The Professor

by Alexandria Clarke

  Lockwood pursed his lips together, contemplating my counteroffer. Then he simply said, “Fine.”

  My eyebrows reached toward my hairline in surprise. “Really?”

  He held up his hand in a three-finger salute as if reciting the Boy Scout oath. “I swear I will rescue Officer McAllen and dismantle the Raptors with your assistance.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, I tucked Wes’s Glock into the back of my jeans, crossed the basement, and offered Lockwood my hand. He glanced up, gauging whether or not I was serious, then shook my hand.

  “It’s a deal.”

  The day had come full circle. I returned to the abandoned parking garage to wait for Lockwood to return with Wes. It seemed impossible that I had met with Lauren in the exact same parking garage that very morning. It felt like days, weeks even, had passed since then. Wes’s absence had left a desperate, aching hole in my heart, and now that I was so close to getting him back, it seemed more and more likely that something would go wrong. Too anxious to remain seated in the comfortable, heated interior of Lauren’s car, I drew the hood of my coat up and kicked the driver’s door open to get out. I paced back and forth between the walls of the garage, but when the grumble of Lockwood’s SUV echoed up from the lower levels, I was rendered suddenly immobile. As the headlights rounded the last ramp and Lockwood drove toward me, my chest tightened, unable to release my trapped breath.

  “Oh, my God.”

  My palms found the passenger-side window, and I peeked through to see Wes’s ashen face. I wrenched open the door, and he practically fell out into my arms. I caught him, supporting as much of his weight as I could. He was too pale and cold for my liking. In the short amount of time the Raptors had Wes, they had managed to transmogrify him from a stout, steady police officer to a weak, sickly victim.

  “Nic,” he murmured. His voice was hoarse and barely audible.

  “I’m here,” I said. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  I took his face between my hands, scanning it for signs of abuse. He winced as my fingers found a softball-sized lump on the back of his head and again when I inspected the ugly bruises around his throat. They were similar to the ones on my own neck. It was clear that Wes had been through just as much hell as I had in the past several hours. The suffering had amounted to nothing though. Wes was safe, and we were together. That was all that mattered. I released a sigh of relief, tugged Wes toward me, and wrapped him up in a hug.

  “Where’s your jacket?” I asked, sniffling as I pressed my face into the fabric of his police shirt. It was damp with sweat and smelled faintly of wood dust. “It’s freezing outside.”

  “Lost it,” he mumbled, his chin resting heavily on the top of my head. He swayed in my grasp, but to my surprise, Orson Lockwood took Wes’s arm around one of his own shoulders. With Lockwood’s help, we maneuvered Wes into the passenger seat of Lauren’s sedan. As I leaned against the open door, Wes asked in a garbled voice, “Nic, what does he want?”

  “Shh. Relax, Wes. He’s helping us.”

  “He tried to kill me.”

  “No, we made a deal.”

  Wes’s watering, red-rimmed eyes met my own. The stress from the previous twenty-four hours was taking its toll. He looked positively feverish. “Don’t trust any of them, Nicole.”

  I shook off my jacket and wrapped it around Wes. Then I leaned past him, turned the key in the ignition, and cranked the heater up to the highest setting. “Don’t worry. I’m taking care of it.”

  Before I could stand up straight again, his hand closed around my wrist. “I’m serious, baby,” he muttered. “Don’t trust him.”

  “Okay,” I said, hoping to reassure him. I brushed his damp hair away from his cold forehead. “I don’t trust him. Any of them. I promise.”

  This satisfied him enough to release his grip on me. I straightened, firmly closing his door before I turned to face Lockwood again.

  “How’d it go?” I asked.

  “Without a hitch,” reported Lockwood, watching Wes through the tinted window. “Catherine’s back on campus for now, and the Raptors loyal to her are currently engaged in a manhunt for you. Lauren, however, has managed to lead them astray.”

  “She’s clever, that one.”

  “No doubt,” he agreed. There was no hiding his pride at Lauren’s accomplishments. “In any case, you should have plenty of time to clear the area.”

