Without Mercy (37 page)

“We all were.”

She let out a long breath as he brought her up to date on what Meeker had told him about the deaths. She listened, shivering slightly, worry straining her features. He added, “In some ways, I don’t know how these kids are bearing up under the strain. A killer on the loose, and we’re all pent up here in the storm. Unless the son of a bitch got out that first night, after he attacked Nona and Drew and before the blizzard hit, he’s trapped here.”

“With us. I know.”

He witnessed her shudder and wanted like hell to wrap a comforting arm around her, to hold her close, to press his
lips into her frozen hair and whisper that everything would be all right. But he didn’t. First, he couldn’t give anyone else a glimpse that he knew her more than as a new colleague. Secondly, he’d sworn long ago that he wouldn’t try to keep close contact with any woman who’d made it clear she wasn’t interested.

Jules qualified. Big-time.

Right after Rip Delaney’s murder, Jules had been adamant that she didn’t want anything to do with him.

Thirdly, he now knew that despite all of his rules and vows to himself, he couldn’t trust himself near Jules, because, like it or not, he’d never gotten over her. Being near her, staring into her concerned eyes, watching the thoughtful pout of her lips, he realized with heart-jolting clarity that he still wanted her.

What the hell was wrong with him?

For a heartbeat, he considered throwing caution to the wind and leaned closer to her.

“Mr. Trent!” a young voice called, shattering the moment. He looked over his shoulder and spied Banjo Harris running toward them.

Oh, hell!

He’d forgotten that he’d promised to meet with her to resolve some questions about her schedule.

“I have to go,” he said.

“Wait! I need to talk to you!” Jules was insistent, grabbing his arm.

He couldn’t risk lingering any longer. Too many people were watching. He stepped away, breaking contact. “Then come by my place tonight, say ten, ten-thirty,” he whispered, anxious not to be overheard. “You know which one it is?” She nodded. “The porch light will be off.” God, what was he thinking? Inviting her to his cottage? Inviting disaster.

“I’ll be there,” she said softly just as Banjo bounded up
to them, her guitar case banging against her back with each stride.

“Thanks,” he said to Jules, then turned on his heel.

Being any closer to her was dangerous.

Dangerous in a million ways.

“You’re wrong!” Maeve insisted. Her insides were shredding as she walked toward the cafeteria with Nell, Lucy, and that awful new girl, Shaylee. Just because Shaylee was in their pod didn’t mean that they had to hang out with her.

Not that it mattered now.

The rumor was that Andrew Prescott had died. He’d really died. And although Maeve had given up the romantic notion of a suicide pact between Drew and Nona, once she’d learned that there’d been an attack, she had desperately wanted Andrew to live. As if his survival was a valiant act, a way to defy the killer who’d taken his beloved’s life.

Drew’s death, on top of Maeve’s own problems, made life here at Blue Rock unbearable. For the past couple of days, her friends had been trying to convince her to give up on Ethan, to deny that which was the most important, the most vital part of her.

She knew in her heart that Ethan was her true soul mate, the only man she would ever love.

God, she was so miserable, and she couldn’t keep from crying. Her tears froze on her face, tiny diamonds in her eyelashes, and the night wind blew so hard it made her lungs feel frozen. Maeve didn’t know how she’d get through dinner. Of course, she felt a little zing of anticipation because Ethan would be there, but she feared that he wouldn’t spare her a look. He wouldn’t wink, wouldn’t give her any indication that she was special to him, even though he’d said it dozens of times before.

Hadn’t she been there for him during all those awful,
ridiculous accusations about him and Ms. Howell? Hadn’t she stood by him? Given him an alibi if he needed it? Didn’t he know that she’d do anything for him?
Any
thing?

Their boots crunched in the snow that was crusting over. She’d never been so cold in her life. But this, the chill of winter, was nothing like the ice that threatened her heart when she thought of losing Ethan.

Ethan loved her, he did. He’d told her so. Every time they’d gone to the hayloft where … Oh, God, she couldn’t think of Nona, how she’d died dangling from the end of a rope.

The lump in her throat was so large she could barely breathe, and the thought that Ethan could be with anyone else was like a thousand daggers in her heart.

