The Professor Page 22

“What?”

  “Don’t go getting all existential crisis on me, Nicole.”

  “I’m not,” I snapped.

  “Good, because if you thought that first entry was difficult to get through, I know for a fact that the next one is really going to piss you off.”

  I moved the cursor to hover over the adjacent file, but something caused me to hesitate in clicking it. Could I handle whatever was in my mother’s next entry?

  “Do you want me to just tell you what happened?” asked Lauren in a soft voice. “That way, you don’t have to read it.”

  I shook my head and determinedly clicked on the file. “I need to read it for myself.”

  As soon as the file loaded, I knew that Lauren hadn’t been exaggerating. The photocopied journal page looked way worse for wear than the previous ones. One corner was wrinkled, as though Natasha had crumpled it in her fist before attempting to smooth it out again. Her handwriting was barely legible. It looked as though she had dashed off the words in an extreme hurry. Furthermore, the ink ran in several places where large splotches, the result of fallen tears, marred the page. The first two words on the page tied a tight knot around my heart.

  Anthony’s dead.

  It’s nearly midnight. I’m safe, or as safe as I can get. I made it to my mother’s house, miles away from Waverly. But I’m numb inside. I can’t feel anything. Crying, it seems, is the only thing that I can do at the moment. And write. Writing, for some reason, is cathartic, but it won’t bring him back.

  Everything was going according to plan. Anthony and I split up to pack our things. It was a mistake. We should have just dropped everything and left as soon as possible. In the time it took to shove my clothes into a suitcase, Catherine fucking Lockwood murdered Anthony.

  They cut the brakes on his car. And then the bastards took polaroid pictures of Anthony, lying there in the wreck, and left them outside of my dorm room door. Oh, and a note, which I’ve taped below, because one day, I swear to God, it will serve as damn good evidence for when I put Catherine Lockwood behind bars.

  I sniffled as I scrolled down to read the note that BRS had left for my mother. Lauren looked quietly on, nibbling her muffin in respectful silence as I read about my father’s organized demise. The note bore a remarkable resemblance to the one I had received from the Raptors myself, printed on thick parchment and embossed with the society’s golden seal.

  Dearest Natasha,

  We regret to inform you that, due to your misbehavior and inability to cooperate, we were forced to take drastic measures. You will find attached the outcome of our exploits. Take note, the Black Raptor Society will not stand for treachery. Anthony Costello has been erased from our history, your life, and this earth itself. Do not attempt to reach the police. If you wish to survive the evening, leave the evidence of Raptor business that you currently possess in the Rapere Wing of the library at midnight tonight. Should you oblige, you may exit Waverly University unharmed as you planned to do previously. Should you refuse, you leave the society no choice but to arrange for your convenient disposal as well. Choose wisely.

  Our sincerest apologies,

  BRS

  I visibly shook with rage as I finished reading the letter from BRS. I could practically imagine Catherine Flynn sitting down to write it, smugly including the photographs of my father’s death, knowing that the combination would completely dismantle my mother. What kind of sociopath was so obsessed with her own ego that she would kill a man she once claimed to love and threaten the life of a pregnant woman? Beside me, Lauren perched on the armrest of my chair and laid a hand over my own trembling fingers as I read the brief closing of my mother’s entry.

  My mother asked me if I wanted to keep Anthony’s baby. After all of this, I considered saying no. But why should I let the Raptors take every good thing away from me? This baby is a good thing. He or she belongs to me, to Anthony, and deserves to grow up in an uncomplicated world. That’s why I’m still leaving. My mother keeps asking why I can’t just finish my degree. After all, graduation is only a month away. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know about Anthony yet or about the Raptors. I can’t even tell her. I’ve already put her in enough danger just by coming here. I still have the security footage. There’s no way in hell I would ever hand it over. But I can’t keep it with me. I’m leaving tomorrow before the Raptors can figure out where I’ve gone. They can all go to hell. I have nothing left to lose. The most important thing to me now is keeping this baby safe.

  “I am going to murder Catherine Flynn.”

