The Professor

by Alexandria Clarke

  “Nicole?” a voice called out.

  I took a moment to listen for clues that she hadn’t come alone, but there was only the sound of her breath, slightly out of synch from her climb up the stairs of the parking garage. I stepped out from behind the pillar. “Here.”

  Lauren Lockwood, secret double agent and daughter of my main problem, rushed to my side. Over her shoulder, she carried a nondescript black bookbag.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, looking me up and down.

  Franklin, who had met too many unfriendly people in one day, bared his teeth. I shushed him. “No, I’m not okay,” I told Lauren. “You said that no one had gone to my apartment, but when I get there, it looks like a category-five hurricane has blown through. Wes is missing—what happened to your face?”

  The right side of Lauren’s face was decorated with a nasty purple bruise that spread from her temple inward, coloring one swollen eye. “I had to make your escape convincing, remember?” she said, wincing as I turned her chin toward the flickering overhead light for a better look. “They would’ve known it was me otherwise. By the way, the Raptors now think you got loose on your own and hit me over the head.”

  “Does your father suspect anything?”

  Orson Lockwood, Lauren’s father, was the current head of the society that had ruined my life. I reveled in ugly satisfaction that his daughter wanted to take him and the society down.

  She shook her head. “Not of me. Donovan went missing though, right before I helped you out. My father has no idea what to make of that.”

  “I do,” I growled. Donovan Davenport was the most assholish of the Black Raptor Society’s members. He was a hot-headed, power-hungry elitist disguised as an even-tempered, well-dressed Waverly graduate, and I would’ve bet anything that he had been the one to facilitate Wes’s vanishing act. I shoved the warning note at Lauren. “What is this garbage, Lauren?”

  She read it quickly, her eyebrows furrowed together.

  “You lied to me,” I said.

  “I didn’t, I swear,” she promised. She held up the note. “This wasn’t sanctioned. My father would’ve never approved of something so rash and poorly planned. It’s Donovan’s handwriting. He went after Wes on his own.”

  “Wes would’ve kicked Donovan’s ass and served it to him cold,” I snarled. “Besides, when I got there, I had to knock out Buchanan before he hurt Franklin, and someone else made a quick escape out of my bedroom window before I could catch him. Obviously, Donovan had backup.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” said Lauren, rolling her eyes. “There are a couple of BRS members who worship the ground he walks on, including Buchanan.”

  “And who else?”

  “Holden Hastings, the dean’s son. Ashton Brooks—he’s a senior—for sure. And Logan Wickes probably. The three of them and Buchanan take Donovan’s word as law.”

  “Where would they have taken Wes?” I asked.

  Lauren shrugged. “Honestly, ever since I got out of being wrapped up with Donovan’s bullshit last year, I stopped keeping tabs on him. Wes isn’t at the BRS headquarters though. I know that for sure. Donovan must be keeping him somewhere else.”

  “I only have twelve hours to figure this out, Lauren. I need more to go on.”

  Lauren shifted from one foot to the other, chewing on her lip. “This might be a crazy suggestion, but why don’t you just leave? Just get out of town? That would save Wes, right? I mean, couldn’t you go to your parents or something? Temporarily, at least.”

  “My parents are dead.”

  “Oh.”

  I fought to keep my voice level. As it was, our conversation already echoed through the parking garage. “That note doesn’t say anything about Wes being safe if I leave town. Even if it did, I wouldn’t be able to do it in good conscience. These people—your people—are murderers and crooks, and I’ll be damned if I let them get away with it.”

  “Okay, okay!” said Lauren, raising her hands in defeat. “Well, if you’re going to take on BRS, then you can’t keep texting me from your phone. They’ll catch on to that real quick.”

  “How the hell am I supposed to reach you then?”

  She opened the zipper of her black backpack and extracted a cell phone. “I got you a burner phone,” she said, handing it over. “Prepaid. Untraceable. I have one too. My number’s already programmed into that one. Get rid of your personal phone.”

