The Life and Death of Lauren Conway (Mercy 2)

Though the school was only accessible by air or by one, isolated, gated road, the river ran freely through the mountains. On one of the nature hikes, she’d looked down from a rocky ridge and seen not only the snake-like path of the Blue Rock River as it wound its way through the forest, but also the glimpse of a bridge some two miles to the south.

It wouldn’t be easy.

The hike would be arduous and slow-going, but once she crossed the bridge she intended to keep close to the network of logging roads that cut through these forested acres. Eventually, if she headed steadily downhill, following the river, she would find civilization and safety.

Unless he catches up to you.

Don’t even think that way.

No negative thoughts. Remember?

Fueled by fear, she pressed on quietly, disturbing nothing, moving through the narrow canyons. Finally, she felt a breath of fresh air. A few steps further and she heard the sound of water rushing through the canyons.

Her heart thudded in anticipation.

For the first time she allowed herself the luxury of thinking she w

ould make it!

The breeze was colder, faster, blowing her hair away from her face. She slid through a final crack in the stone wall and eased onto a narrow outside ledge. Far below, discernible only because of pale moonlight on the snowy banks, a black ribbon of water sliced furiously through the ravine.

Lauren slowly let out her breath. She only had to inch across the ledge, less than twenty feet to another crack in the sheer wall of stone. Once on the far side of this narrow shelf, she would be able to slide through the opening and connect with a path that serpentined through the forest to the narrow canyon floor.

But one misstep on the ledge and she’d fall.

Don’t go there–not for a second.

She stepped onto the ledge.

One foot, then the other. Hugging the wall, easing sideways, she concentrated on the short distance.

Another step. And another.

Only fifteen feet and you’ll reach the forest! You can do this, Lauren, you can. Piece of damned cake!

The coyote howled plaintively. He was closer now, his cry muting the sound of her own rapid heartbeat and the dull roar of the river knifing through these bleak hills.

Another step.

Less than twelve feet now.

One more.

You’ve got to be halfway! Only ten more feet—

Scrrraaaape!

The noise was out of place.

Your imagination! Keep going!

One more step.

Thud! Thud-thud! Thud! Thud-thud!

Her heart nearly stopped.

Footsteps?