  Lauren made a small noise of disbelief. “I’m not sure of the efficacy of that plan, Nicole. Just look at what happened to your mother.”

  I glared at Lauren. She held her hands up in a gesture of defeat.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she ordered. “I offered to summarize it for you. Besides, now is not the time to get emotional. Excess emotion leads to poor strategic choices. It’s already ten o’clock. We have two hours if we want to offer this trade to Flynn. Did you get the locket?”

  I lifted the necklace from where it lay beneath my shirt and dangled the locket for Lauren to see. “I want to meet Flynn,” I said as Lauren inspected the piece of jewelry. “In person. Get her to meet me in person.”

  “And if we can actually get Flynn to show up, what do you want to do with her?”

  I tucked the necklace away again. “I have a plan.”

  I left it to Lauren to contact Catherine Flynn. She had still been playing the role of a double agent, feeding the Raptors false information on my whereabouts. It was why I had managed to go the whole day without being discovered by the Raptors. It was easy to forget how deeply Lauren was connected with the society. It could’ve been a detriment to our purpose, but fortunately this time, Lauren’s contact with the Raptors worked to our advantage. In a matter of minutes, Lauren had arranged a time and a place to meet Flynn. I listened in on the phone call, shocked to hear Flynn agree to meet me without protest, and had to remind myself again of Lauren’s notoriety with the society.

  I waited, alone and shivering, in the shadowy parking lot of an abandoned building in the next county over. We had chosen the location for two reasons. One: it was wide, empty space. When Flynn arrived, there would be nowhere for Donovan or her other bodyguards to hide. And two: there was a police station mere blocks away. Even better, this particular force was outside Waverly’s perimeter. The local cops at the university may have been corrupted by the Raptors, but the likeliness that the society’s reach extended this far was quite low. At least, I sure as hell hoped it was.

  Before I arrived at the meeting place, Lauren had fitted me with a microphone. The battery pack was squished uncomfortably against my hip in the waistband of my jeans, and the wire threaded all the way up my shirt to the collar of my jacket. The plan was to lead the discussion to Flynn’s murders. It wouldn’t be that much of a challenge. In my experience, Flynn loved to boast about her conquests. If everything went smoothly, we could catch her confession on tape and report her to the police.

  My pulse quickened as the sound of an engine reached my ears. A black SUV bounced into the parking lot. I squinted as the headlights swung past me, and the driver guided the vehicle to a stop, but when the engine cut off and two figures emerged from either side of the car, I groaned out loud.

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked, not bothering to keep my voice down. “I asked to meet Flynn, not you morons.”

  Donovan Davenport smirked as he shut the car door and waltzed toward me. Behind him, another BRS member followed. He was roughly the same height as Donovan, his floppy brown hair neatly combed away from his face. Like all respectful Raptors, they were exceedingly overdressed. Both wore pressed collared shirts, black slacks, and long overcoats as though they were on their way to a night at the opera rather than a covert discussion with the girlfriend of a man they planned to kill.

  “Nicole, may I introduce my associate?” Donovan gestured to the other Raptor. “This is Log
an Wickes. We’ve had the pleasure of keeping an eye on your oh-so-charming boyfriend for most of the day.”

  “Where’s Flynn?” I demanded, ignoring Donovan’s obvious attempt to emotionally bait me. If Catherine didn’t show, our plan was toast. “She agreed to meet me in person, though at this point, I should no longer be surprised if a Raptor isn’t a man or woman of their word.”

  “The Morrigan is currently preoccupied,” replied Donovan. “She’s off deciding the best way to dispose of Officer McAllen’s body.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You wouldn’t have killed him yet.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because I have something that Flynn wants.”

  “Ah, yes, the locket,” said Donovan. “I have to admit, the Morrigan was ecstatic to know that not only were you aware of the key’s existence, but you also had it in your possession. If only you had come forward a little earlier, perhaps you could have saved Officer McAllen from several hardships.”

  “How’s your buddy?” I asked in a light tone. “The one that tried to accost me at my apartment not so long ago?”

