Slipping Away (The Vanishing #2)
Prologue
On the night Lauren Pierce vanished, she stood in front of a mirror, trying to recognize the woman looking back.
The dress was black and fitted—the kind that should’ve made her feel confident.
She was pretty.
She wasn’t a student.
She worked for them.
Administrative assistant to Professors Raines, Keller, and Sinclair—three men whose reputations made people straighten when they passed.
Tonight she was supposed to smile, be helpful, and act like her life hadn’t quietly collapsed.
The bathroom at Balsam Ridge Country Club gleamed—marble counters, gold fixtures, white flowers in crystal vases.
Lauren gripped the sink.
Don’t fall apart.
Outside those doors was Margot Holt’s oncology fundraiser. Half the town was here. The other half would see the photos tomorrow.
And she was supposed to walk out there like she wasn’t the girl people whispered about.
Like she hadn’t caught Coach Clay Benton with a freshman and listened to him laugh.
Like she hadn’t believed Daniel Keller when he said he was separated.
Cold water ran over her wrists.
Just walk out. Smile. Leave early.
She reached for the handle—
“Lauren?”
She knew that voice.
Coach Clay Benton stepped into the women’s restroom like it belonged to him.
Dark suit. No tie. That same easy grin.
His gaze moved over her—slowly. Not subtle.
A low sound of approval. “Well. Look at you.”
She didn’t respond.
“I figured you’d be hiding.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“You clean up nice.” He stepped closer. “You should’ve tried this hard when we were together.”
He reached for her waist.
She flinched back before he could touch her.
“There it is,” he said, amused. “You always did get emotional.”
“This is the women’s restroom.”
She moved toward the door.
He shifted just enough to block her path.
“Relax.” He smiled. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”
Then he stepped aside, as if he’d done her a favor.
She walked past him without looking back.
How could I ever have dated this man?
Professor Keller stood a few feet from the restroom door, as if he’d been waiting.
“I heard you were here,” he said.
He studied her face.
“I never meant for this to happen.”
She almost laughed. Of course he didn’t.
“Then why did it?”
He didn’t answer.
Something inside her settled.
“Walk with me.”
He hesitated—but followed.
They stepped into a narrow service corridor near the coat check. The music dulled.
Lauren turned to face him.
“I took a test this morning.”
“What kind of test?” Keller asked quietly.
“You know what kind.”
A pause.
“It was positive.”
His expression hardened. “That’s not possible.”
“You told me that.”
His eyes flicked toward the ballroom.
“Are you sure it’s mine?”
“You didn’t use a condom,” she said evenly.
“You said you couldn’t get pregnant,” Keller shot back.
“You said that,” she corrected.
His voice lowered. “It could be Benton’s.”
“It’s not.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can.”
She glanced toward the ballroom. His wife stood near the donor tables, one hand resting over the curve of her pregnant stomach. Unaware.
“You seem to be doing just fine in that department.”
“Lauren—”
“I’m not asking you for anything.”
He looked at her carefully now.
“We need to handle this carefully.”
Of course. There it was—the faculty voice.
“I already have.”
That unsettled him more than anger would have.
A volunteer passed at the far end of the hall. Keller stepped back.
She left him there.
Back in the ballroom, Professor Raines intercepted her near the silent auction table.
“We can’t afford distractions,” he said evenly. “Personal matters aside.”
Her paycheck had his signature on it.
He moved on before she could answer.
Across the room, Preston Sinclair stood near the podium—calm, immaculate, silver threading his blond hair.
He saw her.
His gaze lingered.
Measured.
“You’ve been in the restroom awhile,” he said when she passed him moments later.
“I needed a minute.”
His smile was small. “Of course.”
Not accusation.
Not concern.
Assessment.
Margot Holt appeared beside her—Professor Sinclair’s partner and the evening’s poised hostess.
Silver gown. Perfect posture. Controlled smile.
“Lauren. You look flushed.”
“I’m fine.”
Margot followed her line of sight—to Sinclair.
“Preston attracts attention,” she said softly. “Not all of it helpful.”
Lauren felt a flicker of confusion. Was she being warned—or evaluated?
“People in this town love a story,” Margot continued. “Especially when it involves a young woman and a powerful man.”
There it was.
Not kindness.
Possession.
“Just be careful.”
Across the room:
Benton laughed too loudly.
Keller avoided her eyes.
Raines spoke to a trustee without looking her way.
Sinclair watched.
Lauren felt it then—the weight of being visible from every direction.
Every mistake refracted through crystal and candlelight.
She smiled when expected.
Clapped when appropriate.
Stayed for the speeches.
For the second paddle raise.
For the photos.
And then, quietly, she slipped out.
The cold air hit her like relief.
Snow fell in a fine, steady drift.
Her heels crunched across the parking lot.
She paused beside her car.
Looked back.
The terrace doors opened, spilling warm light onto the snow.
A figure stood there in silhouette.
He didn’t follow.
He didn’t call her name.
He simply watched her walk to her car.
Too far away to name.
Lauren slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
Headlights cut through the dark lot.
She pulled onto the road.
Snow swallowed the tire tracks behind her, erasing her path.
That was the last time anyone ever saw Lauren Pierce alive.