  I made a mental note to ditch my smartphone as soon as I got the chance.

  “I dug this up too,” continued Lauren, and she produced a slim, charcoal-black laptop. “It’s safe for you to use if you need to research something. I’m the only person at BRS who knows how to hack into a computer like that, so even if they find out that you have it, they won’t be able to break in. And one more thing.” She pulled another item out of the backpack. It was a petite but professional digital 35mm camera. “If you’re going hunting for clues,” began Lauren, “it’ll be easier to record what you find with this. Back up whatever photos you take to the laptop.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Lauren repacked the computer and the camera then handed me the backpack. Earlier that day, when I was still trapped at BRS’s underground clubhouse, Lauren had protested against my involvement in taking down the society. Her change of heart was refreshing. We could make more headway if we were in this together, and the fact that she came to our meeting prepared made me think that there might be the tiniest possibility of winning this battle. After all, Lauren was the ultimate insider, and I had the best motivation there was: revenge.

  “What’s the plan?” asked Lauren as I shouldered the backpack.

  “Donovan and his buddies got rid of all my evidence,” I said, thinking back on my ruined apartment. “Everything that O’Connor had researched. All the articles, the information on BRS members, faculty and student profiles. It’s all gone. So first things first, if you could locate that stuff, it would be a huge help.”

  “Donovan’s probably already burned it all,” muttered Lauren darkly, “but I’ll see what I can do.”

  I nodded. “Next thing: do you know what they did with O’Connor’s body?”

  The last time I’d seen my history professor was in BRS’s underground clubhouse, his corpse stuffed haphazardly into a giant freezer chest. The image had been burned into my brain, and it wasn’t an experience that I cared to relive, but exposing O’Connor’s murder was a crucial step in crushing the Black Raptor Society. The only problem? Once BRS realized that I knew where O’Connor’s body was, they moved it.

  “Donovan was the one who got rid of the body,” said Lauren. “At my aunt’s request.”

  I groaned. As if the situation didn’t involve enough deplorable patricians already, I still had to deal with Lauren’s aunt. Catherine Flynn was just as cold and ruthless as her brother, Orson, if not more. It was no wonder the Black Raptor Society had thrived under their conjoined leadership. Were it not for its fearless dictators, the organization might’ve stuck to the traditional hazing rituals like every other Waverly fraternity or sorority. As it was, Catherine Flynn and Orson Lockwood were more or less the Hitler and Mussolini of the Waverly campus.

  “You have no idea what they did with it?” I asked. “Did they just move it? Or do you think Donovan has watched one too many Jeffrey Dahmer documentaries?”

  Lauren grimaced, wrinkling her nose. “I have no idea.”

  “I’m going to need more from you, Lauren.”

  “I can look into it,” she promised.

  “Great. Now what the hell am I supposed to do?”

  “If you want,” began Lauren, “I know a place where BRS business goes to die. You could check it out on your own, you know, just in case they’ve stored O’Connor’s body there. Double our chances of finding the body. Not to mention, it would be a pretty great place to hide a kidnapped cop.”

  My heart leapt into my throat at the mention of Wes. I dug the burner phone out of the backpack again and found the note-taking
app. “Got an address? And a little more information?”

  “It’s an old storage unit in the industrial area of town,” Lauren expanded. “Lockwood Inc. owns a bunch of random properties. Most of them are abandoned. This car park for instance.”

  “Your father owns this garage?” Alarmed, I glanced around, half expecting to get jumped by a horde of BRS members.

  “Relax, my father hasn’t had plans for this structure in years.”

  “Then why did he acquire it?” I grumbled.

  “To hide dead bodies under probably.”

  “Not even funny, Lauren.”

  Lauren took the burner phone from me and began typing on the touchscreen. “This is the address for the storage unit. Be careful. We don’t use it often, so you aren’t likely to run into anyone, but there are a couple of surveillance cameras at the entrances. Go as soon as we leave here. I’ll head back to my dorm room. I can alter the security footage from my computer. That way, BRS will never know the difference.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said, taking the phone and looking at the address. “This is across town! It will take me hours to get there!”