  “Ugly,” answered Wickes unexpectedly. So far, he had done nothing but loom in the background, but I knew why he was there. In the past, I’d presented a unique challenge for the Raptors. Multiple times, I had escaped from their possession no worse for wear, but when it was two monstrous fraternity boys against one petite college dropout, the odds were slightly more skewed against me.

  “Yeah, your boyfriend fucked Hastings’s nose up pretty badly,” added Donovan, “but the mace really took it to another level.” He whistled and shook his head at Hastings’s bad luck, but otherwise seemed unconcerned.

  “Wes was the one who broke his nose?” I asked, pleased that Wes had at least done a little damage to the Raptors’ pride.

  “Don’t look so excited,” warned Donovan. “Hastings got his revenge. But enough about your boyfriend.” He took a cell phone from his pocket and waggled it in front of me. “The Morrigan awaits your call.”

  I scowled as Donovan dialed and handed the phone to me. I pressed it to my ear, contemplating my options. If there was still a chance that I could get Wes back in exchange for the locket, then so be it. Time was up. It was nearly midnight.

  “Miss Costello,” said Flynn’s voice in my ear.

  “What the hell, Flynn?” I growled. “Lauren Lockwood told me that she had arranged a face-to-face meeting with you, not your inefficient meatheads.”

  Wickes frowned at the insult, but Donovan only rolled his eyes.

  “You could not have possibly thought that I would be so stupid as to show up in a darkened alleyway to meet you alone,” said Flynn with a chuckle. “My dear, that is not how the Raptors conduct official business.”

  “Oh, I know how Raptors conduct official business,” I spat, turning away from Donovan and Wickes. If my gaze lingered on either one of them for too long, I would certainly lose my cool. “It seems you in particular happen to favor murder as a business technique.”

  There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line before Flynn responded. “Nicole, we have been through this before. O’Connor’s death was a complete accident—”

  “I’m not talking about O’Connor, you bitch.” The epithet made its way out of my mouth before I could help it. “I’m talking about my father.”

  Flynn’s voice hardened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I know what you did to him,” I went on, ignoring Donovan and Wickes as they lurked behind me. “How could you murder a good man that you claimed to love? Were you that much of a woman scorned?”

  “Miss Costello, I can assure you—”

  “Did it hurt?” I interrupted, my blood boiling. “When my father told you that he was finished with the Raptors? Did it break your heart to know that he didn’t love the game as much as you did? Were you crushed when you saw him with my mother? When you realized that he would never love you as much as he loved her?”

  “I highly suggest—”

  “I highly suggest that you shut up and listen,” I hissed into the phone. “I am done playing games with the Black Raptor Society, especially with a woman whose entire motivation in life stems from a breakup with her college boyfriend. My God, woman, let it go. Who holds a grudge for that long anyway? You married someone else! Does your husband know how obsessed you are with a man that you murdered?”

  Flynn snapped, which was what I’d been waiting for. “If I couldn’t have Anthony, then your lowbrow tramp of a mother certainly didn’t deserve him. If Anthony hadn’t left me for her, I wouldn’t have to grovel to my brother every time I wanted something from the society—”

  “Oh, so not only were you jealous about the fact that my father fell in love with someone who wasn’t psychologically unhinged, you were also bitter about the fact that good ol’ Orson Lockwood pulled ahead of you while you were at school together?”

  “I am not unhinged.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” I said. I glanced at Wickes and Donovan to make sure they weren’t planning to move in on me. “Tell me, after you murdered my father and forced my mother to abandon her degree and flee campus, how did you manage to locate the trunk she hid the tapes in? I understand it’s currently in your possession.”

  “Your mother was too stupid to hide the footage well,” said Flynn, and I detected a note of triumph in her tone. “As if we wouldn’t check Anthony’s childhood bedroom for it. We’ve had it for years.”

  “But you could never open it.”

  “No, your mother’s inexplicable death prevented us from ever locating the key,” said Flynn in a sharp voice. “Why do you think I engineered your acceptance at Waverly, Nicole?”

  “You… what?”

  “That’s right,” crooned Flynn through the phone. “Did you think you were exceptional enough to earn a place at Waverly on your own? Darling, you are just as insignificant as your dearly departed mother.”

