Without Mercy (28 page)

And still the drip. Jules looked down at the knife in her hand. Beads of blood splashed onto her foot, pooled around her toes, trailed to the body of her father lying on the floor.

A scream ripped through the room, and she jerked up, saw Edie standing in the hallway, her face ashen.

“What have you done?” Edie cried.

Jules’s eyes flew open.

For a second she didn’t know where she was.

The school. That’s right. Blue Rock Academy.
She glanced at the clock and her heart stopped.

Two forty-seven.

“Oh, Lord,” she whispered, trying to calm her racing heart. Rolling onto her side, she took in deep calming breaths as the dream receded into the dark corners of her mind. She was sweating, her muscles cramped, though the room was as cold as death.

She heard a squeak on the stairs outside her door, and for a second she thought that someone had been in the room. Someone stealthily rifling through her things, standing over her as she slept.

A shudder ripped through her body, and she pulled the covers to her chin, curling into a ball. She was imagining things. The vestiges of the dream were still scraping at her, teasing her.

Her robe sat in a mound at the foot of the bed, just where she’d flung it. She wrapped it around her body, walked to the window, and opened the blinds.

Sometime during the night, the snow had stopped. The deputy’s cruiser was gone, tracks indicating that the car had driven away from the heart of the campus. There were
mashed trails of snow on the paths to the various buildings, solitary tracks made while most of the residents were asleep.

Tracks to Stanton House.

That was nothing in and of itself. The deputies were still on duty, and Reverend Lynch had promised that the staff would be more vigilant.

Still, with the feeling that someone had been in her room, she couldn’t help the shiver of fear that slid down her spine.

“Ninny,” she told herself even as she walked to the door of her apartment. She checked the lock and the dead bolt for the tenth time that night. Locked tight.

But the dream …

She pulled the robe tight around her and huddled on the sofa. Had it been a warning? Or just a trick of the mind?

She wondered if she’d ever know.

CHAPTER 24

As the harsh winds of February swirled around him, the Leader crossed the campus and thought of the new teacher who had been hired at the academy.

Julia Farentino.

She was beautiful.

Hauntingly so.

With eyes the color of a stormy northern sea and a tongue that was as sharp as a razor; he’d heard it a time or two and had been intrigued. Tempted.

He’d noticed the way she walked, purposeful, her strides long, her ass … Oh, God, he’d seen it tighten beneath her jeans as she’d taken a step, and in his mind’s eye, he envisioned her tight little cheeks, split perfectly, begging him to enter that warm, seductive valley.

Even now, in this frigid winter, his cock twitched as he thought of plunging into her sweet, slick warmth. Of reaching around her and feeling her breasts fill his hands, her nipples hard. Her neck would arch, a low moan of pleasure coming from her lips. He would pinch those nipples, make her gasp and buck and scream in pleasure and pain. And he would take her as she’d never been taken before, press his
lips and teeth into the back of her neck, push harder and faster!

And then what?

When it’s over and you’re spent, after you’ve spilled yourself into her, what then? In the end, you know that she is little more than a whore, like Lauren and the others. A seductress sent here to test your faith.

Fists clenching, he tried to force the image of Julia’s naked body, one he had not yet seen, out of his mind. But the demons inside him, the insatiable sexual appetite that consumed him, could not be quieted.

Julia Farentino was not the only one who filled his mind and caused the sheets on his bed to be sweat-soaked and wrinkled.

And what about the Stillman girl? Shaylee?
His mind was ruthless with its cruel reminders of his weakness.
Wasn’t she the “one” you chose to join the others? Isn’t her thick, dark hair a turn-on? Don’t you see it splayed beneath you? And those eyes, greenish gray, don’t you imagine them rounding in surprise, her pupils dilating as you hold her down and drive into her? Don’t you imagine her tongue licking your body everywhere? Isn’t she, too, seductively tempting?

He frowned slightly, the two women melding in his mind, becoming one, arms and legs surrounding him. He fantasized about having them both at the same time, almost heard their combined wails of pleasure and pain in the song of the icy wind.

Don’t tread there.