  “Oh, right.” Lauren reached into the pocket of her overcoat then dangled a set of keys in front of my face. “You got a fast car.”

  “And you want a ticket to anywhere?”

  “What?”

  “It’s a song,” I started to explain, but the look on the younger girl’s face stopped me. There was a solid decade between Lauren’s generation and mine. “Never mind. Bad joke. Did you steal a car?”

  “No, it’s mine,” she clarified, “which means BRS won’t bat an eye if anyone sees it driving around town. Plus the windows are tinted. No one will know it’s you.”

  The harsh overhead lights refracted off of the shiny logo pressed into the key fob. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Lauren. “Just one thing.” She eyed Franklin. “No dogs.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “It has a leather interior.”

  “I can’t just drop Franklin off at a daycare, Lauren. He’s not a two-year-old.”

  Lauren sighed and held out her open palm. “Give him to me.”

  “No way.”

  “One of the girls on my rowing team is really good with dogs,” she said, snatching Franklin’s leash out of my hand. “She won’t mind watching Franklin. I’ll drop him off. He’ll be in good hands, I promise.”

  I knelt down on Franklin’s level and kneaded his plump cheeks between my hands. “I’ll see you later, buddy.”

  “All right, enough sappy goodbyes,” interrupted Lauren. “You’ll see him soon enough. Let’s get going. Twelve hours, remember?”

  I stood, swinging the car keys around one finger, and checked my watch again. “Eleven and a half.”

  We took the stairs down to the lowest level of the parking garage, where Lauren had left her vehicle. I should’ve known what to have expected when borrowing Lauren Lockwood’s car. It only made sense that the daughter of the most influential businessman in town would drive a polished, black sedan with some kind of impossible-to-pronounce Italian brand name stamped on the grill and the steering wheel.

  “Christ, I don’t even want to know how much this hunk of metal cost,” I said, walking around to the driver’s side and peeking inside.

  “To be honest, I don’t even know,” said Lauren. “It was a gift.”

  I clicked the key fob gingerly, and the behemoth responded with two earsplitting beeps, just in case anyone within a fifty-block radius wasn’t aware of its presence already. I lowered myself inside, the fabric of my jeans sliding effortlessly across the leather seat, and turned the key in the ignition. The car barely made a sound as it fired up, only emitting a soft purr under the hood. The dashboard was littered with various buttons and dials, but the one of most interest to me controlled the heater in the seat. I clicked it on and immediately felt my butt warm up.

  “So this is how the other half drives?”

  “Appreciate it while you can, Costello,” quipped Lauren. “You can’t keep it.”

  “Damn.”

  I pulled the door closed, sparing one last glance at Franklin. He sat obediently beside Lauren but peered up at her with unsure eyes. As Lauren waved, I guided the car out of the lowest level of the parking lot and onto the road, my new burner phone barking out directions to the storage unit.

  12

  Lauren’s swanky vehicle made quick work of the drive out to the industrial side of town. What was once a thriving business area had faded into a dim, sleepy ghost district. I drove past abandoned warehouses, toppling smokestacks, and collections of rusted cargo containers piled up to worrisome heights. For the Black Raptor Society, it was a perfect place to dispose of whatever needed disposing. It was miles and miles of forgotten waste, and no one, not even the scrupulous cops on the force, would have the time to comb through all of it in the hopes of unearthing a body. Or a kidnapped boyfriend.

  Thankfully, it was easy to spot the self-storage facility that Lauren’s father owned. As I rolled through the littered streets, I spotted a long, low building with Lockwood Inc. stamped in bold, black letters on its side. I pulled over before I reached it, not wanting to park Lauren’s car in view of the cameras that she had mentioned. My heart sank as I peered out of the windshield for a better look. I could only see one side of the storage facility, but it looked massive. It was all outside, each of the units accessible by a roll-up door. If the Black Raptor Society had hidden O’Connor’s body or was keeping Wes hostage out here, it would take me more than a quick minute to locate either one. In any case, it wouldn’t hurt to have a look around, so I reluctantly left the toasty interior of Lauren’s car and approached the first block of units.

