Shadow of Vengeance (26 page)

She wasn’t stupid, and could tell Jake held a smidgeon of interest in her. A dollop, at the very least. If she gave him a hint that she reciprocated, the results could be interesting. Only, she had no desire to reciprocate anything when it came to Jake.
 

Why
?

Why couldn’t she just let go of the fantasy and move on? Find herself a nice, sweet, geeky tech guy and settle down. Push out a couple of babies and maybe rescue a dog or cat. Why the obsession with Owen?
 

She looked to Jake again and this time tried picturing him naked. Her cheeks grew warm as she imagined what his bare, muscular chest might look like as he hovered above her, poised to insert his penis between her thighs. Poised. Insert. Really? Poor guy, she probably could have done better than that, but unfortunately she’d come up empty.
 

Redirecting to Owen, she did the same thing. Imagined what his naked, muscular chest might look like as he spread her legs with a rough hand, then settled his hard, hot arousal between her thighs. He’d brush her lips with his, cup her breasts, toy and tease her nipples, his hot breath caressing her mouth before he drove deep inside her.

She shoved the vodka away. While she hadn’t had a sip of the second drink, she’d grown dizzy. With lust and need. And right now she needed to pull herself together. Nudging Owen, she said, “Jake’s here. Maybe we should get a table.”

Owen acted as if his drink was the most interesting thing in the world. “Whatever you want to do.”

If you only knew.
 

Jake saved her from making a decision. He approached the bar, smiling and shaking hands with patrons along the way. When he finally reached them, he jerked his dark head toward Percy and ordered a bottle of Budweiser. “How’d the rest of your day go?” he asked Rachel as he reached for the beer Percy set on the bar.

“Like you thought, Abby didn’t have much more to add to the original statement she gave you. She did confirm that, Saturday evening, she was heading to her room to study for a test and get to work on a paper due that week when Sean and Josh’s pizza arrived. She brought the pizza and Mountain Dew to their room and that was the last time she saw them. She also said that Bill told her he wasn’t feeling well. That he looked awful, but she only checked on him once.”

Jake scraped the beer label. “When was that?”

“About nine. At that point, Bill was half asleep at the desk. She told us she planned to check on him again later, but ended up falling asleep with her head in her books.”

After taking a sip of his beer, Jake said, “I’m wondering why she never mentioned Bill being sick the first time I talked to her.”

Owen finally acknowledged Jake. “We wondered the same thing. Abby said she felt sorry for Bill and worried he might lose his job if she told anyone about him being too sick to man his post.”

“What about the frat house?” Jake asked. “I went there the night we found Sean, but only talked with a couple of kids.”

Owen shook his head. “Man, that place was ridiculous.”

“What? Were the kids out of hand?”

“No. The opposite. Those Zetas keep a clean house. I swear I smelled Pine-Sol when I walked inside.”

“I know,” Rachel said with a smile. “Sean told me each member has certain daily cleaning duties. If I hadn’t been there, I would never believe forty plus boys could be so clean.”

“Did you happen to see their game room?” Jake asked with a wistful sigh.
 

“Sixty inch flat screen, pool table, foosball, gaming systems…” Owen shook his head. “I wasn’t in a fraternity when I was in college, but I’ve been in plenty of frat houses. None of them ever looked or
smelled
like this one.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty pitiful that these kids have better furniture and electronics than most adults.” Jake brought the bottle to his lips, then added, “Me included.”

Rachel toyed with the edge of the damp beverage napkin and considered another sip of her drink. “Aside from Owen drooling over the Zeta’s game room, we didn’t get a whole lot out of that stop, either. The older Zetas said they remember the last two disappearances. Those guys, along with the boys who are just a year or two behind them, said they warn every pledge about Wexman Hell Week.” She picked up the sweaty glass. “Sean told us that the Zetas said the missing students were sacrifices to Hell Week. When I brought that up, every one of those kids agreed.” She rolled her eyes. “Gullible.”