Remember what they are, those two who look so much alike.

Distractions.

Tests of your will.

Nothing more.

Do not waver.

For they are dangerous, just as Lauren was.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered her.

Lauren Conway.

A demon disguised as an angel.

God, he’d been a fool. A damned fool.

For a woman.

A classic mistake.

And stupid.

Hadn’t he too, been played for a fool by another man’s wife? And yet, he had let down his guard again.

Not that she had been any woman, Lauren Conway. Oh, no.

She’d been a beautiful girl just on the threshold of womanhood, or so he’d thought. But, of course, he’d been wrong. Her treachery had been so disguised in innocence he’d come to trust her.

Completely.

Madly.

Stupidly.

He’d allowed her into his inner circle.

For all the wrong reasons.

Mainly because of his ego.

And because he’d wanted to sleep with her.

He’d made that mistake and couldn’t risk another, not with Shaylee Stillman or Julia Farentino or any other temptress who might cross his path. He closed his eyes, concentrated on the bitter winter night, and forced the heat in his blood to cool.

Pull yourself together.

You have work to do.

A sudden peace moved over him, and all the doubts were chased away as if they never existed.

Trent stood under the heavy spray of a shower so hot it damn near burned his skin. But the needles of hot water felt
good, the steam in the room clearing his head after a sleepless night spent spinning scenarios for what might have happened in the stables. Trying to think like the killer. Trying to focus on what happened to Drew and Nona without picturing Jules walking alone across this dangerous campus.

Damned woman.

Seeing her again was a jolt back to another lifetime when he was still riding bulls, still thinking he could grab the world by the tail, still naive enough to believe in love.

“Get real,” he told himself now, blinking the water from his eyes, feeling lather slide down his body. They’d had a shot; it hadn’t worked out. End of story.

Except she’s back and looking better than ever.

Her hair was shorter now, but still a deep, rich brown that waved as it brushed her shoulders. But it was her eyes that got to him. Surrounded by thick lashes, guarded by arched eyebrows, her eyes were between a steely gray and silver, depending on the light.

Did she look like her sister? Oh, yeah. But more refined, her lips a little fuller, her eyebrows more arched, her cheekbones bolder than her younger sister’s. Half sister, he reminded himself.

But Jules … He lifted his face to the spray, trying to wash her from his mind.

Why now? Why did she have to appear now, when all hell was breaking loose? The last thing he needed was to worry about her or her damned sister!

As he reached for the faucet to turn off the water, he heard his cell phone ringing over the creak of old pipes.

Who would be calling him at six in the morning?

No one bearing good news, that much was certain.

He stripped a towel from the bar, then marched barefoot and dripping into the bedroom. “Trent,” he said on the
fourth ring, holding the cell between his ear and shoulder as he wrapped the towel around his waist.

“Sheriff O’Donnell. Hope I didn’t wake you.” O’Donnell’s voice was rough from cigarettes or not enough sleep or, Trent figured, both.

“Been up a while.”

“Figured as much. I took your advice and called Dan Grayson in Grizzly Falls.”

Sheriff
Dan Grayson.

“And I also put in a call to Larry Sparks, with the state police up in Portland,” O’Donnell went on. “Grayson said you were a stand-up guy. Reliable. Sergeant Sparks confirmed it and told me he’d trust you to have his back.”

“Good to know.” Trent shoved his wet hair from his eyes and waited, knowing where this was going.

“According to Grayson, you’re on the bull-headed side, but that’s not a problem for me. Thing is, my deputies and me, we barely made it out of the mountains last night, what with the storm. And now that our investigation has turned to homicide, well, I’m going to need some inside help. So, if you’re still willing, I’m deputizing you, here and now. Probably add a few others to the list out there, so I’ll need your input on who at Blue Rock would be good, who you could trust.”

That list was sure to be short.

“I won’t kid ya,” O’Donnell said, and paused for a second. Trent heard the click of a lighter and a deep intake of breath as the sheriff fired up a cigarette. “The storm has really stretched us thin. Deputies working around the clock. Had to pull a few of my guys away from the school to field other emergencies. Hell, I had to cover a few jobs myself.”

