The Life and Death of Lauren Conway (Mercy 2)

But it was a lie.

Chapter Three

Lauren had to be sacrificed.

There was no other option.

The leader rode through the wintry forest, his mount’s hooves muffled by the snow, the bitter wind slapping his face. He’d considered all alternatives and had come up with only one answer: Lauren had to die.

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.