Chapter 33
To Do:
- Pack disguise(s) and murder binder
- Pay cell phone bill
“You’resure we can get a custom safe in time? I can’t believe he wants to do this proposal in just two weeks. It’ll take a miracle for us to get everything done.” Claire gathered her curly hair into a tight bun at the base of her neck. She pulled a brunette wig from her passenger seat and yanked it onto her head.
“Ooh, you look hot,” Mindy said. They were video chatting from Claire’s spot in the Venor parking lot. She was headed into the lion’s den to meet with the professor. “And yes, I already called them while you were driving. They’ll move us to the front of the line.”
“You’re a godsend, Min.” Claire slid on an oversized pair of sunglasses and added a mauve lipstick—a shade she would never normally wear. It made her complexion look like a beached tilapia.
“That’s what you pay me for. Call me when you’re done. I’m dying to know what this mystery mark is.”
“Okay. Remember, if I go missing, this is what I was last wearing,” Claire said, panning the camera over her outfit—a Venor University tank top and leggings. “Call you later.” She ended the call and took one last look in her rearview mirror. She didn’t look like herself. Hopefully, if the press was hanging around somewhere, they wouldn’t recognize her either. And if her stalkers really were in ESA, Venor was probably the last place they’d expect her to show up.
Her alma mater looked and smelled exactly as she had remembered it. Claire rubbed one hand over a cast iron bell next to the art building. The bell was worn where decades of students had rubbed it for good luck. She walked to the quad, bending down to touch the vibrant flowers in the school colors—blue and gold. She, Nicole, and Mindy had laid out here for hours, studying for exams and tanning. The bush that Nicole had thrown up in after one particularly crazy kegger looked no worse for the wear.
She ached to be back in those crappy dorm rooms, where her greatest worry was getting an A from a particularly annoying sociology professor.
Claire turned and took a picture of the quad sprawled out in front of her, sending it to the girls with a simple caption: “Home.”
Swallowing her nostalgia, she pointed herself west and headed for the academic center and Professor Burke’s office. A handful of students were in the library, probably studying for their summer session classes.
They had changed the carpet in the business classrooms. The desks were still the same, graffitied with profanity and drawings of boobs. She went down another hallway, passing rows and rows of offices for various faculty. Venor was a small liberal arts school, so most of the non-STEM offices were crowded together. She knew the path well from chasing down her business professors. She found Professor Burke’s door and knocked tentatively.
“Come in,” a dreamy voice called.
Claire opened the door hesitantly, poking her head in before fully committing. “Professor Burke?”
“Yes, dear, can I help you?” An owlish-looking woman sat in a chair, sipping a steaming cup of tea. Her blue eyes were comically large and set close together, but the rest of her was tiny, almost frail-looking. It was hard to get a good look at her because her office was so dark that Claire had to remove her sunglasses. The window was covered by a heavy drape, and a gauzy scarf shrouded her lamp. Was that a fire hazard?
Claire entered slowly, wringing her hands. How in the hell was she going to broach this subject?
“Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me, professor. I’m a Venor alum. I was hoping you could help me with something. It’s kind of…confidential,” she said hesitantly.
“Oh my, we don’t get to help in a lot of confidential situations in the archaeology world,” Professor Burke said, laughing and setting her teacup down on a saucer. “Most of the people we concern ourselves with have been dead for centuries. Please, call me Sharon. What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if you could tell me something about a symbol.”
The professor leaned forward in her chair, clearly excited at the prospect. “What kind of symbol, dear?”
Claire pulled a glossy 4x6 photo out of her purse and slid it across her desk. She had grown tired of yanking her bra strap every time someone wanted a look at her mark. Plus, it was starting to heal and lose some of its definition.
Professor Burke reached into her desk drawer and withdrew a magnifying glass, making her eyes even larger. She peered at the photo for several seconds. Suddenly, she burst out laughing.
“Oh, dear, you really had me going there for a moment. Who put you up to this, Professor Hummel?”
“What do you mean?” Claire asked.
“Come, now. You can stop pretending.”
“I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The figure in this picture is from ancient Greece. It’s rather crudely drawn, but the resemblance is undeniable.”
“Okay,” Claire said slowly. “So, what is it?”
“This is the symbol for the Greek god Priapus.”
“Priapus.” Claire repeated. Why did that sound familiar?
“Yes. He was a fertility god. Protector of male genitalia and livestock, among other things.”
Oh. Priapus, like priapism. Jason had once gone to the emergency room with a priapism that had lasted six hours. Served him right.
“You’re sure about the symbol?”
“It’s unmistakable. I have a vase at home with the same insignia.”
“Thank you for your help, Professor Burke.” Claire shook the professor’s hand and hurried back into the hallway. She closed the door and leaned against it. The professor was still chuckling behind the door. Of course her almost-killer carved a symbol for a protector of dicks into her skin permanently. Why not?
She clenched her fists. What was she going to do with this new information? She needed some retail therapy, stat. The student store had a modest makeup selection. Maybe switching out this dreary mauve lipstick would provide clarity.
