Her father was dead. Every few minutes, that fact would circle back to the front of her brain. Her chest would tighten, and her eyes would fill, and her stomach would attempt to revolt, but then Lauren would look up at the people across the table from her and remember that she couldn’t fall apart no matter how much she wanted to. This was the second death on Lauren’s hands. She inwardly blamed herself for both her father and George O’Connor. After all, if she hadn’t decided to embark on the path of righteousness and attempt to take the Raptors down, none of this would’ve happened. But now that she had, there was no turning back.
What she needed was a plan. Playing nice with the Raptors and luring them into a false sense of security would only take her so far, and in the end, was there a point to Lauren’s coup if she didn’t follow through? As she inhaled a glass of orange juice, the gears in her head whirred, filing through her list of options as she tried to concoct some kind of strategy.
“Mighty hungry today, aren’t you, Lockwood?” grumbled Holden.
A spray of strawberry jam splattered against the sleeve of his shirt as Lauren “accidentally” dropped the knife she was using to spread it across her toast. “Holden, have you no sympathy?” she said. “My father just died. If I want to eat my feelings, I will.”
Holden’s upper lip twitched as Lauren shoved as much of the frosted toast into her mouth as she possibly could. Olivia, her own plate clean and waiting to be retrieved by a server at the edge of the table, leaned forward to address Lauren.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked, keeping her voice low as though afraid to further instigate Lauren’s appetite. “After all that has happened with your dad and Nicole, you actually don’t seem to be too upset. It’s okay to fall apart a little. We’re here for you.”
Lauren dropped her toast. “Olivia, of all people, what gives you the right to psychoanalyze me? If you had wanted to help me, you would’ve let me go when Wickes got that text from my aunt. Did you actually buy that little speech she gave to me? You think she’s really on my side? My aunt is deranged. All she wants is the power that being the head of the Raptors brings to her.”
Both Holden and Lauren cast nervous glances around the busy restaurant at the mention of the society. It wasn’t talked about in broad daylight, and if it was, there was a specific, previously agreed upon vocabulary that was employed to keep curious ears in the dark. Lauren’s nonchalance was a threat to the society, and it was this sort of behavior that the Morrigan had expected of Holden and Olivia to stanch as soon as possible.
“Oh, relax,” said Lauren, finally shoving her plate away from her. She stretched up and over the back of her chair, her belly expanding toward the table. As she looked down at its bloat, she felt suddenly wistful for a normal college experience. She wanted the stereotypical stress load of fourteen credit hours, endless final exams, and Waverly’s next crew competition. Instead, she had the responsibility of the Raptors, a dead father, and the constant threat of her wavering sanity.
Without waiting for Holden and Olivia, Lauren pushed herself away from the table, stood up, and began weaving through the other patrons of the restaurant on her way to the front door. Behind her, she could hear her fellow Raptors hastily attempting to settle the check. If she knew them as well as she thought she did, Holden would stubbornly pay for his meal only, and Olivia would leave a big enough bill to cover everything else, including a generous tip for their server. When it came to the children of the blue-bloods on Waverly campus, there were two types: the selfish and the selfless. Lauren had always known that Holden fell into the former classification, but when it came to Olivia lately, Lauren had been having a hard time categorizing her.
Once outside, Lauren donned her designer trench coat, turned up the collar against the wind, and walked to the park just across the road. She settled herself on a bench to people watch as she waited for Holden and Olivia. She wasn’t stupid enough to run off without them, but they certainly deserved to stew for a few minutes.
Lauren smiled sadly as she watched a little boy play peek-a-boo with his father around a nearby fountain. A puppy ran by Lauren’s feet, chasing a startled squirrel, followed shortly by the puppy’s harried owner. To Lauren’s left, a tall man in a rugged, black police jacket leaned casually against the trunk of a tree. He’d pulled a winter hat low over his features and tucked his chin into the collar of his jacket.
Lauren stared. The man caught her eye, lifting his face for her to see. She didn’t recognize him, not physically at least, but his brutally broken nose clued her in on his identity. While maintaining eye contact with him, she jerked her head in the direction of the restaurant.
He glanced over. Holden and Olivia had emerged, searching for Lauren. When they spotted her across the street, they waved and began to jog in her direction. The man looked back at Lauren, nodded once, then pushed himself away from the tree trunk. Lauren watched out of the corner of her eye as he strolled down a side street.
“Trying to give us the slip?” growled Holden as he reached Lauren’s bench.
“Trying to enjoy the day, Hastings,” she replied, fluttering her eyelashes. “Besides, I know better than to challenge your clearly superior level of intellect. How would I
