The Life and Death of Lauren Conway (Mercy 2)

Lauren had more important things to think about. But she couldn’t let on that she was worried; she had to play the game and allow whoever was on the other side of that hidden camera to think nothing was out of the ordinary.

Acting as if she hadn’t a care in the world, she slid onto her desk chair, picked up her lit book with its dog-eared page of Beowulf and placing one heel on her bed, crossin

g her legs and settled in to study. Or at least pretended to for the next forty-five minutes. She didn’t care about Grendel dying in agony or how she was supposed to write an essay on the monster’s role in the epic poem. Not tonight, not while unseen eyes were noiselessly observing her every move. Aware of the hidden camera, she flipped the pages, but didn’t read a word. She couldn’t. Not when she thought back to chemistry class and her sudden bit of insight that she was a target. His target.

What a fool she’d been.

Hoping to block the camera’s view with her body, she closed her textbook with one hand and opened the bottom drawer of her desk with the other. As she pulled out a box of markers, she let her fingers scrape the bottom of the drawer above, knocking down the tiny flash drive she’d stashed there while she had been in the bathroom showering earlier.

Thank God it was still there!

Usually, she kept the drive with her at all times, sometimes tucked into the ripped seam of her bra, other times in an empty shampoo bottle, still others stashed in an empty insertion tube for a tampon, but she hadn’t wanted to take a chance that the moisture in the shower room would destroy it tonight, nor that she might be searched before the prayer meeting began. In the past, there had been more than one student pulled out of the group and marched to the medical facilities for a quick drug test or strip search or whatever from that beast Nurse Ayres.

Lauren shuddered just thinking of the woman.

A few years north of thirty, Jordan Ayres stood nearly six feet tall and had the body type to suggest she could go toe-to-toe with the reigning cage fighting champion. Though athletic and strong, Lauren didn’t want to mess with her, or lose the jump-drive.

Now, Lauren’s fingers curled protectively over the drive. The information she’d surreptitiously and meticulously gathered would bring this institution to its knees and she couldn’t chance losing it. Carefully, she slid the jump drive into the pocket of her notebook. From there, if she had to, she’d transfer it.

Then, stretching, she leaned over the top of her desk to the solitary window of her dorm room and peeked out the blinds. All the while she tried to convince herself that she was imagining things, that her existence, her very life wasn’t in jeopardy.

“Don’t freak out. Everything’s okay. It’s O-kay,” she whispered to herself.

But she didn’t believe a word of it.

She knew. Deep in the darkest regions of her brain, the primeval part that sensed imminent danger, alarm bells were clanging wildly. She needed to run. Get away. As fast as she could from this depraved, dark institution shrouded in self righteousness and secrecy. The dorm was quiet. Aside from the hum of the furnace, she heard nothing but her own unsteady breathing. No conversation nor footsteps in the hallway outside her locked door. Locked! How insane was that? She couldn’t guess how many people had master keys to all the “private” rooms? Two? Six? A dozen? It didn’t matter; the point was that there was no privacy at Blue Rock. Here, a new student was stripped bare-–literally and figuratively.

She closed her eyes for a second. Listened to the rapid-fire beat of her heart. Calm down, she told herself, letting go of the blinds and hearing them rattle back into position.

She realized, because of the knowledge she’d gained, the proof of what this school of horrors really was, she was a target. She would have to pay. He would see to it. Personally. Unless she escaped.

The back of her mouth was desert dry at the thought of his wrath. His need to run her to the ground would be all-consuming. But if he caught her… She bit her lip then let out her breath slowly. She had no doubt he would kill her.

Because she’d been stupid enough to tease him, to taunt him, to seduce him… and it had all backfired. Oh, God, how it had backfired.

How could she have let this happen? How had she let her guard down?

Her heart twisted when she conjured up his image: Tall and athletic. Wide shoulders, slim hips. All male. Corded muscles that moved fluidly as he walked, stretching faded denim. But it had been his face that had gotten to her. Sweet Jesus, that face with his twice-broken nose, thick eyebrows, square jaw and hot, hot eyes.

Her fingers curled into fists of frustration. I love you slid through her mind, but she steadfastly pushed it aside. She did not love him. Never had. She just had to remind herself of that very important fact.

His gaze alone could send shivers down her spine.

From fear?

Or desire?

“Both,” she whispered, fighting the terror that was strangling her. It was a losing battle and it showed. Her hand, as she adjusted the blinds was trembling.

Stop it Lauren! Get a grip! Her fear really pissed her off. She hated being weak. Worse yet, she despised being afraid.

Though she’d spent the better part of the day convincing herself that she was safe, it wasn’t working. Not after catching the look he’d cast her way in chemistry class this morning. Oh, he’d thought she hadn’t seen his quiet, seething rage, masked as it was, but a tiny tic over his eyebrow had clued her in. Big time. She hadn’t spent the last six weeks trying to gain his notice without being able to read the smallest flicker of emotion on his face.

Her insides turned to water.

How would he do it? With his bare hands, his face close to hers, his breath waving over her as he slowly strangled her? Or would it be while they were lying together in his bed, still twined in the sheets and drenched in sweat, their hearts beating in erratic tandem as afterglow began to settle. Was it possible for him to gather the pillow from beneath his head and force it over her face to suffocate her? Or could he possibly be so infuriated, so coldly enraged with her that he would actually take a knife to her throat and watch as her lifeblood seeped out and stained his sheets. Would her last vision would be of him, his pupils dilating in ecstacy as he ended her life?

“For the love of God, don’t go there,” she reprimanded, but felt a blush climb steadily up her neck. Usually, she wasn’t the kind of girl to be caught up in some kind of sick fantasy like this. She found no romance in unrequited love, no sexual turn-on in brutality, no tempting or titillating seduction in being with a man who could easily kill her.