  I nodded, crossing my arms over my chest to make up for my lack of outerwear. “And the rest of the plan?”

  “It will take some time and careful preparation to set the putsch in motion,” he said. He glanced across the parking garage to where the rest of the city lay waiting. Somewhere out there, the rest of the Raptors waited in the depths of the Waverly library for Lockwood to return from disposing of Wes’s body. “I’ll make contact with you when it’s safe to return to campus. If you need anything, if you find yourself in trouble, you have Lauren’s information. Do not hesitate to use it.”

  Before I could respond, the sound of another car’s engine rumbled from the level below us, the peal of tires against polished concrete echoing through the garage. Lockwood’s eyes widened in alarm, and he shoved me toward the driver’s side of Lauren’s car.

  “Go!” he hissed, his eyes trained on the ramp that led to the lower levels.

  Heart racing, I dropped into the driver’s seat, threw the sedan in reverse, and backed out of the parking spot. Wes grasped both the middle console and the handle above his door, steadying himself, but before I could aim the car at the exit ramp, another black SUV thundered up to the fourth level, peeling around the corner and heading straight for us. The tinted windshield obscured the driver, but I wrenched the steering wheel to the right, careening out of the line of fire, but the SUV still clipped the back bumper on the left side. The sedan jolted, the wheel escaping from my grip. With a yell, I righted our course and hit the gas, determined to make it down the exit ramp this time. Beside me, Wes’s face had turned a pallid green color, and I hoped for the sake of Lauren’s leather interior that he could control his stomach long enough for us to make it out of the parking garage.

  As I floored it toward the ramp, a loud, dull thunk reverberated through the garage. I glanced in my rearview mirror and immediately wished that I hadn’t. The SUV swerved into a dangerous U-turn, and as it swiveled in our direction once more, it revealed a terrible sight in front of it. Orson Lockwood had not made it back to his own vehicle in enough time to avoid the oncoming attack. He lay, bloodied and still, on the gray, unforgiving pavement.

  24

  “Is he dead?”

  My knuckles were bone white on the steering wheel as I guided the car around the last level of the parking garage and bounced onto the open road. The SUV was still on the warpath, the screech of its tires casting a pall over the cabin of Lauren’s sedan.

  “You saw?” I asked Wes as I let my right foot drape heavily over the gas pedal.

  “I heard,” he replied shortly.

  I looked into the rearview mirror. The SUV emerged from the garage and turned in our direction. At the next intersection, I made an abrupt right then an immediate left, hoping to lose whatever BRS member had been assigned to take out Lockwood and track us down.

  “Is he dead?” asked Wes again.

  “I don’t know,” I said. The image of Lockwood’s prostrate body flickered in my mind. Wes leaned his forehead against the window, and his eyes fluttered shut. “How are you feeling?” I asked. “What did they do to you?”

  “I can’t think.”

  “You have to, Wes. Stay awake.” I reached over to take his hand. “Can you tell me what happened? Anything? Where were you?”

  “In a warehouse,” he mumbled. Though his speech was not as coherent as I would’ve hoped, the squeeze of my fingers in his own reassured me. “I don’t know where. Nothing around it but farmland.”

  “When did you get that giant lump on the back of your head?”

  “Yesterday morning. They
attacked me at the apartment.”

  My stomach lunged at the thought. If Wes’s head injury was severe enough, the hours without treatment could lead to worse complications. He needed to be seen by a doctor. He needed to have scans taken of his head just in case. But with the Raptors so close on our tail, I didn’t have the option to drive Wes to the nearest hospital.

  “I hope they didn’t hurt Franklin,” Wes mused. “Oh, my God. Where’s Franklin?”

  “He’s fine,” I said, making a mental note to ask Lauren how Franklin was actually doing. “Right now, I need to figure out how to get you to a doctor. Did Donovan do this to you?”

  “Yeah, that prick.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Dead.”

  The car lurched as I momentarily lost my grip on the wheel at this newfound piece of information. “What?”

  “He’s dead,” repeated Wes in a flat tone. Shock seemed to have robbed him of any emotion. “Brooks killed him. They tried to make me do it—”

  “What?”

