She smiled offhandedly at him and continued answering questions.

Steve walked out to his car and flipped the phone open. He stabbed the speed dial and waited.

“I’m on the other line,” Murphy said.

“You need to subpoena the video surveillance at the apartment,” he growled into the receiver. “Bill Tyler has Jennifer.” He closed his eyes. “I’ve got the proof—the surveillance tape of him taking her is in my hands right now.” He pulled the disc out and slipped it into the glove compartment. “It’s in my car.” He listened to Murphy swear. “Just get the damn subpoena so we can get the lobby and parking lot tapes.”

“Where are you going?” Murphy asked.

“I’m going to get Jennifer,” Steve said and glanced in his rearview mirror.

“It’ll take me a couple hours to get the subpoena, so don’t do anything stupid.”

“Why the fuck is there a tail on me?”

“To cover your ass,” Murphy said.

“If he keeps following me, I’ll shoot him,” Steve said and hung up the phone. He swung out of the parking lot, shifting gears and outmaneuvering the tail. He took the twists and turns leading to his grandfather’s place and slammed to a stop in front of the cabin. Jumping from the car, he lined his gun up to the last curve in the driveway, aiming where he expected the undercover FBI agent to pull into view. The sound of crunching gravel under the hum of an engine got closer and Steve wasn’t disappointed.

The agent’s eyes widened and he slammed on the brakes.

Priceless. Fucking priceless, Steve thought. He stood down, setting the safety on the gun and sliding it into his beltline. Without another look at the shaken agent, he headed into the cottage.

He changed into a pair of loose jeans and clipped the gun to the inside of his right calf. The other calf sported his grandfather’s hunting knife. His work boots covered the bulge when he stood, letting the pant legs fall, His handcuffs sat on the nightstand and he opened the drawer scooping up his badge before he swiped the handcuffs, tucking them both in the inside pocket of his brown suede jacket.

His jaw ached and he took a deep breath, unclenching his teeth.

I swear if he’s hurt you…

Steve looked at the ceiling of the cabin, stretched his fingers and cracked his neck, psyching himself into character. This had to be an academy award winning performance, otherwise he’d never find out what happened to Jennifer.

Stepping out of the cabin, Steve stopped. The agent had been bold enough to park next to Steve’s car. He leaned on his hood in the telltale FBI suit, his arms crossed and his eyes shielded by the FBI issued shades.

“Murphy wants you to stay put until he gets here.”

“Fuck you,” Steve said, and walked past him.

The agent grabbed Steve’s arm and Steve parried, twisting the agent’s arm and forcing him face first on the hood of the car. Steve kept the agent pinned and leaned in. “I’m not backing off. Tell Murphy he can throw me to the wolves when this is done, but for now, he’s gonna have to trust me. He knows damn well we don’t have an airtight case yet and I’m not waiting until we find my girlfriend’s body to get the son of a bitch.” He let go of the agent. “Tell him he can have my badge when this is through.” Steve walked to his car and got in, reached into the glove compartment, and handed the disc to the agent. Then he peeled out of the yard.

Pulling up to the fraternity, Steve sat in his car, staring at the Greek insignia for a moment, reigning in the wild beast pounding on the doors of his soul. At least he didn’t have to act like he was in a foul mood. He slammed the car door and stormed into the house, going straight to his room.

It only took a few minutes before knuckles rapped on his door and Steve closed his eyes, praying it wasn’t Bill because he wasn’t sure he could pull this off. Not with the angry beast roiling in his gut.

“What?” Steve snapped and yanked open the door.

Joe stood in the hallway and blinked, trying to hide his discomfort with concern. “You okay?”

Steve shrugged, staring out the window at the cemetery beyond the expansive yard. “She stood me up. No one has ever stood me up.”

“I’m sorry, dude. Women can be a little fickle.”

“Fickle? She’s not even answering my calls. I don’t know what the hell I did.” He crossed the room and sat on the bed. “Everything was fine when I left this morning.” He looked up at Joe wondering just how much he knew about what was going on.

“Come have a beer with us,” Joe said. “We’re talking to the pledges about the initiation ceremony.”

“What do you do for initiation?” Steve stood and followed him down the stairs, bracing himself at the sight of Bill.

“Camping. There’s an old creepy legend about a spot on the lake and we dare them to go take a picture. They’ve got to show us the Polaroid before we initiate them. Of course, that’s after we’ve told them all the gory details of the legend. The idea is to spook them enough to weed out the skittish ones.” He laughed as he rounded the corner and hopped down the stairs. “Let me grab you a beer.” He disappeared into the kitchen and Steve sat down as far away from Bill as the room allowed.

A few minutes later, Joe came out with a Corona with a slice of lime stuck in the neck of the bottle. He plugged it with his thumb and turned it upside down, watching the lime float to the bottom, then turned it right side up and handed the bottle to Steve and settling down with the remainder of his that sat on the table.

Steve took a swig, tasting an underlying bitterness, and held the bottle out to look at it. Glancing at Joe, he tried to place the taste but all that came to mind was witches and ancient taverns. “You sure this is okay?”

Joe nodded. “The limes are a little tart.” He downed his beer.

Following suit, Steve drained the beer and handed Joe the empty bottle. “I think I’m going to head back upstairs,” he said, “I’m not really in the mood for a party.” He stood and his stomach did a small flip and it took a second for his brain to catch up. “Shit,” he said and the room tilted. His gaze landed on Bill’s Cheshire grin just before his knees buckled.

“What the fuck did you give me?” Steve asked as the room slowly flowed in and out of focus like an amoeba and his muscles refused to listen to his mind’s orders. The faces elongated and flowed into psychedelic colors. He blinked in slow motion; the back of his eyelids took forever to come back up.

“Combo of Peyote and LSD and a roofie just because I don’t want a fight,” Bill said. “It should wear off in time for you to participate in our little ritual.”

“Son of a bitch,” Steve mumbled. His muscles felt like someone hung a two-ton weight on each wrist to the point he couldn’t lift his arms. A slow understanding took hold and he did his best to retain the glare in his gaze. “What did you do with her,” he whispered, but no one caught his question.

They were too busy stripping his jacket and shirt and holding him steady while others blindfolded him. A cool wet substance brushed against his chest and face and he was helpless to flinch away. Every muscle ignored his silent commands to fight, to strike out before it was too late, even when his wrists were bound together.

His brain fogged and the colors played on his eyelids, distracted him. Vague sensations on his skin dimmed, and numbness replaced it. Pink Floyd filled his head and he blinked his eyes open against the blindfold before they fluttered closed again. The music took physical shapes under his eyelids and he drifted, enamored with the colors and music.

* * * *

Bill dragged him out the back door, carrying his coat and shirt with them. Jennifer’s raspy scream filtered out the door as they dumped Steve into the crypt and tossed him into the middle of the pentacle painted on the floor. He slumped on the floor with the headphones and blindfold still in place, his lips moving, repeating the words screaming in his ears.