“Sacrifices for what?” Jake asked. “That sounds like one of Professor Stronach’s ridiculous legends.”

“I know, and Owen brought that up to them. All we got was a roomful of blank stares.” She took a sip of the now watered down drink, then set it back on the bar. “What about you? Any luck with Bill?”

Jake rolled his empty beer bottle between his palms. “He’s not home. I checked with his dad and cousin, they haven’t seen or heard from him since yesterday morn—” His cell phone rang. “Sorry.” He took a step back and answered.
 

She noticed Walter’s cell phone vibrate against the bar. At the same time, Percy silenced the ringing restaurant phone by picking it up and placing it against his ear. Looking around, she realized half of the people in both the bar and restaurant were on their cell phones. Weird.

“Noticing anything unusual?” Owen asked her and jerked his head toward Duke and Terry, who were both shoving their phones into their pockets and shrugging on their coats.

“Yeah.” She shifted her gaze toward the main restaurant. “Look how many people are leaving.”

“Either happy hour just ended or something’s going down.”

Jake reached between them, then set his bottle and a few dollar bills on the bar. “We gotta go. Now.”
 

While Owen paid their tab, she grabbed her coat and rushed after Jake. “What’s going on?” she asked when they reached the parking lot.

Jake stopped at his SUV. When he faced her, the distress in his dark eyes created a knot in her stomach.
 

Please let Josh be alive.
 

“It’s Josh, isn’t it?” she asked, just as strong hands gripped her by the upper arms.
Owen
.
 

“We’ll meet you by the river, Sheriff,” a man shouted as he ran from the restaurant and to his truck.

Jake waved to the man, but kept his attention on her. “Not Josh. Bill.”

Frowning, she watched cars, trucks and SUVs scramble out of the parking lot.
 

Owen snatched her coat from her hand and wrapped it around her shoulders. “What the hell’s going on, Jake?”

His gaze unwavering, Jake continued to stare at her. “They found Bill’s truck submerged in the river.” He finally looked at Owen. “And there’s no sign of Bill.”

Chapter 11

He stood in front of the pledge. A shiver wracked the boy’s body as he raised his head and glared at him. Since this morning, the puke’s face had taken on an ashen hue and his lips were slightly blue. He’d survive…at least until the weekend. At that point his health, body temperature, lack of hydration and sustenance, would no longer matter.
 

The pledge would be dead.

“The faucet is leaking,” Junior said as she dropped from the last rung of the ladder, her booted feet hitting the rock floor with a muffled thud. “I wrapped a towel around it, but I’m worried it’ll come loose and spray all over the utility room.”

“Useless,” he muttered under his breath, then lightly slapped the pledge’s face. “Dinner will be momentarily delayed. Never fear, I’ll be right back.”

After instructing Junior to not engage with the pledge, he climbed the ladder. With each rung his irritation grew. Maybe he’d been wrong about Junior. When she’d first come to him, she’d been energetic and eager, anxious for his tutelage. But she’d made a ghastly mistake the night she’d brought the pledge to him. By bringing the other boy, she’d almost changed the dynamics of his Hell Week. And when she’d tried to fix her mistake, the sheriff ended up bringing in the two buffoons from Chicago to help find his pledge. Then there was this morning. While he understood the reason behind her absence, for her to comprehend, to gain the upmost satisfaction that Hell Week imparted, she needed to be on the premises for each and every interaction with the pledge.
 

He stepped into the utility room and quickly moved to the sink. The towel Junior had wrapped around the faucet and hose connector was soaked and dripping. With a curse, he shut off the water, fixed the connector, then turned the water on again. No leaks.
 

With an impatient sigh, he dried his hands with a paper towel, then made his way to the trapdoor. As he moved down the ladder he wondered how someone as bright as Junior could be—at times—incredibly inept. Granted, kidnapping the pledge was a difficult, risky task. Although she’d brought him two boys when he only needed one, she’d proven herself worthy as an accomplice. If only she could master these smaller tasks and not waste his time.
 