  He dropped his head into his hands. “I couldn’t do it, Nic. I know he’s trash, but I couldn’t do it. After all he’s put us through—”

  “Hey,” I said, trying to regain Wes’s attention. “You should be proud. You are not a murderer. I’m so glad you didn’t stoop down to their level.”

  He wiped his eyes but made no other indication that he had heard me. “Where are we going?”

  “Good fucking question,” I mumbled, taking another random right turn. I looked behind us again. The streets were dark and deserted. There were no signs of the Raptors’ revengeful SUV.

  “What happened?” asked Wes. “Why did Lockwood try to help us?”

  “We cut a deal,” I explained. “If he got you back safe, I promised to help him take down the Raptors.”

  “But why would he—?”

  “It’s a long story, babe. Honestly, I’m more concerned about the fact that the Raptors knew we had planned to rendezvous at that parking garage.”

  “Would Lockwood have told them?”

  “If he was going to double-cross us, then why would the Raptors try to kill him?” I glanced at each street sign that we sped past, as if the glowing, neon letters would point me in the direction of a safe destination. “It doesn’t make any sense. Flynn had to have been behind it. She must’ve figured out that I made a deal with him, but the only people who knew about it were Lauren and me. And if Lauren—”

  “Nic, you’re making my head spin.”

  “Sorry, I just—I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  We raced along in silence for several minutes. The city thinned out as we approached its outskirts. The space between the streetlights grew, and the dark road vanished into the thickening trees ahead. As we passed the last streetlight, zooming into the shadows of the woods, I realized where we were. The road here forked. If we turned left, it would lead us back toward Waverly University and its surrounding area, but if I made a right, we would be home free on the interstate with a plethora of escape routes at our service.

  I guided the car to the right. I would get Wes as far away from Waverly as possible and take him straight to a hospital. When Wes had recovered, we could figure out what to do about the Black Raptor Society.

  Then Wes twitched in his seat.

  “Wes?” I glanced over at his unmoving form. “Wes!”

  He bucked forward and threw up then remained doubled over in the passenger seat.

  “Oh, God. Wes!”

  At the last second, I jerked the car to the left. At this rate, Wes wouldn’t make it to a hospital, but there was one place in the Waverly area that he might be safe.

  Ten minutes later, I pulled Lauren’s sedan into the driveway of O’Connor’s house and left Wes in the car to rush up to the front door. The orange tabby cat fled from its seat on the window as I pounded heavily on the knocker.

  “Eileen!” I bellowed, abandoning the knocker in favor of slamming my fists against the faded red paint of the door. “It’s Nicole Costello! Please, I need your help!”

  The curtain swept back from the window, revealing Eileen’s alarmed expression. As she opened the door, the breeze tugged at her long nightgown. That and the pale reflection of the overhead porch light on Eileen’s tired face made it look like a benevolent ghost had answered the door.

  “Nicole!” she said. “What on earth—?”

  “Eileen, please.” I stepped off the porch, gesturing wildly toward the car. “My boyfriend is hurt. We’re in trouble. We can’t go to a hospital. O’Connor—I mean, George—the same people that were after him are after us.”

  For a moment, she only regarded me from the doorframe, and the terrible thought occurred to me that she would refuse to help us. Then she took a coat from the hook by the door, slipped into a pair of boots, and joined me outside.

  “Let’s see what we can do for him.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  I opened the passenger-side door to find Wes still slumped over in his seat. The acrid scent of stomach bile floated out into the open air, and beside me, Eileen wrinkled her nose.

  “All right, let’s get him inside,” she said.

  Together, the pair of us managed to pry Wes from the car. Out in the chilly air, I was relieved to see that he wasn’t entirely unconscious. Suspended between Eileen and me, he did his best to drag his feet toward the house. Slowly, we made our way up the porch steps and inside, where we deposited Wes on the floral-patterned couch in the living room. Eileen disappeared briefly and returned with a profusion of first-aid supplies.

  “What happened to him?” she asked, wiping his bruised face with a damp washcloth.

  “I don’t know exactly,” I admitted. “I wasn’t there.”