She trotted down the four flights of stairs to the lobby and pushed open the doors to the courtyard. It really was a beautiful day. She desperately wanted to pull her phone out and check her email, but Sawyer’s incessant stream of personal safety instructions echoed in her mind. She set off toward the student store.
Was it her imagination, or were those footsteps behind her? Students milled here and there, but campus population during a summer session was minuscule compared to a regular semester—maybe two hundred students max. The footsteps probably just belonged to someone heading to their dorm, but hair stood up on her arms. She stopped in her tracks and dug through her purse. Footsteps behind her continued for an extra second. Her stomach clenched. Someone was definitely following her. But how had they recognized her with the disguise? Her whole body tensed. What would Sawyer do?
She pulled earbuds out and popped them in but didn’t turn on any music. Hopefully, her mysterious stalker would think she was totally unaware of her surroundings. She pulled her phone out of her purse and pretended to check her messages while walking. She activated her front-facing camera and zoomed in behind her. There was definitely a man in a camo shirt behind her, maybe forty yards away. He was following cautiously, ducking behind trees and lampposts. He was shorter, maybe 5’8”, but jacked. His bald head shone in the afternoon sun.
Her heart thudded in her chest. Thank goodness Rosie was at the studio with Nicole today. Claire took several photos as she passed the science building, but they were grainy and poor quality. She sent them off to Mindy and Nicole before tucking her phone in her bra and pulling Taser #4 from her purse. She slid it into the side pocket of her leggings. If this idiot was toting a chloroform rag, she was going to make him choke on it.
She sped up as she approached the campus store. But the store wasn’t safe—there was only one exit. She walked straight past it and rounded the corner of campus. Where could she go? She racked her brain as she walked. The man was still behind her, keeping his distance but following intently. Should she make a break for it?
As she rounded an upperclassmen dormitory, she spotted it. The communications building. Claire had written for the student newspaper in that building, and the office had a keypad. What were the odds that they had changed the lock combination? It might be her best shot.
She glanced behind her. The man had yet to round the corner. He disappeared behind a clump of bushes, and she took her shot. She set off in a dead sprint, pounding the pavement. She was so close. A low-hanging branch slashed at her cheek and ripped her wig from her head. Bobby pins hit the sidewalk with a series of metallic tinkles. She winced but kept running.
She slammed against the doors to the building, pushing them open with so much force that they nearly banged off the wall. The newspaper office was down the hallway on the right. She sprinted down it and slid to a stop outside the door.
Oh god, were those heavy footsteps approaching the building? She stabbed the last combination she remembered into the keypad. 5926. There was a beep, and the light flashed green. She wrenched the door open and closed it behind her just as the doors to the building crashed open. The lock clicked loudly. Had he heard it? Was he coming this way? She leaned against the wall, trying to quiet her breath. Her heart was beating out of her chest, and her legs might as well have been an elaborate, fleshy Jell-O mold.
In the hallway, there was a frustrated grunt, and something shattered. Footsteps came down her hallway. Door handles rattled. Her vision pulsed with her heartbeat. Was this going to be how she died? Next to an eight-year-old PC and a crudely drawn cartoon of the school mascot making a political speech? She hadn’t had time to forgive Luke. Or have dinner with her deadbeat dad. And neither Nicole nor Mindy was really ready for the responsibility of adopting Rosie. This couldn’t be the end. She pulled the stun gun from her leggings and held it at chest height.
“Hey, it’s me,” a gruff voice said.
Oh shit, was he talking to her?
“I lost her,” the voice continued.
Claire froze. Who was he talking to?
There was silence for a few seconds, and the man sighed. His voice was young, masculine, angry. “I know, I know. I didn’t expect her to show up on campus. No, I don’t know what she was doing here.”
Her pulse raced. Claire slowly approached the door, ear turned toward the wood.
“It’s getting harder. She has a cop tailing her sometimes again. No sign of the boyfriend at least, but lately she’s been hanging around with some huge dude. He’s in private security. That’s not going to make the eradicators happy.”
Eradicators?Her heart fell into her butt. What in the actual hell was an eradicator? She pressed her ear against the crack in the door.
The voice was growing fainter. The doors to the building creaked when they swung open. Shit. She was going to lose him. This had to be one of the people who was stalking her. She unlocked the newspaper office door as quietly as possible and peeked into the hall. Her hands shook as she grasped her weapons. Was he lulling her into a false sense of security? Would the Taser be enough to bring down the giant bowling ball of a man?
Shit. A shadow was moving away from the building. There was no telling what kind of intelligence she was missing out on. She had no choice. She had to follow him.
Claire crept down the hallway, low to the ground like a cat. She approached the front doors of the communication building and paused. For a member of a secret society, he sure wasn’t trying to keep his voice down.
She inched the doors open just wide enough for her to leave and stepped out into the sunshine. She peeked around a large bush and glanced down the sidewalk. The man was maybe ten yards in front of her, wearing a camouflage T-shirt and cargo shorts. Her brunette wig dangled from one meaty fist.
