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“Shit!”
He was outside of the chapel in an instant, running, his long strides cutting across the grounds as he headed straight for the stables. The night was cold. Brittle. Burning through his airway and lungs.
“What do you want us to do?” the tinny voice asked from the walkie as the leader passed by a solitary madrona tree.
“Stay with the plan. Detain her. I’m on my way.”
“Roger that.”
He dashed around a garage and down the gravel road to the stables where, in front of the closed doors, his followers had confronted her. He reached the stables just as he heard one of his team members order harshly, “Don’t move!” Visible in the lamplight, weapon drawn, a ski mask covering his face, the team member hissed, “Stop right there!”
“What’re you going to do? Shoot me? Jesus, you’re not serious,” she mocked.
It wasn’t the voice the leader expected.
What the hell is going on?
“You’re not Lauren,” the leader stated flatly as the five stepped back allowing him to see her face clearly for the first time.
The girl looked at him. “No shit, Sherlock. What’s this about? I didn’t do anything!”
The leader contained his fury with an effort and signaled his team to leave.
There was another way to track Lauren, he thought grimly. No more fooling around. No more game playing.
She was his.
Chapter Five
Lauren ran as if Lucifer himself were chasing her.
Faster! Faster! Faster!
Breathing hard, she wished to high heaven she’d brought a weapon. A knife or pistol or anything–even a damned slingshot, none of which she had.
Quit dreaming!
Hurry!
She raced through the dense forest, along a deer trail, using a tiny beam of her flashlight when she dared, her feet sometimes slipping on the ice and snow crusted over the hard terrain.
She was deep in the woods now, her breath coming in short bursts that fogged the night air, the darkness interrupted by the white expanse of snow.
Run, run, run!
Somewhere far off a coyote let out a lonely wail and goose bumps rose on her skin.
Keep going! Don’t slow down! The coyote’s probably miles away.
She hurried up a familiar hill. She’d done enough exploring in these rocky rises to know exactly which route to take, though she’d had second thoughts and had nearly backed out when she’d reached the end of the hall near the fire escape.
But she’d kept going.
Down the interior stairs she’d flown and restrained herself from pushing open the exterior door, her quickest path to freedom. Had she shouldered open the door, she would have woken the entire compound with the clanging of bells. Instead, feeling as if her every move was being observed by hidden eyes, she’d hurried past the first floor and into the basement, where bicycles were parked between the storage areas, fenced storage units filled with personal belongings. She’d hurried through the doorway near the mechanical room to an area stuffed with ping-pong tables and other sporting goods, to a far window, one that she’d been shown by Crysta who used this grimy window as a way to sneak out and meet her boyfriend. She’d stepped onto an old shipping trunk, unlatched the window and pushed it open. From there, it had been easy enough to slither through and pull her backpack with her.
Cold air had slapped her face and she’d reminded herself that her footprints would be visible in the snow. She’d had to have been careful, and had run over well used tracks, where other impressions had already been made, offering up a zigzagging course so she wouldn’t be discovered.
She’d checked to see that no one was around, that the snow-blanketed campus was quiet, then, sending up a quick prayer, she taken off at a dead run.