“Did you fix it?” Junior stood where he’d left her, hands in the deep pockets of her puffy coat. “I hope it didn’t make a mess. If so, I’ll clean it up before dinner.”

His stomach grumbled at the mention of dinner, and his aggravation with Junior grew. Because Junior had been running late, he’d decided to postpone their meal until after they were finished with the pledge. Rushing through the scrumptious pheasant he’d prepared for their supper in an effort to play with the pledge wasn’t an option. He’d rather savor his meal and then linger at the dinner table while drinking a couple fingers of his aged cognac.
 

“Everything is fine,” he replied and eyed the pledge who kept his gaze on the floor. “But we’ve wasted enough time. My pheasant will be ready within the next thirty minutes and there’s nothing I detest more than dry, tough meat.”

“Thirty minutes?” Junior shook her head. “That’s all the time we’re going to spend down here?”

He glanced at her. “If you’d rather stay in the basement with the pledge than dine in front of a warm fire, be my guest. I’ll keep your plate warm.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to question you. It’s just…”

“Go on,” he encouraged. Although she needed to know her place, that she would always and forevermore be subservient to him, she also needed to learn she wasn’t powerless and gain confidence. While her opinions and ideas might not intrigue him, and he could care less what she thought about how he handled his pledge, his daughter needed to realize she had a voice in this world. The whole point in inviting her into his Hell Week was to help give her that voice, confidence…power.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You’re right. Dinner will be ready soon and we’re wasting time. Besides, it’s freezing down here.”

A momentary flash of disappointment rushed through him and he hoped by the end of the week, Junior gained a backbone. Otherwise, there would be no point in having her with him. Knowing the ins and outs of his Hell Week, if she didn’t step up and take ownership, she could become less of an accomplice and more of a liability. He thought of his neighbor. How he’d ended her life with a spade shovel. Yes, liabilities definitely didn’t work for him, either.

“It
is
freezing down here,” he said and approached the pledge. The boy’s odor more tolerable than this morning, he moved closer. “Did you find the temperature unbearable?”

With a grunt, the pledge glared at him.

Good. He wanted him fighting for his life. When past pledges had given up, seven days of Hell Week had seemed more like seven weeks. The time had dragged. He’d ended up thinking too much, questioning himself, his intentions, his motivations and dwelled on his own past rather than his bright future. Even if this pledge didn’t fight, and the week dragged, there would be no dwelling. Not with the ultimate vengeance creeping in the shadows.

“Are you going to hose him down?” Junior asked.
 

“Not just yet. I’m debating whether to feed him now, or wait until we’ve finished with our evening entertainment.” He’d already decided to feed the pledge first, but enjoyed the melodramatics and making the pledge wait in suspense. From his own experiences, he’d learned that horrible thoughts and assumptions the mind could create were sometimes worse than reality.
 

Sometimes.

With a grin, he drew a strip of black fabric from his pants pocket. “Let’s combine dinner
and
entertainment.” He tied the fabric around the pledge’s head, making sure his eyes were covered. “Hand me that container,” he ordered Junior.

After she gave him the plastic container, he lifted the lid and eyed its contents. “We’re going to play a little game.”
 

He drew out a hardened hot dog that had been cooked, but sitting in a bun on his countertop for the past five days. The bread had grown stale and moldy, while the hot dog had become more like beef jerky. Before he’d allowed that to happen, he’d stuffed a very thin, hard bread stick—he’d personally made and found extremely bland for his taste—in the middle. He held the hot dog to his nose and sniffed. Excellent. It had lost its original scent.
 

“What’s grosser than gross?” he asked the pledge.

Blindfolded, the puke twisted his chapped, cracked lips and furrowed his forehead. “Sir?”