  “Well, his nose is broken. That’s for certain.” Gently, she prodded the area around Wes’s nose. “It looks like he reset it himself. Smart boy.”

  “And the giant lump on the back of his head?” My pulse pounded as Eileen maneuvered Wes’s head to one side for a better look. “He passed out in the car for a few minutes or so. What if he has serious head trauma?”

  “He’s pretty beaten up,” she agreed as she placed an ice pack at the base of Wes’s neck. “But all in all, he’s held up pretty well. You said these injuries likely happened yesterday morning?”

  I nodded.

  “My guess is the stress finally caught up with his body,” she said, laying a second, smaller ice pack across the bridge of Wes’s ruined nose. “If his concussion had been more serious, he would probably have remained unconscious at the time of the injury. His pupils aren’t blown either, and he hasn’t had any seizures. He most likely just needs time to recover.”

  My attention to Eileen’s diagnoses wavered as Wes’s eyes flickered open. I leaned over him, smoothing his hair with cautious fingers. “Hey,” I said, smiling.

  “Hey,” he mumbled back.

  “You scared the crap out of me back there.”

  A hint of a smile appeared on his lips. “Can’t get rid of me that easy. Where are we?”

  “At O’Connor’s house. This is his wife, Eileen.”

  Eileen waved. “It’s nice to meet you, Weston.”

  “You too. I’m sorry about your husband.”

  “Thank you.”

  Wes turned his attention back to me. “Are we sleeping here? Can I sleep?”

  I glanced at Eileen for confirmation.

  “You’re more than welcome to stay here,” she said, wiping a droplet of dried blood from behind Wes’s ear. “And yes, you can sleep, but I think I’ll assign Nicole here to wake you up every few hours just in case. Here, take these.”

  I helped prop Wes up against the pillows of the sofa so that he could easily swallow the painkillers Eileen had offered him. After coaxing a few sips of water down his throat, we let him lay back down.

  “If you both are comfortable, I’ll go back to bed,” said Eileen as she gathered up her first-aid supplies. “If you need anything, don’t hesi
tate to ask. The bathroom is down the hall. There are clean towels in the linen closet. And feel free to raid the refrigerator if you like.”

  I took Eileen’s hands in my own, hoping to convey the amount of gratitude I felt. “Thank you, Eileen. I owe you so much.”

  “Oh, nonsense.”

  I stood up and stretched then helped clean up the rest of the bloodied gauze we had used to mop up Wes’s face. I followed her into the kitchen to dispose of the used supplies in the garbage can, but as we parted at the bottom of the stairs, I asked Eileen for one more favor.

  “Eileen, would it be okay if I pulled my car into your garage?” I asked. She paused on the top step, clutching the banister for support. “I don’t want someone to recognize it and storm the house.”

  “Is that a possibility?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “The garage is full of George’s things,” she said with a sigh. “I nagged him constantly to clean it out, but you know how husbands are. You can pull your car around to the side of the house. It’s dark there, and the trees in the side yard will prevent anyone from seeing your car from the street.”

  “Okay. Eileen?”

  “Yes, Nicole.”

  “Thanks again.”

  She smiled down at me, and my heart swelled in my chest. It had been too long since I had had a motherly figure in my life. Though Eileen had just begun to comfort us, I appreciated her so much more than she could ever know.

  “When I told you earlier that you would have a safe place to land here, I meant it,” said Eileen. “Get some sleep, honey. Tomorrow, we can work on getting you both safely out of the area. And don’t forget to lock up when you come back inside.”

  With that, she retreated to her bedroom on the second floor. Reassured, I grabbed the keys to Lauren’s sedan, glanced into the living room to make sure Wes hadn’t moved, and headed outside.

  On Eileen’s front porch, I paused just long enough to survey the yard for any disturbances. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that we had been followed from the parking garage. The Raptors had years of experience in stalking their prey. I felt like a helpless field mouse in Flynn’s relentless beak. As I crossed the crunchy, brown grass, swinging Lauren’s key ring around my index finger, the hair on the back of my neck stood up.