’d spent weeks collecting all the information that she’d masked so carefully behind the essays and reports and research information she’d used for her classes, but there was no other way to ensure her safety and the safety of the information she’d gathered. She had to erase the hard drive again.

  She glanced at the clock and wondered if she had enough time to execute her escape before he came for her.

  Eleven twenty-nine.

  Dear God in heaven! Even now, he was making plans; she was sure of it.

  Hurry, hurry, hurry!

  ¤ ¤ ¤

  Me
ntally berating himself, he yanked his cloak from a peg and tossed it over his head. He adjusted his hood as the deadbolt on the front doors clicked open.

  They were here.

  But no one said a word; the only noise was the shuffle of booted feet on the worn floorboards as they entered this private sanctuary in the middle of the night.

  Within seconds he glimpsed a bit of flickering light under the doorway. The signal that everyone had arrived. One coughed, another sneezed, but no one dared whisper a “God bless you,” or “Gesundheit.”

  They waited.

  He heard the creak of the front door of the chapel as it was pulled shut, then the soft thud and quick click of the newly-installed lock.

  Good.

  The sergeant at arms was doing her duty.

  Good girl.

  So they were waiting. Seated restlessly in the rotting pews, anticipating his appearance, clueless as to what he was about to ask of them. Of himself.

  He made his way to the pulpit. Usually, he was comfortable here, his fingers curling over the slanted edges of the lectern worn smooth by the heavy Bibles that had once been placed upon it.

  Despite the semi-darkness and the sound of the wind rattling the icy windowpanes as it keened through the surrounding hills, they, within the thin walls of the cabin, were rapt. Shivering from the cold and anticipation, they sat on three benches, like parishioners on hand-hewn pews, ready to be blessed with insight and purpose. As they did each Wednesday, at midnight, regardless of the storms that raged over these secluded mountains, they congregated. Swore their allegiance. Took up arms.

  They were strong. Intelligent. Burning with rebellion. On the brink of adulthood, they only had to be nurtured properly and they were ready to fight. Believers. Their eyes, dilated with the darkness, were focused on him, their ears tuned into his words as if he were a god.

  They were his chosen ones. His disciples.

  All were eager. Hanging on his every command.

  All willing to do whatever he asked.

  Without question.

  They would kill for him.

  And they would give up their own lives willingly.

  Except one.

  The female Judas.

  “Someone must be sacrificed.” He said the words softly so that they were barely audible over the keening wind that rattled the window panes and seemed to tear at the remaining shingles on the roof. Yet everyone heard them; they all understood his intent. He heard the scrape of nervous feet on the cold earth floor, felt the sizzle of anticipation in the air. “We have a traitor in our midst,” he said solemnly. “Someone who infiltrated our circle.” He paused for a second and caught the scent of fear, as if each was afraid he or she would be called out. “No. It’s not someone here.” He eyed each one of them. “You all know what to do, but let’s go over it one more time before we go back to the academy. We’ll take her out tonight. “

  “Her?” a girl whispered nervously.

  “Yes.” The leader’s voice was tight, but fortunately didn’t betray his emotion. “Lauren. Lauren Conway.”

  ¤ ¤ ¤

  The dorm was deathly quiet.

  Though officially lights were supposed to be out at ten, sometimes there were girls in the hallway or shower room, those unafraid of the repercussions of breaking the rules. Now, as it was closing onto midnight, there was no sound other than the soft rumble of the furnace as it forced warm air through the ducts. Backpack slung over one shoulder, Lauren opened her doorway noiselessly, poked her head into the corridor and saw no one.

  Good.

  She’d already set her plan into motion and she couldn’t afford any glitches.

  Pulse skyrocketing, she slipped into the corridor where only a red EXIT sign marked the stairway. Outside the window was the emergency fire escape.

  It’s now or never!

  Swallowing hard, she kept moving and silently prayed her plan would work.

  ¤ ¤ ¤

  From the top floor of the chapel, the leader watched and waited. Dressed in black, his walkie-talkie in his pocket, his night-vision binoculars raised to his eyes, he was physically ready; if not mentally so. Through the soaring glass wall of the building, he noticed a slice of moonlight pierce the dark night, giving him an unobstructed view of the women’s dorm.

  They were all in place but he would be able to watch her try to escape.

  Lauren.

  Beautiful seductress.

  His gut squeezed painfully.

  When did it happen? he wondered, his gaze sliding over the shadows as he searched for any sign of a disturbance. When had he lost himself in her? Not that it mattered now. He glanced at the digital readout of his watch as he spied the open window of the dormitory.