  I spotted a pair of cameras perched on either side of the unit row. I tugged my hood up, obscuring my face, and kept my head ducked, just in case Lauren hadn’t managed to rig the footage in time. My heart thrummed in my chest as I continued down the row. The facility was run-down and eerily deserted. A few units were open, revealing empty insides or heaps of neglected junk, as though whoever had rented out the space hadn’t had the time to gather their things again before evacuating. The other units were locked tight, and without a crowbar handy, I had no way of prying them open. Paint peeled from the walls and the roll-up doors, and there was a distinct scent of rust and mildew in the air. I wrinkled my nose and turned down the next row of units.

  The facility seemed to go on forever like some sort of terrible purgatory. After wandering up and down, peeking into random units, I lost track of where I had started. Everything looked the same, and when I glanced over my shoulder to see how far I had come, Lauren’s car was no longer visible beyond the maze of the facility. Before I knew it, I had wasted half an hour dawdling along on Lockwood’s godforsaken property.

  The burner phone buzzed, displaying an unfamiliar number and the name “Salander.” It was Lauren’s code name for BRS, and I balked a little at seeing it appear on a device in my own hands, but the interruption was a small respite from my fruitless efforts at searching the facility.

  I slid the icon across the touchscreen to answer. “Yeah.”

  “Did you find anything?” asked Lauren.

  “No. I don’t know what you expected,” I said. Gravel crunched under my boots as I walked back to Lauren’s car. “This place is massive. Half the units are still locked up. It’s just a bunch of junk, Lauren.”

  “Damn it. No footprints or anythi—shit.”

  “What?”

  “Someone else is there with you.”

  “What?”

  “I’m watching a livestream of the footage from the security cameras,” explained Lauren, her voice low and harried, “and someone just walked by the one at the entrance.”

  I glanced over my shoulder, back toward where Lauren’s car was parked. If I made a run for it, what were the chances I could lose whoever had decided to come out to the storage
facility?

  “I have to go,” I whispered to Lauren.

  “Wait, Nicole—”

  I hung up. Pressing myself against the wall of the nearest unit, I edged around the side until I could peek down the next row. It was empty. With a sigh of relief, I jogged across, repeating the process until I was closer to the entrance. When Lauren’s car came into view, I froze. Someone was peering in through the tinted window as if trying to figure out who the car belonged to. Whoever it was didn’t seem all that threatening. They were shorter than me, but the black jogging pants and oversized snow jacket that they wore veiled any other details. I hid behind the last row of units, watching for a moment longer. Then I caught sight of my own reflection in the window of Lauren’s car. The person whirled around, and I ducked behind the units once more. Without thinking, I broke into a run then dove into one of the open garages and knelt behind an old yellow mattress that smelled faintly of urine.

  It didn’t take long for whoever had been checking out the car to follow me down the unit row. The sound of their footfalls disrupting the gravel was easy to hear in the heavy silence of the industrial area. I held my breath as they paused outside my unit, afraid of making even the slightest sound, but when the footsteps crossed into the garage, I couldn’t take it anymore. In one swift movement, I pulled Wes’s gun from the back of my jeans, stood, and took aim from behind the mattress.

  “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!”

  “Who are you?” I demanded. The person swept off their hood. I lowered the gun in shock. “Jo?”

  “Shit, Nicole, what the hell are you doing with a gun?”

  I moved away from the mattress, glad to escape its less than pleasant odor. “I think the better question is what are you doing here? I thought BRS made you leave the area?”

  “They thought they did.” Jo held out her hand to help me step over a rickety crate blocking the mouth of the garage.

  “What happened with all of that?” I asked, letting Jo steady me. “Last I heard, you’d been arrested for public intoxication. Was that even true?”