Page 125 of Say Yes to the Death

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 peered out 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.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

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