  “I—”

  “When will you realize,” began Flynn, “that every event from the time your parents set foot on this campus to now has been arranged in favor of the Black Raptor Society? You did not see your father’s name in our charter when you so boldly sullied our headquarters with your presence because I personally saw to it that he be erased from BRS history for his treachery. We will not have such blights associated with our organization. You, Miss Costello, are next on my list to be expunged, but I’m offering you one last out. Hand the locket over to Donovan. Leave Waverly University. Speak to no one of the Black Raptor Society.”

  “And what about Wes?” I demanded.

  “By my watch, it’s seven minutes after twelve,” said Flynn with a chuckle. “It’s past midnight, Cinderella. You failed to meet the demands Donovan laid out for you earlier today. I am under no obligation to release Mr. McAllen to you.”

  My teeth clenched together at such an enormous pressure that a tendon in my jaw popped. “Then good luck getting the locket. I don’t care how many goons you sent out here to collect it from me. You can pry it off my dead body.”

  “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Donovan and Wickes lunge toward me. I chucked the phone across the parking lot, vaulted over a fallen chain-link fence at the edge of the property, and hauled ass in the direction of the police station. This time, I had swapped Lauren’s cumbersome trench coat for her insulated Waverly University crew team pullover. Unhindered, I flew down the street. Donovan and Wickes had followed on foot, the flat soles of their expensive Italian loafers smacking loudly against the pavement as they hustled to catch up.

  Up ahead, the lights of the police station swam into view. I slowed my pace ever so slightly. A backup plan formulated itself in my mind, but if it was going to work, I needed to calm down and get ahold of my nerves.

  As I approached the station, I glanced behind me to make sure that Donovan and Wickes were still following then ducked around the backside of the building
. When I heard their shoes disturb the gravel of the parking lot, I pretended to trip over my own feet. I sprawled to the ground in what I hoped was a convincing fall. The gravel tore at my palms, and I groaned in pain, but I’d landed mere feet from the police station’s back door. Donovan skidded to a stop beside me, reached down, and hauled me to my feet.

  “HELP!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. Wickes leapt forward, clapping a hand over my mouth, but I bit down on his fingers. “HELP ME, PLEASE!”

  “Shut up, you bitch,” hissed Donovan as he dragged me away from the door to the police station.

  As we backed into the shadows of the nearby trees, I bucked my legs wildly, trying to stop Wickes from grabbing my feet. If both of them got ahold of me, there was no way I’d make it out of here alive. I twisted out of Donovan’s grip, sidestepped Wickes, and attempted to reach the station’s door again. Halfway across the gravel lot, Wickes tackled me from behind. I yelled out as we tumbled to the ground. Donovan approached from the side, but I paid him no attention, tussling with Wickes instead. In an underhanded move, I shoved my knee up into Wickes’s groin. He let out a loud grunt. I scrambled out of his reach to find Donovan waiting for me. Once again, he pulled me to my feet, but this time, he wrapped his hands around my throat.

  “Be quiet,” he whispered in a dangerous voice.

  I tried to draw in a breath, but Donovan’s fingers were tight against my windpipe. My vision began to blacken at the edges. This was it. Plan A had failed. Plan B was in the process of failing. Wes would die at the mercy of Catherine Flynn.

  “Davenport, you’re killing her,” said Wickes, recovering from my blow to his important bits.

  “I don’t give a damn,” snarled Donovan, and his hands clenched tighter.

  Suddenly, the door to the police station ricocheted open. A throng of officers poured out from inside, surrounding Donovan and me. Immediately, Donovan released my throat, and I collapsed to the rough ground, unable to support myself. I drew in a desperate gasp of air as the blood rushed back to my head. Vaguely aware of the commotion around me, I saw Wickes’s leather shoes disappear around the far corner of the building. One observant officer ran after him, but the others were too preoccupied with subduing Donovan to notice Wickes’s escape. It took four men to pin Donovan down, his cheek pressed to the gravel as they handcuffed his hands behind his back. As they lifted him up and hauled him into the station, one of the other police officers knelt down to my level.