“I’m just saying that I saw him with Kaci Donahue,” Lucy said. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

But it is! It’s my life! He’s everything to me!
She blinked hard, pretending the snow on her eyelashes was bothering her, when, in truth, she was fighting a losing battle with tears. She loved him. She’d proven it. Letting him touch her and kiss her and make love to her. She would have risked everything for him.

“No guy is worth this,” Shay said, as if she had some experience with this kind of pain. Yeah, well, who needed her opinion anyway?

“Ethan is,” she whispered fervently as they reached the cafeteria and pushed open the doors. The bright lights blinded her, and the smell of Mrs. Pruitt’s shepherd’s pie made her gag. Bile rose up her throat, and it was all she could do to swallow it back. She couldn’t let any of the staff know how she felt. She cleared her throat and whispered, “I don’t want to talk about it. Not now.”

“Uh-oh.” Nell’s gaze swept across the wood-paneled interior to a far table, where Ethan was seated alone with
Kaci. “I can’t believe he has the balls to show up here with her.”

“They’re both TAs,” Lucy pointed out.

Maeve wanted to disappear through the floor. She grabbed the band on her wrist and snapped it hard, harder. She needed to feel a pain to drown out the bleeding in her heart.

“Bastard!” Nell hissed.

Shay said, “She doesn’t want to talk about it, okay?”

“Well it’s right in her face!”

For his part, Ethan glanced at Maeve, gave her a quiet, innocuous smile, then turned back to Kaci. Just like that. As if she were just another student he barely recognized, a nobody in Mr. DeMarco’s calculus class. Someone he had to help understand logarithms.

Nothing more.

Zach and Missy joined the other couple, and Maeve thought she might be sick. The two couples looked like they were on some kind of double date.

Maeve took her seat at Mr. Trent’s table. Wedged between BD on one side and Nell on the other, Maeve tried not to focus on Ethan, but it was damned hard. Why didn’t he understand that their love was something so special, something priceless? Under the table, she snapped at her wristband, letting the sting keep her in the moment.

The rest of the students took their places, and Reverend Lynch confirmed that Andrew Prescott had died. Somberly, he led them in a prayer while a glum silence fell over the stunned students.

Everyone had known that Drew might die, but it was still weird. Surreal. For a while, out of respect, or just because it was expected, everyone was quiet, the shepherd’s pie and salad passed around the tables with very little conversation.

That changed midway through the meal as people began to talk in hushed tones, then with more animation over the clatter of flatware and clink of plastic glasses. Maeve had taken a serving of the pie and a slice of bread, but when it came to actually eating, she couldn’t manage a bite. And the buzz of conversation faded into white noise, punctuated by Kaci Donahue’s trilling laughter.

Tears welled in Maeve’s eyes, and she had to fight to keep them from streaming down her cheeks, so she squished her bread into small dough balls and thought of ways to make Ethan love her again.

What would it take for him to realize that she, not bony Kaci, a girl who was a female version of a daddy longlegs spider, was the woman he was meant to be with?

“You need to be chillin’, Maeve.” BD grinned, his dark eyes dancing as he stared at her torn and flattened dinner roll. “You’ve already killed it!”

On the other side of him, Keesha laughed.

That did it! Maeve’s stomach lurched and she didn’t care about the rule that everyone was supposed to wait until after another prayer before leaving the dining hall. No one understood her. No one! Not even Nell.

And not even Ethan, she thought miserably.

She scooted back her chair and took off, wending her way through the tables toward the hallway and restroom. She felt the prying heat of curious eyes upon her and hoped beyond hope that Ethan saw her pain and would come looking for her.

He didn’t, of course.

To her absolute mortification, the next person who pushed open the door to the restroom was Kaci Donahue. Maeve wished she’d hidden in one of the stalls.

“Hi,” Kaci said lightly, as if there was nothing wrong. She leaned close to the mirror and studied her reflection,
dabbing at the corner of her lips as if to wipe away an errant bit of lip gloss.

But Maeve detected satisfaction in Kaci’s gaze and knew the older girl had just come into the bathroom to rub it in.

How mortifying.

Without making a sound, Maeve left the restroom and walked into the hallway, where Mr. Trent stood leaning against the far wall, waiting for her.