Shit. If he turned around, she was screwed. She dug through her purse with one hand and pulled out a red wig and a hot pink T-shirt. She threw the shirt on over her tank top and yanked the wig onto her head. Thank god she had kept a secondary disguise just in case.
His voice was quieter. “I know, you should have seen her face when we torched her car. It was perfect. The cops still have no idea. Maybe I’ll send her another message this week. Can’t have her getting complacent.” He laughed cruelly and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
Claire leaped behind a bush, heart hammering against her ribcage. After a second, the footsteps resumed. She poked her head out cautiously and followed, leaving more space between them. Her ears strained to pick up his lowered voice.
He swung his head from right to left, but thankfully didn’t think to look behind him. “Yeah, I think we can mark the vehicular sabotage category as complete. The newbies did good.”
What the hell was this? Vehicular sabotage category?
“Yeah. I think Master is gonna love this new training method. So, we’ve done psychological, property, animal, career, family, travel, and vehicle. What else?”
Oh god. There were so many categories. What did it mean? A prickle of fear danced along her spine.
“Right, we’ll get started on that and run some ideas by you. I’m almost going to miss her after we kill her. These training exercises have been great.” He chuckled darkly.
Training exercises? Shock hit her like a lightning bolt. Was this why they were constantly toying with her? They were using her to train new recruits in their tactics?
“I know, man,” he continued. “We really could use some psych guys to help us pick out what’s working best. There’s a lot of people on campus for summer session, so we might try to set up a recruitment event. Me, Logan, and Rafael will be doing some light recon, looking for potentials. This school is full of them. Just yesterday, I heard a guy in my psych class complaining about some bitch he tried to get with at this party. She was dancing on him, grinding. She was wearing a skintight dress. You know how sluts work. Anyway, when he tried to take her home, she refused. And when he tried to encourage her by showing her his dick, she punched him in the face. But do you think that bitch is going to get charged with battery?”
Claire bristled. What in the unholy neckbeard was going on?
“Yeah, don’t worry,” the stalker continued as he walked toward a row of Greek houses. “I bet we can get ten this year. I’ll keep you posted. You coming to the Friday meeting next week? It’s at ten.” He paused in the middle of the sidewalk, and Claire ducked behind a large shrub. She peered between the branches. Apparently, he was incapable of walking and speaking at the same time.
“Nah, you’re right. We don’t want them to know who’s in charge before they’ve proven themselves. I have the target all picked out. It’s going to be a fun Saturday night. Cool. Later.”He hung up the phone. A tabby cat ran across his path, and he kicked at it but missed.
Claire pursed her lips and brought her Taser up. She wasn’t sure if she was going to fire it or throw it at his stupid bald head.
He turned suddenly and jogged up a set of porch steps. Claire leaped into a yard and ducked behind the porch. Had he spotted her? Keys jingled loudly. A door opened and slammed. Claire collapsed onto the weed-covered ground. Her stomach lurched, and she dry heaved.
When her head stopped spinning, she crawled back out to the sidewalk on her hands and knees, craning her neck at the house Bowling Ball had disappeared into. From her position on the ground, she could just make out a worn set of Greek letters hammered into the siding above the porch.
Epsilon Sigma Alpha. ESA.
Jack Hartley peeredout the window of his makeshift office, arms folded and brows furrowed.
“Are you really sure they were talking about you?” He turned, dirt-brown eyes boring into her.
Claire stared at him blankly. “You’re joking, right? He followed me, called somebody up to talk about leaving me another note and complain about women refusing to sleep with men on campus, and then discussed recruitment, eradication, and even fricken training exercises. How does that not sound like a toxic masculine cult to you? And where the hell was my police escort today?”
“Claire, you overheard half of a phone conversation. I can’t go to my superiors with the word of an amateur sleuth who’s probably suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. I’ll be laughed out of the Bureau.”
Her mouth dropped open.
He cleared his throat and continued. “This organization isn’t populated with beer-swilling frat boys. While this revelation is interesting, I’m not convinced it has anything to do with Barney or with the organization. As for your police escort, there was a staff meeting this morning.”
“You’re joking, right? A group of men recruiting women-haters at the same university the only known offender attended? You’re not even going to check to see if Barney was a member of this fraternity? Even though it was listed as an activity in the yearbook?”
Jack straightened his tie. “We’ll look into the incident at Venor, but we still believe that the best chance we have in cracking this case lies with you speaking to Barney at the prison.”
Claire stood, scraping her chair over the linoleum. “You know what, Jack? This? What’s happening right now?” She waved her hand around his office. “Shit like this is the reason that there are over forty thousand missing women in America. That’s enough for today.” She turned to leave, biting her lip and trying to hold it all together. What good was running to the police if they refused to help? She was clearly on her own.
“See you tomorrow,” Jack called as she left. Shit. The dinner party. Storming out lost some of its weight knowing she was about to make lasagna for his smug, ungrateful ass. At least her booze embargo would be lifted for one night.