Which explained the early hour.

“We just don’t have the manpower to handle everything, even with help from the OSP, city police, and emergency crews. We could use a man like you.”

“Count me in,” Trent said, relieved to have access to some information, albeit limited, from the sheriff’s office.

“I will, then.”

“Just let me know what you want me to do, where I should start.”

“Deputy Meeker will bring you up to speed. He’s up there at Blue Rock now.” O’Donnell took another drag. “Listen, Trent, don’t go rogue on me, okay? This is still my county, and my ass is on the line. You’re working for my guys, got that? The detectives are still in charge. Ned Jalinsky and Tori Baines. You report to them.”

“Got it. But I take it they’re not here now?”

“No, and they won’t be up today. The roads were treacherous when we cut out last night. Good thing the crime scene crew handled everything yesterday, got what they needed.” Trent remembered the techs who had taken pictures, dusted for fingerprints, collected trace evidence, searched for footprints, and scoured the stable and surrounding area while the interrogations had been going on.

O’Donnell was saying, “I understand no one can make it up to Blue Rock until the snow lets up. My detectives will get back up there just as soon as Mother Nature gives us a break. For now, you’ll deal with Meeker. He’s on campus, sort of trapped up there.”

“Along with the rest of us.”

“The storm will let up soon,” the sheriff said, though they both knew the weather service predicted more snow.

“How’s the Prescott kid doing?” Trent asked, dropping his towel and using it to wipe up the puddle that had formed around his feet.

“Still critical. The docs were real positive when he came to, had that burst of consciousness, talking with everyone, but it seems he’s lapsed back into a coma again.”

Trent hated to hear it. “Too bad.”

“Yeah. The hospital is supposed to call the minute he
wakes up again, but he’s still in the ICU. They’re talking about brain and spine injury.” After a brief pause, during which Trent hoped to God for a miracle, the sheriff wrapped things up. “I gotta roll. If you have any more questions, talk to Meeker, or call Baines or Jalinsky.” O’Donnell hung up, giving Trent the green light to investigate what had happened in the stable.

About time. He kicked his towel into a corner and added the sheriff’s number along with those for Jalinsky and Baines into his phone, then got dressed in heavy layers and headed to the stable. He had a couple of hours before he was expected in the gym for the group of kids who played pickup basketball or worked out on the equipment on the weekends, and he wanted to see the crime scene again.

Most of the stable had been off-limits while the sheriff’s department worked the scene. Since the crime scene investigators and the detectives were finished, Trent ignored the yellow crime scene tape that was already broken and flapping in the breeze and let himself into the stable.

He found Flannagan leading Omen, a black gelding, through the back door and into his stall. Omen was pulling on his lead, prancing and tossing his head, his black coat gleaming under the lights. The other horses had already returned to their boxes.

Trent reached into a stall to pat Arizona’s gray muzzle, and the gelding in the next stall snorted impatiently.

“Take it easy, Scout,” he said, scratching the paint behind his ears. He turned to Flannagan. “Need help?”

Dressed in camouflage pants and a Blue Rock down jacket, Flannagan shook his head. “Nah. This is the last one. Besides, I got extra hands today, the three from yesterday’s tussle. The new girl, Stillman, Lucy Yang, and Eric Rolfe. They’ve been assigned to muck out the stalls this weekend—that is, when they’re not shoveling snow.” His lips twisted in a smile that was more menacing than
amused. “Guess that’s the start of their punishment for their little spat yesterday.”

“Start?”

“Hmm.” He locked Omen in his stall, then unclipped the lead from the gelding’s halter. “Usually the two involved would be left out in the wilderness for a day or two, separately, of course, just to give each of ‘em time to think about what they’ve done, how they disrespected the school and all that.” Slipping through the door to the stall, he walked to the area where the feed was kept. While the horses nickered and whinnied impatiently, Flannagan twisted off the top of a barrel of oats. “Because of the blizzard, Reverend Lynch is raining down a little mercy on the sinners’ dark souls.”