Great!

Arms crossed over his chest, he caught her eye, then fell into step beside her. “You okay?” he asked.

She wanted to dissolve into a thousand pieces. “Yeah,” she lied.
Don’t make me talk, please, please, please. I can’t talk about it!

“Sure?”

“Mmm.” She nodded her head frantically, anxious to get rid of him. The last thing she needed was her semihot pod leader watching as she imploded, self-destructing. Her throat was still thick, but she forced out the words, “I, uh, think I’m coming down with a cold or something,” she said, the lie tripping off her tongue.

“Okay.”

He was buying it? Really?

“I know all this is difficult.”

What? He knows? Was she that transparent?

Then she got it. He was talking about Andrew and Nona being killed.

“We’ve got grief counseling set up. Private and group. And you know that if you want to talk, I’m here….”

“I know,” she said, forcing brightness into her tone that she didn’t feel. Mr. Trent didn’t understand it, of course, but she was way beyond being saved by talking.

Talk was useless. She needed action.

CHAPTER 32

In a throwback to his youth, Father Jake made the sign of the cross over his chest as he stared at the altar in the chapel.

He hadn’t been a Catholic in a long, long while, but old habits died hard, especially when confronted with great tragedy, hard times.

He’d seen more than his share of heartache, fear, and humiliation in his thirty-six years, and throughout it all, his faith had been unshaken. He knew the emotional pain of losing a wife, of watching her slowly die and realizing that her death was the result of his own actions.

He’d felt despair as great as any and guilt that had been unbearable. He’d made mistakes during his lifetime, had been a liar, a cheat, and he had done things for which he’d had no pride.

Throughout it all, however, he’d held on to his faith. Sometimes it had been hard, nearly impossible, but he’d always felt the spirit of the Lord with him.

But that was changing, he realized. Ever since he’d come to Blue Rock Academy, his faith had been tested.

Now he wasn’t sure it would survive.

He fell to his knees and prayed for guidance, for divine intervention. All the while, he felt the cold metal of the Glock tucked into the waistband of his pants, pressed hard against his back.

Jules stood at the window of her darkened room and hoped no one could see her looking over the campus. Pulling her hands into the warmth of her sweater sleeves, she kept her eyes on Reverend Lynch, a dark slash of a figure. Bent against the wind, he walked on the path from the chapel, veering off from the main walkway, as if he was headed toward the house he shared with Cora Sue. She couldn’t see the house through the curtain of snow, but she was convinced he was going home for the night.

She could only hope he stayed there.

Keyed up, she threw on her jacket, scarf, and boots and grabbed a flashlight and keys, both of which she figured could qualify as weapons. There was no way she could stay in this room and do nothing, just sitting behind a locked door and praying that she was safe. Not with a killer on the campus. Not with her sister at risk.

Locking the door behind her, she told herself to calm down and get a grip, but she knew full well that nothing short of the killer being brought to justice would ease her mind or anyone else’s. Everyone at the school was jumpy.

She hurried down the stairs to the cozy nook that served as the common area for Stanton House. Clusters of tables and chairs were situated around warm, earth-toned rugs that had been tossed over the hardwood floor. Reading lamps and half a dozen battery-powered candles added to the ambience.

However, no one relaxed on the soft leather cushions or curled up in the corner of the couch angled near the windows.
The place was empty and quiet except for muted notes of some Spanish ballad drifting from an upper floor.

Jules adjusted her scarf.

The door closet under the stairs opened.

She nearly jumped out of her skin as Keesha Bell, a disgusted look on her face, a dust rag dangling from the back pocket of her jeans, pushed a vacuum cleaner into the room. An empty bucket was swinging from the fingers of her free hand.

“You scared me!” Jules admitted, then laughed.

“Sorry.” Keesha didn’t even pause or crack a bit of a smile. “Sometimes I scare myself. ‘Specially in the morning.” She stopped to straighten a stack of magazines resting on a glass coffee table before she plugged the cord of the vacuum into an outlet.

“You must have late duty tonight.”

The furrows in Keesha’s forehead deepened. “Yeah,” she said with a roll of her expressive eyes. “Lucky me.”