  A second later, a dark figure appeared on the fire escape.

  Damn!

  His pulse began to thunder.

  He’d thought she would come up with something a little more imaginative.

  Jaw tight, he observed her climb down the grating as a half moon cast its solitary glow over the rugged terrain and wide buildings of the campus.

  A deepening sense of outrage burned through him as he watched her scurrying through the deepening night, avoiding the grove of trees and gazebo flickering with tiny lights.

  His gloved fingers clenched over the binoculars.

  How close she’d come to out-witting him.

  Isn’t that what attracted you in the first place?

  He remembered reading her application for admittance, studying her essay, staring at the picture that had been enclosed. She’d wanted to come here.

  She’d gotten to him at his first glimpse. Her intelligent eyes had smoldered with rebellion, her mouth had been curved into a disturbed pout and there had been something about her expression, in the supposedly candid shot, that had screamed disobedience. And more. So much more. Her image had taken his breath away.

  That which had intrigued him most about her, had proved the most deadly.

  But there was no time for recriminations now.

  She was on the move, her slim, dark shadow dashing across the moon-washed open spaces, only to stop and hide in the deeper shadows. Across the campus lawns, avoiding the paths, keeping to the night-shadows of the solitary trees and tall buildings, she skirted the chapel and administration building before heading due west. Away from the road leading to the outside world.

  The muscles of his jaw tightened as he followed her movements. She stopped again, at the corner of the cafeteria where she waited.

  Odd.

  Was she second-guessing her break for freedom?

  He doubted it, but another painful thought sliced through him. What if she were meeting someone? Another lover. Jealousy burned hot through his blood.

  Like a criminal, she skulked along the side of the stone and cedar building housing the cafeteria and gym. Glancing over her shoulder, she hesitated but a second before running with the grace and agility of the athlete she was across an open space, past the flagpole with its chain clanging in the stiff wintry breeze, and between the administration building and chapel.

  So near!

  He followed her movements as she ran along the east wall of the admin building. When she reached the back portico, she veered at a ninety-degree angle toward the buildings housing the livestock. A round-about path that he concluded was just to ensure that she wasn’t being followed. If found out, she could make up some lame excuse and probably had already formed one.

  Quickly she glanced over her shoulder once more.

  He held his breath.

  Then, as if assured she wasn’t being followed, she took off again. At a dead sprint. This time she headed directly toward the stable.

  Of course.

  The horses.

  Foolish girl.

  Finally, she’d made a mistake.

  And it would cost her.

  Smiling at her blunder, he anticipated her capture and clicked on his walkie-talkie.

  “She’s heading west,” he
said tightly.

  “I see her,” was the whispered reply.

  “Intercept her.”

  “And then?”

  “You know what to do.”

  He clicked off.

  Such a predictable move.

  And so unlike her.

  Heart thudding, he squinted into the darkness. Something about the way she ran… her gait, just wasn’t quite right.

  Or was it all a trick of the shifting moonlight? The thin veil of clouds clouding his vision?

  Unsure he retraced what he’d just seen as he headed for the stairs. He knew he’d just watched her attempt to escape.

  Still… an icy niggle of fear scraped down his spine.

  Fuck!

  This is wrong!

  Something’s off!

  All wasn’t lost.

  Yet.

  His team was in position, five of his most trusted soldiers, circling her as she sped toward stable. He eased away from the window, then ran to the back stairs of the chapel.

  Really? The front entrance?

  Not far from a large security light pole where a shimmering blue haze illuminated the surrounding grounds?

  Why not try the back door?

  Or climb the fence?

  Or jimmy open a window… away from security cameras?

  In a second, he felt as if he’d been sucker-punched.

  Lauren was far too smart for this.

  “Son of a bitch,” he whispered aloud as he sped down three flights of steps. He clicked on the walkie and ordered, “Stand down.”

  “Too late.” The answering voice sounded metallic over the static. “She’s spotted us.”

  “Shit!”

  He was outside of the chapel in an instant, running, his long strides cutting across the grounds as he headed straight for the stables. The night was cold. Brittle. Burning through his airway and lungs.

  “What do you want us to do?” the tinny voice asked from the walkie as the leader passed by a solitary madrona tree.

  “Stay with the plan. Detain her. I’m on my way.”

  “Roger that.”

  He dashed around a garage and down the gravel road to the stables where, in front of the closed doors, his followers had confronted her. He reached the stables just as he heard one of his team members order harshly, “Don’t move!” Visible in the lamplight, weapon drawn, a ski mask covering his face, the team member hissed, “Stop right there!”